Socialites mixed and mingled, waiting for the show to begin.
A runway extended to the center of the audience.
With drink in hand, JD and I made our way backstage to find Ginger and Cinnamon. This was the real show. Behind the scenes was always more interesting than the actual event.
Stylists and makeup artists scurried about, attending to gorgeous models in various states of undress.
It was a madhouse.
On a scale of one to 10, these girls were 20s. Smooth skin,toned abs, long legs, pert all-natural endowments, sparkling eyes, and luminous hair styled to perfection.
Jack spotted Ginger and Cinnamon, and they waved us over with smiles on their faces. The two blondes were nothing short of perfection. They’d been nursing Jack back to health and were doing a good job of it. The two could inspire a man to live life to the fullest.
"I'm so glad you could make it," Ginger said.
"We wouldn’t miss this for the world," Jack replied. "Thanks for inviting us."
The girls both wore lacy silk lingerie that elevated pulses. I'm not going to lie, it might have been hard to stay focused in a place like this. Everywhere you looked, there was a stunning distraction.
“Have you met Ava yet?” Cinnamon asked.
“No, but I’d like to,” I said.
Ava Lang was on the cover of every fashion magazine. She was the most sought-after face in the industry. Flawless skin, pouty lips, dreamy ice-blue eyes, wavy chocolate hair, and the kind of svelte figure that was proof of a higher power. The skimpy lingerie she wore showed off every inch of it.
"Just FYI, she's got a boyfriend," Cinnamon said. "But you never know.” Cinnamon winked at me, then waved the supermodel over.
She smiled and strutted in our direction.
"Ava, I want you to meet my friends, Jack and Tyson.”
"It's a pleasure to meet you," I said, taking in her delightful hand.
"You as well," she replied with the voice of an angel. She exchanged pleasantries with Jack and said, "I hope you guys enjoy the show. Giovanni has outdone himself with this collection."
"Indeed, he has," I said, trying to keep my eyes at an appropriate level.
"Okay, people!" the production manager shouted. "We're on in five."
Ava smiled. "I guess it's game time."
She said goodbye and walked back to her dressing area, where she was greeted by her boyfriend. He was a handsome man in his late 30s with wavy dark hair, a square jaw, and narrow brown eyes. He wore an expensive suit and a Rolex Submariner on his wrist.
"That's her boyfriend,” Ginger said. “Sebastian Vorn. He’s superrich. He's the one who started Memo.”
I knew the app. It was a secure communication platform with end-to-end encryption. Even Isabella couldn't crack it. Messages that you sent on Memo could only be read by the intended recipient.
We chatted for another minute, then made our way to the front of the house to find our seats. We grabbed another beverage, then sat in the front row.
“Excuse me, but I think you’re in my seat?”
I looked up to see a beautiful blonde with elegant bone structure hovering over me, looking a little annoyed.
I gave her a confused look. “I’m pretty sure I’m in the right seat, but let me check.”
The first two rows had been reserved for VIPs, and each guest was strategically placed by the designer.
I pulled out my ticket and looked at my assigned seat, then checked it against the seat number. I flashed a smile and looked up at the gorgeous blonde. “Looks like I’m in the right place. But I’m more than willing to share.”
