"You are a terrible man. I need to get ready."
While I shower, Blake steps inside the bathroom. I point a menacing finger at him.
"No tempting me or we'll never make it out of the house."
"No tempting." That's when I notice he's holding my phone. "Penny's calling. Third time in a row. Must be urgent."
My heart in my throat, I turn off the water, step out, and dry my hands on a towel. Blake leaves after handing me the phone. Please, please dear God, don't let anything have happened to her.
"Hey, sweetie," she says. "Your boss is downstairs."
"What?"
"He's at the interphone. Says he needs to drop off some documents for you. You have this address listed as your work address right?"
"Crap. Yeah, I do. Sorry about that."
"You want me to send him over to Blake's? Or just take the documents from him and you'll pick them up later?"
The last thing I want is for Quentin to come over here, realize I'm living above Blake's bar. My clearing the air when we were away on set only made his nagging more incessant.
"Take the documents, please. I'll drop by today to pick them up. Sorry for this. I'll make it up with cocktails, I promise."
Said documents must be the contracts from a new sponsor. I was supposed to go over it as soon as he got them, which I assume was yesterday evening.
"Nothing to be sorry for, but I won't say no to a cocktail."
"Thank you, Penny."
Damn, that was a close call.
***
"Wow," I exclaim that evening when we step inside the location for the Bennett show. I've been to a number of galas and events for my job, but this is something else entirely. It is elegant but not over the top, rich but not opulent, and despite the size of the venue and the number of people in attendance, it maintains an air of familiarity. It's almost cozy. Stretching from the back wall to the center of the room is a long runway. On either side of it are small tables, with two to six seats around them, all facing the runway. I'm no pro, but I suspect that the seating arrangements contribute a lot to the intimate atmosphere. Fashion shows usually have rows upon rows of chairs, but this arrangement is far better.
"There are so many people."
"After it's over, we're going somewhere, just the two of us. I want to show you something."
"Already saw that today."
Blake narrows his eyes, and I can't wait for his comeback. Would it be witty, sexy, both? He surprises me by not saying anything, instead pulling me behind a black panel. From the cables and tools strewn on the floor, I suspect this is a backstage of sorts for the technical team, which is not here at the moment. Blake either knew this or suspected it, because he leans into me like a man with a plan. He kisses my neck, biting me gently. We're shielded from everyone's view, but still. This man has no shame, or mercy. And I love every second of this, even though I shouldn't.
"Blake!" I intended to work severity into my tone, but it sounds wanton even to my own ears. "You can't touch me like that in public."
"Keep talking like that and I'll kiss you against this wall, just so you know who's in charge."
"Is it bad that now I'm thinking of ways to provoke you?" I lick my lips, shaking my head.
Blake steps back. "I'm making an effort here."
I wiggle my eyebrows. "This is what makes it more fun."
He's reckless, but hot damn, whenever I'm with him, I want to throw caution to the wind.
"Come on. Let's sit before I do something crazy like throwing you over my shoulder and walking out of here."
Taking my hand, he leads us back into the room. If possible, the place seems even fuller than a few minutes ago.
For the first time, I focus on the people and not the decor. All men are wearing suits, and the women have exquisite dresses. As is always the case with such events, I feel out of my depth. It's not that I feel inferior to everyone else, because I don't. But I just feel like I don't belong, like this is all just make-believe. In a way, it is.
We walk up to one of the tables nearest to the runway, where Christopher, Max, Daniel, and Logan are sitting. There are two empty chairs. The brothers look up, and their reactions when they see me are almost comic. Daniel and Logan mask their surprise more skillfully, only a slight jerk of their head giving them away. Christopher and Max-I can't tell who's who-rise in unison. One claps his hands; the other opens his arms wide, as if thanking the skies. I can tell they're about to roast Blake. I've been around the family often enough to know the dynamics. But I never can tell how they'll choose to torment Blake, and I dearly wish I could pick up on it faster so I can join in on the fun.