Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“I’ve heard something like that a few times,” Vic said, then leaned back, peering around the bolts, raising his voice to call, “Penny?”
“Right here!” chirped at Amani’s back, and he whirled with a gasp.
A pert, curving little woman with a graying bob of perky black hair looked up at Amani with a warm smile. She offered her hand, black eyes laughing warmly.
“Hi. Sorry to startle you.” When Amani took her hand, she shook it firmly, her hands gentle and kind. “Penny Chatsworth, designer.”
“You work for Vic?” Amani caught himself, then corrected, “Er. Mr. Newcomb.”
Penny flapped her hand with a chuckle. “It’s all right. Call him whatever you’d like. He’s only Mr. Newcomb to me. Sometimes.”
Vic stared at her flatly. “I hire the most insolent people.”
Penny only smiled merrily, leaning in to mock-whisper to Amani behind her hand. “I’m completely unimpressed by him, and I get away with it because I’m too talented for him to fire me.” She bounced back, her smile brightening. “I normally work as a liaison with apparel companies to come up with unique branded designs using our textiles, but I’ve been itching to create something couture.”
“O-oh.” Amani laughed shakily, looking over the looping bolts of fabric again. “This is a little surreal. You’re actually going to make me a dress by this weekend?”
“This is why he pays me and puts up with me.” Penny curled her hand gently against his arm, ushering him playfully forward. “Come on, darling. Let’s take your measurements and start on some sketches.”
But as they drew closer to Vic, Amani lightly eased free, letting Penny move on ahead as he leaned in close to murmur, “You know this is such a waste of money, don’t you?”
With that wickedly charming smile, Vic bent low to Amani’s ear. “Enjoy it just this once,” he coaxed. “Everyone should get to be just a little wasteful and have fun once in their lives.” Then he straightened, smirking. “You can go back to judging me for being a rich, useless piece of baggage the morning after.”
Amani eyed him, then turned and trailed after Penny, to where she’d set up a little worktable in an artificial room created by several standing racks. “Just remember what I said,” he tossed back, only to be rewarded by a choked, groaning sound.
“Mrs. Chatsworth?” Vic called.
“Yes?”
“Please be careful with those pins.”
Penny glanced at Amani, then called back mildly, “I only poke you on purpose, dear.”
“…excuse me?”
Penny only laughed behind her hand, eyes glittering as she winked at Amani. “He’s so fun to rile up, isn’t he?”
“Trust me,” Amani said, unable to help his own smile, “you have no idea.”
l
AMANI HAD TO BE DREAMING.
That was the only explanation for why he was sitting in front of the bedroom vanity mirror, wrapped up in a loose robe with his new dress hanging in a garment bag from the closet door, his heart light and his head whirling and his entire body tingling with prickles of anticipation and nervousness and confusion.
He finished carefully streaking on a smoky dark pewter liner barely edged in subtle creases of red, and used a blender to purposefully smudge his eyeliner so it melted seamlessly into the shadow to form a sultry-dark ring around his eyes, before dusting his cheeks with pearl shimmer highlight and barely touching his lips with a shimmer gloss meant more to bring out the natural deep pink of his lips than add any color.
He was just trying to look nice for a formal event, but…
Every time he touched his lips with the liquid liner, he felt Vic’s mouth going hot and soft against his, yielding in complete surrender.
He had a problem. He had a problem, and he couldn’t let this breathless building feeling that seemed to live inside him lately get any stronger…
But tonight?
Tonight, when he wanted to feel beautiful…
He’d enjoy it for just a little bit longer.
In the mirror reflection, he caught his mother drifting into the room, leaning her arm in the doorway and watching him with a sort of sweetly sad fondness.
He smiled at her reflection, as he lifted his arms to start threading tiny, near-invisible chains of miniscule seed pearls into his hair, each no larger than a grain of sand, but interspersed at intervals with slightly larger ones. He used them to bind his hair half-up in a fountain of tumbling waves, a delicate net holding the glossed locks in place so they fell just right to frame his throat. As he slipped a few pins in to help hold it, his mother slipped closer, gently nudging his hands away and taking over, setting the pins just right.
“When did you grow up?” she asked with a sigh.
“I’m not sure.” He reached back to squeeze her hand. “I’m going out tonight. I don’t want you to worry if I don’t come home, all right?”