Working It

Ben: Do you have plans for tomorrow?

Breathing became secondary as I took a moment to squeal like a giddy schoolgirl. There wasn’t a shoot tomorrow, and it would be one of the few days we had off, so Gunnar and I had planned to go to the Louvre.

Me: Not really. Probably going to do some sightseeing.

I was sooo canceling on Gunnar if the opportunity called for it. He would just have to deal with it. Our plans weren’t set in stone, anyway.

Ben: I have plans with Fiona during the day, but if you want to meet up for a drink later.

* * *

His friendship with Fiona still confused me, but maybe that was one of the things I could ask him about tomorrow. Perhaps she wasn’t such a fire-breathing dragon once you got to know her. Who knew? And maybe I could discreetly pump Gunnar for information.

Me: Sure. I can meet you later.

Ben: Meet me in the lobby at eight. We can walk to the place I have in mind for drinks.

Me: Great. See you then.

And just like that, I had a date with Ben Freaking Shaw.

5

Ben

Fiona signaled the waiter for more wine. I took a piece of bread from the basket in the center of our table and Fiona frowned. She could shove it.

She rattled on about some up-and-coming French designer and a sample sale she wanted me to take her to. Oh, joy. I tuned her out and let my mind drift back to last night.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Emmy’s playful texts. I’d really just been messing around, feeling sort of lonely and, not gonna lie, horny. I didn’t expect her to get naughty with me, yet she had. Even sent me a flirty pic of herself, softly lit, with bedroom eyes and pouty lips. I smiled at the memory.

I’d looked at the text first thing this morning, chuckling to myself. I was normally a really direct guy and told girls what I wanted. But I knew ordering her to come up to my room so I could fuck her wouldn’t have gone over well. Something told me Emmy was different from most girls. I could tell she wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of girl. She was smart and hardworking. And her sweet southern accent was pretty fucking adorable.

I had a vitamin consultant, a massage therapist, an aesthetician, a personal trainer, a dietitian, an herbal consultant, a fucking grooming companion, whatever that was, and Gunnar—my personal assistant. The only thing I didn’t have here in Paris was a friend. Maybe Emmy could fill that role. Of course, I wanted to fuck her. Badly. And I doubted how friendly she’d feel toward me after that happened. And it would happen.

“What’s that smile for?” Fiona asked, pulling me from my reverie.

I swallowed hard, letting my smile fade. “Nothing.” Nothing she needed to know about, anyhow. I was looking forward to my plans with Emmy later.

Emmy

Pulling out the most recent stack of Post-its, I sat down on my bed with a cup of coffee to sort through them. I figured I would handle a few of Fiona’s personal affairs before I went out sightseeing for the day. After booking her facial appointment and making dinner reservations for her and Ben early that Sunday night, I decided some further Ben Shaw research was in order.

Relaxing on my duvet with my laptop, I typed his name into Google and hit enter, then I sat back to enjoy the view. Holy Mother, he was hot.

My brain screamed at me, Abort! Abort! I knew this was a bad idea, yet I couldn’t help myself. I watched him go about his life: VIP parties, red-carpet events, black-tie charity functions with a beautiful model on his arm, and photos of him at the beach on his Instagram page. A sharp pain stabbed at my chest.

It was a decidedly baaad idea to crush on him, I knew that. But he was gorgeous, and he flirted with me. Clearly my fantasies knew no limit. I hoped that wouldn’t come to a crashing end tonight when he realized I was so far out of his league that there were probably laws against us dating. Yet still, my stalking knew no bounds. Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. I’d need a twelve-step program if I were to cut myself off from this. But he was so good-looking, I couldn’t possibly be held accountable for my actions.

He seemed to communicate professionally and politely with fans online, but I liked that I secretly knew he had an absolutely filthy mouth.

Pulling myself away from my computer, I dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and grabbed my camera. Gunnar had hooked up with a French waiter last night and subsequently canceled on me since they were apparently still in bed. Regardless, the Louvre and I still had a hot date today. It was just the cultural and visual distraction, and I needed the diversion to keep my thoughts from diving into the gutter.

* * *

Deciding what to wear on a date with Ben Shaw was like trying to solve a Rubik’s cube in the dark. Damn near impossible. I tried on and abandoned nearly every article of clothing I brought. But soon, it was ten minutes to eight and I was forced to make a decision. A pair of dark-washed skinny jeans, ballet flats since he’d said we’d be walking, and a lacy black top with a camisole underneath.

There was just one question: Did I wear my Spanx to keep everything looking tucked in and in tip-top shape? Or did I hope for action later and forgo those awful things, knowing there was no sexy way to get them off? No, there would be no action later—that was silly. He was him. And I was me. Duh. It was a no-brainer. Still, I chose in favor of breathing and opted to leave the Spanx behind.

My hair was down and pin-straight and my makeup had cooperated for once. I’d managed to line my eyes with liquid eyeliner without stabbing myself in the retina even once. Yay, me!

Ben was already waiting in the lobby when I got downstairs. Since he hadn’t yet looked up, I allowed my eyes to rake over him unashamedly, noting the way his black leather jacket stretched across his shoulders and hugged his biceps and his white V-neck T-shirt exposed his very kissable throat. His shirt was just snug enough to hint at how cut he was underneath. I could already envision the washboard abs hiding beneath the fabric. He could’ve just walked off a GQ shoot with the sexy charm he exuded. I didn’t stand a chance. He was all man, but he was stylish as well and I suddenly felt a pang of nerves, realizing my clothes carried none of the designer labels his did. Did that type of thing matter to him?

Ben’s eyes lifted to mine and a slow, sexy smile spread across his lips.

I stopped in front of him, fidgeting and knotting my fingers together. “Hi.”

“Hi darlin’. You ready?” His mouth was still tugged up in a playful grin, and I couldn’t help but smile like a lovesick fool at this sexy man.

“Ready.” As I’ll ever be.

He led me outside and across the street to the stone walkway along the Seine where we quickly fell into step together. I felt the warmth of his hand hover at my lower back, but he never made contact. It was sweet and innocent yet highly erotic at the same time. The promise of something more between us hung in the air, unspoken and unknown.

I enjoyed the endorphins that flooded my system. I felt alive. The stars were glittering like rhinestones in the darkened night sky. Paris at night was magical and seductive. It had a vibe—a casual sexiness that oozed from each little patisserie and brasserie we passed.

Ben glanced down, looked at my shoes, and gave me a smile. “I like that you wore flats. Girls never wear flats. Now we can actually walk.”

Oh. I didn’t know if that was a compliment or not. Of course the beautiful women he dated obviously wore the most exquisite shoes, but I went for comfort. Damn. Fail. Or win, depending on how you looked at it.

“Yeah, I knew we’d be walking,” I quickly added. He didn’t need to know that I always wore flats. Heels and