Working It

clothes. Ben, of course, looked like a walking orgasm, wearing dark fitted jeans and a black tee that showed off his muscular physique. His jaw was unshaven and his deep-set gaze was locked on Fiona’s, exuding his dark boyish charm. Good Lord, did that man know how to work it.

Fiona’s back was to me, and I watched as she placed her open palm on his chest and gave it a gentle pat. “I’m over it, love. I’m here now and this season is going to be terrific.”

Ben’s features visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping as if her words held the power to soothe him. Just then, his eyes flicked to mine and he took a step back from Fiona, his expression weary.

“Excuse me, Miss Stone?” I found my voice, knowing I’d been discovered eavesdropping.

Fiona whirled around on her four-inch Prada stilettos. “Oh, Emerson. There you are.” Her voice was laced with sour frustration and held none of the sugary sweetness reserved just for Ben. “Took you long enough. Good thing I had my carry-on.”

She started toward me, seemingly annoyed by my interruption but acting as though being reunited with her precious luggage was the best thing that’d ever happened to her. Ben followed and they both joined me in the living room.

“Ben, this is my new assistant, Emerson Clarke,” she introduced me, waving an absent hand in my direction.

Ben’s large hand reached out for mine.

“Emmy,” I added, placing my palm against his. A jolt of heat at the contact of his skin made me shudder.

Ben stared at me with an unreadable expression. Maybe he’d forgotten me.

“Blueberry Muffin Girl.” He smiled. “Burn all healed up?”

“Oh, it was nothing. I’m fine.” Why couldn’t he have forgotten that disastrous first time we met?

“Where’s my garment bag?” Fiona asked, pulling my attention away from Ben’s deep hazel gaze.

“Your what?”

Hands anchored on her hips, she stood surveying the four large brown monogrammed suitcases with a frown. “I had a hanging bag of gowns. It’s not here.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know about the garment bag, but I can call the airport and arrange for it to be delivered.”

Fiona grabbed the smallest suitcase, heaving it past me so I had to jump out of her path to avoid being knocked over. Ben steadied me as I shuffled closer to him. His warm hand closed around my elbow, sending heat zipping up my arm at the contact. Whoa.

Realizing my conversation with Fiona was over, and still standing open-mouthed staring at Ben, I mumbled an apology and fled through the door.

Ben

Fiona had only just arrived and she was already exhausting me. It was going to be a long damn season if she pulled that jealous pouty act every time I talked to a female. Christ. And speaking of females, I hadn’t been expecting to see her sweet little assistant. That was an interesting turn of events. Honestly, I was kind of amazed.

Fiona changed assistants more often than most people changed their underwear. And after the debacle at her office the other day—mistakenly calling me in and then shattering that teacup—it was a shocker she was still employed. Not to mention she was cute. Another strike against her. Fiona liked to be the best-looking woman in the room and certainly wouldn’t have hired an attractive assistant, but then again, maybe she just didn’t see it. Fiona was buffed, waxed, manicured, and Botoxed, and Emmy was au naturel—makeup-free skin that let the pink of her cheeks show, and long, straight hair that looked touchably soft.

I chuckled softly to myself. No, I definitely hadn’t expected to see her again. But it was a nice surprise. Maybe this season would be interesting after all.

I dutifully kissed Fiona’s cheek good-bye and strolled out of the room. I found Emmy still standing in the hall. The back of her head rested against the wall. Her eyes were closed and she drew deep breaths, her breasts rising and falling with each inhale. There was nothing merely cute about this girl. She was beautiful. I had an insane urge to hold her, to comfort her. Instantly, I changed my mind.

I wondered how much she’d heard of the conversation between me and Fiona and what she’d made of it. I certainly wasn’t going to offer up any explanation. My relationship with Fiona was complicated, to say the least.

“Are you okay?” My voice startled her, and her eyes flew open and darted up to mine. She didn’t answer right away; she just continued watching me. I leaned against the wall beside her and crossed my feet at the ankles.

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head, looking down at the plush gold and burgundy carpeting lining the hallway. “I’m fine. I’m just overtired, hungry. . . .”

She didn’t elaborate, but she was also most likely confused about what she’d just heard transpire between me and Fiona, and embarrassed for being chastised in front of me. The last thing I wanted was her thinking that it was some lover’s quarrel between me and her boss.

She remained rooted in place, pulling deep breaths into her lungs, like she was fighting for control. I wanted to reach a hand out and soothe her, brush the loose hair back from her pretty face. I wondered if her hair felt as silky as it looked. Instead, I shoved my hands in my pockets.

She looked up, pushed her shoulders back, and struggled to appear put together. She fixed me with a determined gray stare. “I’m fine. I’ve got to go track down that missing bag of Fiona’s.”

She turned to leave when I reached out and caught her elbow. A flash of heat zipped up my arm at the contact. That was interesting.

Emmy

His penetrating gaze held me immobile. “Don’t let her get to you.”

Her? Oh, Fiona.

“She’s only cranky because she just turned thirty-eight,” Ben said, still looking at me expectantly.

“I didn’t know it was Fiona’s birthday.”

“Yeah, last week. But she doesn’t like people to know.” His hand dropped from my elbow. It was probably clear I wasn’t going anywhere while this beautiful man was talking to me. “Plus, I think she’s pissed at me right now, so seriously, don’t worry. You’ll get the bag delivered, right?”

Oh yeah, the bag. God, Ben talking to me and looking like he was actually concerned was enough to send my brain straight to la-la land. I needed to remember I had a job to do. “Thanks. And yeah, I guess I better go track down that bag.”

He nodded and stepped back. I darted for the elevators on shaky legs. It was just jetlag. It had nothing to do with him. Yeah, right.

Once the precious bag had been located and delivered, I spent the afternoon coordinating details for the next day’s photo shoot. It would take place at a historic Paris hotel, and after confirming that the photographer, makeup artist, lighting techs, and catering would all be there, I then double-checked Fiona’s notes in the Post-it bible for anything I might have missed. I still needed to email the models to give them their call times. But first, I ordered room service. I was starved and I doubted there’d be an invite from Fiona for a nice dinner out, even though it was my first night in Paris. I’d considered trying to navigate the city and treating myself to a classy meal, but dismissed the idea. A hot shower, pajamas, and dinner in bed sounded like a much better way to end the long day I’d had.

After showering, I fell into the fluffy comforter covering the bed and situated my laptop on a pillow on my lap. I double-checked their call times and sent notes to the models for tomorrow. I wasn’t sure why, but the thought of emailing Ben was nerve-racking. My fingers trembled. I considered writing something funny and cute, maybe signing the note Blueberry Muffin Girl . . . but at the last second I chickened out and typed a brief, professionally worded email. No sense flirting with a model; I’d probably just end up looking like an idiot. Surely, hordes of girls threw themselves at him on a daily basis. Though a smiley face couldn’t hurt, could it?

From: Emerson Clarke

Subject: Photo Shoot Tomorrow