In Fashion

by Jody Klaire

  “Might take to them,” Marge said, smile wider. “We’ll take Kate on the plane back.” She smiled over her glasses at Kate, who winked at her.

  Charmer—she noted that down too. Then frowned. Her notes didn’t say: irritating, awkward, stated the obvious, defensive, oddly camp, problematic, and charmer. No, her notes said: lovely voice, gorgeous neck, long eyelashes, good taste in pencils, sensual, stunning smile, cute, irresistible, oh, and yes, a charmer. Darcy rubbed the frown line forming.

  Oh dear.

  She pulled out her phone and texted Zoë. She needed backup.

  Chapter 12

  Kate stared around at the spacious apartment. Marge said it belonged to Darcy and she allowed clients to stay during the show. The full one-wall-window overlooked the Thames, the London Eye—which was lit up—Westminster Abbey, and Big Ben. Every inch was chic; the kitchen was shiny and slick and looked too expensive to touch; the squishy leather sofas oozed money; the opaque glass doors had a switch next to them. Kate knew them well; her stepdad installed them. Flick the switch, and the door was a solid wall of colour. Flick it again, the door was see-through to let light in. The rosy oak floor was so rich and warm and exquisite that Kate swore the Queen would love it. Then there were slick pictures of Darcy on the catwalk in black and white with a black frame, and one of her and Susannah. Darcy was gorgeous in photos, but so much more potent in reality.

  “I don’t charge for using the furniture,” Darcy said, rounded her, and started flitting about in the kitchen. “Sit.”

  Kate followed Marge to the sofas, then wandered over to the window seat instead. Passers-by hurried through the misty London night.

  “Are you always this unwilling to follow requests?” Darcy muttered and strolled over with three cups. She gave a cup to Marge, placed one next to Marge with a biscuit, and held one out to her. “Tea, one sugar, and more milk than necessary.”

  Kate stared down at it. “How did you know?”

  “I study.” Darcy’s fingertips brushed hers as she handed over the mug. Nails tickled Kate’s knuckles, and her breath caught. Best she keep that reaction to herself.

  “Me?” Sounded clogged.

  “You.” Darcy held her gaze with intensity, passion, and something close to uncertainty.

  “Maybe I need to make notes too?” Kate glanced at Marge, who watched with amusement in her eyes. “Any goss on her?”

  “More than is worth the legal bill,” Marge said with a chuckle as Susannah strolled in and plonked down beside her.

  “Ooh, biscuit.” Susannah chomped on the biscuit with delight. Ah, so Mum did know her daughter.

  Darcy glanced a brief loving smile at Susannah, but when Susannah looked up, she turned, and walked back to the kitchen. Why? Why wouldn’t she want Susannah to see she doted on her?

  “So, Kate, why don’t you tell me how you shop?” Darcy said as Marge pulled out a small camera and pointed it at her. “This part is recorded, do not get nervous.”

  Kate looked back out to the misty London night. “I buy what I fancy.”

  “And you fancy playing football?” Darcy’s tone held that smug arrogance girly girls loved to put on.

  “Why not?” She smiled at Susannah. “Fancy a kick-about?”

  Susannah grinned.

  Darcy’s perfect eyebrows dipped. She cracked open a bottle of water and poured it into a glass. So she didn’t like her daughter having fun? Or only fun she approved of?

  “Kate, what do you think when you look at me?” Darcy asked, strolling back over. Her purple jacket swished, some kind of sage-green top with a flashy necklace and jeans that slid over her long legs to heels that made her well over Kate’s height, and she was six foot one. Best she didn’t say “incredibly hot.”

  “You look girly,” she said instead. Not the wittiest response. Ah well.

  “Do I look drab and dull?” Darcy flicked open her eyes in some potent way. Wow, did she want to be a photographer right now. “Do you miss my eyes?”

  Only when she looked away. “No.”

  “Do you know why?” Darcy patted the couch and took up the chair beside it. “Sit.”

  Kate wandered over, but she didn’t want to—Darcy’s eyes had some weird stun-thing going on. Real women didn’t do that. It was only meant to happen to people in fanfiction stories where the writer pulled her in, made her feel like she was falling in love just with a look. They so needed Darcy McGregor fanfiction, if some didn’t exist already. If she could write, she’d do it.

  “Kate, I know my colours. I wear midtones because I have aqua eyes.” She sat back and undid the button on her jacket, her lips glossy with a smile.

  Aqua eyes. Yeah, definitely aqua.

  “This jacket is plum, this top is sage, and a pair of well-fitted jeans for my shape work wonders, yes?” Darcy’s tone was sure but gentler this time—like older women used sometimes, which just made her feel sexy and subservient all at once.

  “Yeah.” Now she was grunting. Great. Drooling on national TV. That would give the boss a laugh.

  “I’d like to make you look so good, Kate, that no one will be able to resist you.” Darcy winked. Her lips flicked up into a sexy smile.

  And her brain was going to dribble out of her ears. “Why…?” Bit of a squeak. Try again. “Why, are you trying to pimp me out?” Yeah, there was the defensive humour. Bennie had always laughed at her when she did it. Nasty laugh.

  “Perhaps.” Darcy’s lips twitched in a smile again. “However, it would be to a catwalk, not a brothel.”

  How did that sound better? When had she ever wanted to prance up and down a catwalk? “Not sure you’ll pull it off…but have at it.”

  Darcy turned to the camera and smiled, that full, dazzling smile. “So let’s find out just where Kate’s smile lies.”

  “And cut.” Marge smiled at them both as she lowered the camera.

  Susannah grinned. “It’s dynamite. Seriously. You’re like…wow together… You’re…wow.” She shook her head, eyes drifting as she read something. “Mum, you are so cool right now.”

  Kate nodded. Could someone be beauty-beaten? Stunned by sexiness, floored by charm? Whatever it was called, Darcy wielded it like…like…like she really needed fanfiction.

  “I’m not going to dress you in some hideous frilled balloon.” Darcy’s gaze flicked from confident to gentle. “It’s about making you feel incredible.”

  “Thought it was about viewing figures.” She gripped hold of her mug, hoping no one could see her hands trembling. She’d laughed at her boss drooling, and now she was at it. She sipped at her tea and groaned. “Perfect.”

  Darcy nodded like she knew it would be. “It’s not.”

  “What? The viewers or the tea?” She cradled her mug and sipped at it again. “Because this tea is really good.”

  Darcy laughed. It was the second time she’d done it. Like a Julia Roberts-style blurt that filled her eyes with shocked amusement. But just that touch more sensual, lower tones, breathy.

  “Viewers, Kate. If it was just about figures, then Marge would have me dressing celebrities.”

  Marge nodded and cleaned her glasses with her sleeve. “Would help. Celebrities are always gold to viewing figures.”

  “But changing women’s lives by bringing them out of their shells means more,” Darcy said with some pulse of passion, her eyes intense. Then she frowned like she hadn’t meant to let it out.

  Susannah stared at her, eyes wide and a daft smile on her face. “It does?”

  Darcy pursed her lips, then sipped at her water, leaving lipstick on the rim. “It does.”

  Chapter 13

  Darcy always felt uneasy during the examination where the patient would stand in front of a full-length mirror on some horrid platform. Any TV fashion show included it, even when she’d fought against it, but even as the face, there were som
e things she couldn’t control. The ethos was to discuss the aspects the viewers at home would want to know. So the camera crew would be at every angle, and the screen to the left of the mirror showed every side to the patient standing in nothing but underwear. The foundation of the woman was her shape. To dress her well, you had to know her body.

  Still, it brought back memories of being a self-conscious adolescent under the care of an elite designer, forced to stand on a table in the middle, in underwear, surrounded by scouring eyes. Every imperfection was detailed—not to be harsh but because those eyes watching saw a mannequin to dress, not a girl. The idea was to dress her shape, her assets, and cover the problem areas.

  To her, there were never imperfections, as hard as that was to explain. A woman was a work of art, a shaky one at times…but all the more beautiful because of it.

  She had steered away from design because of that, because of her need to create for real women, full-bodied women, stick-thin straight and boobless to pear-gone-wild or little-shape-among-the-folds women.

  Kate gazed at her with a cockiness that was unsteadying. Defensive? Perhaps alluring? Better to ignore that. Difficult and exposing? Without doubt.

  Darcy cleared her throat and turned to the main camera, the red light flicked on, and Marge gave her a thumbs up. “This is where we find your lines. Every body has its form, its uniqueness, its beauty.” She flashed a smile, hoping her lip wasn’t wobbling as much as it felt. “Stripping Kate to the bare skin shows where our surgery is needed.”

  Susannah held up her phone—Marge always did it to signal a viewer question or comment.

  “Read it out,” Darcy said, sounding like a doting mother. Odd.

  Susannah blushed then swallowed. “Elaine from Barnstable would like to know how Kate has the guts to strip on TV.” She shrugged. “Sounded like a good question.”

  “It is.” Darcy beamed at her. Nice to see more confidence. “It is exposing. How do you feel about it, Kate?”

  Kate’s eyes twinkled with another surge of cockiness. “Fine.”

  She did look fine. Infuriating. In fact, she looked like she was quite used to being asked to undress. “We shall see.” She narrowed her eyes. “Strip.”

  Kate’s eyebrow twitched.

  Do not react. “Keep your underwear on. We’re a family show.”

  Kate flashed the kind of smile that rolled up and down Darcy’s spine with a strong, slow, thump, thump, thump. “Yes, Doctor.”

  Intolerable. That’s what she was. She folded her arms. “Get on with it.”

  Which just made Kate cock her head and stick her shoulders back. “Are you always so demanding?”

  “Are you always so slow to respond?” Didn’t sound like a good retort. Sounded…flirty. Shit.

  Kate yanked her football top over her head—the male way—and grinned. Sports bra—there was a surprise—although it did go with the washboard stomach. A touch of definition there. Just enough to see she worked out, but not so much that all she did was sculpt herself. Good lines in at the waist, elegant, broad shoulders with no sun damage, toned arms, should really be a pear, but she wasn’t. Olive complexion, midtones. Well, she knew exactly how to work those. Her breasts were neither too big nor too small. C cup? Maybe D…

  “So?” Kate eased her shoulders back and her breasts rose.

  Move gaze away. “You need a bra that fits.” She reached out and hoisted Kate’s breasts up further, then she eased them together and pointed to Kate’s reflection. “Can you see how that automatically enhances your shape?”

  Kate’s long neck flexed.

  Why was she quiet now? She caught Kate’s gaze—and her own—in the mirror. Desire filled her own eyes, deepening the colour, enlarging the pupils. And hands off the breasts. She cleared her throat. “It defines your figure, accentuating your waist, which creates a smooth curve to your hips.”

  Kate looked down. “Didn’t think I had any hips. Mum thinks I should have been a bloke.”

  “You are a fashion designer’s dream.” She lifted Kate’s chin. “There is nothing wrong with you at all. You are perfectly created. Clothes, however, aren’t…which is why we need the right shapes to show you off.”

  Kate smiled a half-smile, eyes softened, catching extra flecks of light, which brought out blue rims. Gorgeous.

  Marge coughed. “New tweet… Susannah?”

  Darcy stepped away. What was she doing? “Yes?”

  Susannah stared at her like she’d never seen her before. “Er…right.” She looked down at her phone. “Um…” She looked from Darcy to Kate and back to her phone. “Jan from Essex wants to know how to find the right shapes, because Kate looks like she could be a model.”

  “Modelling needs confidence.” Darcy smiled at the camera. “But any woman would look good through the right lens…and Photoshop.”

  Kate snorted. “Ta, Jan, but you need an eye test.”

  Darcy raised an eyebrow. Heckling the viewers as well as her?

  “What?” Kate flashed a cheeky smile. “I don’t have the knockers for that.”

  “More like you don’t have enough plastic…” She stopped. Closed her eyes. Lovely. Make that little statement on live TV, that’s it. Cue battering from semi-nude models.

  Kate and the others chuckled. The cameramen even managed a few murmured objections. Lovely. Descended from high-fashion to pub gossip.

  “Yes, well…” It was Kate’s fault. Kate and her smile. “Drop your jeans.”

  Kate wiggled her eyebrows.

  Do not have a flush on camera. She set her jaw. It was an innocent statement. She put her hands on her hips. Breathe through the blush. Breathe. “Well?”

  Kate flicked her buttons open and yanked down her jeans—with no grace at all. She stepped out of them in tight designer boxers, which drew the eye down to her toned thighs, toned carves, slim ankles…and then back up to the button at the front.

  “At least they aren’t bikini briefs,” she muttered, averting all eye contact.

  “Oh no, you can’t touch these.” Kate wagged her finger through the air. “I will put up with you getting your hands on anything else.” And cheeky eyebrow flick as she tapped the waistband. “But these stay.”

  “And you don’t think I’ll just wrestle them off you?” She held up her hand, blood draining from her face as Kate’s mouth crinkled up. “Do not answer that.”

  The cameramen were sniggering, Marge was sniggering, Susannah was staring at her like she’d commit her, and…there may have been a slight flush. She rubbed at her neck.

  “You can try,” Kate managed, her voice cracking with a laugh. “But they make me feel good… and they are so much comfier than lace.”

  Darcy flicked her gaze back to the button. How did she counter that? She turned back to the camera. “Kate’s shape creates beautiful angular lines. Her strong shoulders lead into ample breasts and a long waist and hips that are as wide as her breasts.” She motioned in their direction, keeping her gaze riveted to the camera. “And her legs are as long as her body.”

  Susannah held up her phone. “James from Leeds wants to know what her shape is, because his friends can’t decide.”

  “Kate is a mix. She has triangular characteristics, but she pulls in a touch of hourglass, and adds in leggy model.” In other words, Zoë would drool over the clothing possibilities…or just drool in general. Yes, unlike her who didn’t drool. No. Completely professional.

  Susannah held up her phone again. “Bill from Glasgow says he’s never seen a woman in boxers before. He wants to get his wife some, because she doesn’t like the lacy stuff.” She snorted at her phone in the manner a teenage boy would be proud of. “And he wants to know if there are ones made for women.”

  “Bill, they are called boy shorts,” Darcy muttered, still managing a smile. “And you can get them in most underwear sections.”

&
nbsp; “Boys don’t look that good,” Marge mumbled.

  Clearly she wasn’t the only one flustered. “And Kate’s pert bottom is always a plus.”

  Kate peered over her shoulder. “It’s pert? Mum says it wobbles.”

  What was Kate’s mother looking at? “Yes, you don’t have to lift it.” She grabbed a cheek and hoisted.

  Kate shut her eyes, and her neck flexed again.

  “There’s no cellulite either.” Clearly knew how to tone and drain the lymphatics. “So we’ll have no issue emphasising those alluring lines and attracting that perfect man.”

  Kate ran her hand over her abdomen with an odd look in her eyes, almost amused, but part-confused, part-embarrassed. “Er…right?”

  “Tweet question,” Susannah blurted, and waved her phone around.

  “Yes?” So nice to see her excited.

  “Michelle from Barnsley says you look great in a sports bra.” Susannah peered under her eyebrows. If they weren’t careful, she’d launch into a speech about equality. “She says Kate looks beautiful as she is, and she’s comfortable. That’s what counts.”

  Kate laughed a cocky laugh, low, breathy. “Even without being styled?”

  Michelle clearly didn’t get the concept of fashion makeover shows. “So…” She wasn’t being drawn into it, concentrate on wrapping it up. “We’ll call in someone extra special for this one.” She flashed a smug smile at Marge. Oh yes. She could launch a surprise too. “Zoë Windermere.”

  Zoë slunk in on cue, her shape almost as perfect as Kate’s but with a touch more curve around the hips. She flashed her “no one can resist” smile and smirked at Kate’s bottom. “Nice shorts, honey.”

  “Cut! Move to the earlier recording on body shape.” Marge peered over her glasses, brows dipping. “Darcy, we have sponsors. You can’t have a designer. They want us to use their clothes.”

  “We will use them.” Maybe a touch. Hopefully Zoë would allow the odd garment or two. She was such a snob. “But Kate deserves a special touch, yes?” And a woman who could handle her without dribbling. John wasn’t going to enjoy paying Zoë’s fee, but he was going to whether he liked it or not.