“Maybe un peu, but I keep coming back around to the fact that if she loved me enough or trusted me enough, she would’ve said yes.” That was the crux of it. No getting around it.
Katrina took the tequila glass away and set it on the coffee table. Then she pulled me over and cradled me in her arms. “You were always a good man, Beau. Perhaps just a little too pretty and spoiled for your own good. Things came easy to you. Maybe it’s best that you work a little harder for forever, you know?”
I blinked up at her with a disgusted snarl. “Seriously, Kit-Kat? This is my karmic boomerang, then? For all the ladies I loved and left?”
She rolled her eyes. “So overdramatic! She hasn’t left you and if you play your cards right, you’ll win in the end. You’re a better man now than you were three months ago, and you’ll be a better one still in six. Just don’t do anything stupid, Beau. Tu m’entends?”
“I hear you. Stupid like what?”
“I don’t know . . . like fall naked on some skank just to feel better about yourself?”
“Oh, stupid like that. That’s the old Beau.”
“It better be. Don’t blow this over some bruised feelings.” She kissed my forehead. “I don’t want to disappoint that charming older man in there. And for some crazy reason he has his heart set on you as his son-in-law.”
“Speaking of which, what were you doing flirting with him? He’s over sixty years old, Katrina!”
“Just because you and Roman are all about your love thing, don’t ruin my fun. I’m not ready to settle down and be Mrs. Anybody yet.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.” I looked at her with dismay.
“About making a move on Percy, yes. That was just harmless teasing. About Katrina funtime? No sir. As soon as we wrap Dallas Fashion Week, I’m outta here. Kit-Kat needs a spa vacation where I can find a buff masseur with magic hands, narrow hips, and loose morals.”
“Ugh! TMI, lil sister.” I had to smile at her audacity.
“But I made you smile, didn’t I?”
She had. Something I would not have thought possible mere moments ago.
29
Is It Me, or Is It Gettin’ Hot in Here?
Belle—Monday, June 21, 11:48 AM
I used to make my living standing in front of the camera emoting whatever feeling was necessary on my face and through my eyes. But it took every ounce of acting skill I possessed to remain cool and calm in front of the cameras today.
I had a fashion show starting in close to ten minutes. We had rented the empty warehouse space across the street from my office to put on the show. It had been completely transformed with lights, fabrics, furniture, and props to resemble an upscale theater where the middle aisle was a runway. I was both elated and terrified to see that the place was packed. Standing room only at this point.
The Style Channel was filming a “Behind the Scenes” segment, reporters and journalists wanted to squeeze in one last question, and my father was standing in between Beau and Katrina taking in the chaos.
Speaking of Beau . . . well, I wish I could. Beyond the brief “Hey, let’s go get ’em” that he’d murmured as he strode past, he hadn’t said two words to me since yesterday. And yes, I was more than a little tart that my father had chosen to stay with him rather than me. I mean, c’mon now, really? Percy was too much. He announced on his Facebook page that I was a “damned fool child” and posted pictures of his room in Beau’s house. I guess I knew where his allegiance stood.
Someone thrust a microphone in my face as a camera swung toward me. “Ms. Richards, can you give us a hint about the theme for the show?”
I turned my smile up to full wattage and leaned into the microphone. “You’ll just have to wait and see. But I promise it will be worth the wait.”
“Five minutes, everyone to their places. Final model check! Regina, are you ready?” Sergio, our show producer, snapped at the announcer and circled briskly backstage barking into his headset and physically moving people into place.
My father went to sit out front next to Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery. Katrina was in a business suit from the Trés Belle collection waiting for her cue. Beau stood with his arms crossed staring at the monitor that panned the crowd and showed the stage. Something on the screen caught his attention, and he turned to look for me. Catching me watching him, he motioned me over with a crook of his finger.
“Regarde ça!” He pointed.
“Look at what?” I walked over and watched the audience again. There two rows back in the center sat Arizona Marks. Second-rate designer, third-rate design stealer, and all around trifling personality. “That’s bold. I would have her kicked out but she’d just lap up the attention.”
“Well, what can she do at this point? Our show is today, hers is in two days. We’ll look and see which decoy design she chooses and handle it then,” Beau suggested.
“That’s true. I can’t wait to confront her about this.”
“As a matter of fact,” he nodded toward the camera filming the “Behind the Scenes” show, “why don’t we let the camera come along and capture the moment?”
I clapped. “I love the way your devious mind works, Montgomery.”
“Do you?” He quirked a brow. The set of his jaw was the only indication of deeper subtext going on between the two of us.
I lowered my voice. “You know I do.”
He placed his mouth next to my ear and his hand at the small of my back. To observers, it looked like we were sharing a secret just before showtime. In a silky tone he murmured, “Prove it and marry me.” Before I could respond, the lights went dark and applause broke out as my logo was flashed onto the screens and fabric in the theater area. He stepped away and applauded with a loaded look back at me.
I’d asked Veronica to act as announcer for the show. She’d agreed. Her rich voice boomed out over the speakers. “Welcome to Dallas Fashion Week and welcome to the House of BellaRich. You’ve fallen in love with the Trés Belle line of clothes, swimwear, and intimates for women, but today you’ll see so much more. It’s a season in the life of a BellaRich Man.”
The show was designed so that the set and scenery changed with each ensemble. We started with the business suits, showing male and female models in the boardroom, at a lunch meeting, and at the airport. I watched as Katrina strutted down the “tarmac,” dragging a male model behind her as if they were rushing to catch a plane. The audience roared with laughter as he struggled to keep up. I let out a sigh of relief. It was going well and not coming across as too campy.
“Belle, you ready to change?” Sergio pulled me away from the monitor as we highlighted the resort wear. Seasonal raingear was next followed by weekend wear, club clothes, and lastly, sleepwear and lingerie.
“Ugh, I almost forgot I agreed to do this.” I looked around for Beau and couldn’t locate him. I ran behind a partition and changed into a short hot-pink silk negligee embroidered with my signature rose pattern. The makeup artist dusted me down from head to toe with a glittery powder and touched up my makeup. There was a matching floor-length sheer robe in a lighter pink color. I stepped into four and a half inch baby-pink sandals with crystal straps that wrapped around the ankle.
Stepping out from behind the curtain, I still didn’t see Beau anywhere. Two of my staff whistled at me. “Looking good, boss lady.” I rolled my eyes and waited for my cue. The plan was for the male model to be waiting for me at the end of the runway. I would stride down, circle around him, and then drop the robe. I would turn and walk slowly back to where a bed was going to be wheeled out on stage, all the while trailing the robe behind me. He would follow me; we would climb under the covers and the bed would be wheeled off as the lights faded to black. End of show.
I took a deep breath as Sergio waved me forward after they cued the male model. There in the wings, I couldn’t see the monitor or the stage. I heard a collective “Oh!” and then wild applause broke out. I raised a brow; one of the male models knew how to work a crowd.
&nb
sp; “The only thing our BellaRich man needs now is his Trés Belle woman.” That was my cue. I put my head up, shoulders back, made sure my stomach was sucked in, haughty smile on and hands on my hips. I started my signature sexy strut down the lacquered runway. Toe, heel, hip roll, and repeat. The lights were blinding and kept changing colors. All I could see was the back of the male model as I approached him.
I blocked out Veronica’s voice as I hit the end of the runway and struck a pose, jutting one hip out. I turned to send a sultry look to the male model and met a smiling pair of hot gold eyes staring back at me. Beauregard, in all of his splendor, stood in a pair of navy pajamas, drawstring bottoms resting low, and one button undone on the shirt.
He cocked a brow in silent challenge as if to ask, What are you going to do with me now? My smile turned mischievous. I sent a Don’t you wish you were me? look at the audience as I sashayed over to him. Instead of circling, I stood in front of him and unbuttoned the rest of the pajama top. The crowd went wild as I yanked the shirt off of him and tossed it toward the front row. Then I ran a hand across his chest and down his abs, pausing right above that drawstring.
“Is it me, or is it gettin’ hot in here?” the announcer asked and our sound man dutifully cued up Nelly’s Hot in Herre.
Picking up on the beat, I kind of danced a few steps away before Beau reached out, caught my hand, and spun me back to him. I was on tiptoe, with his arm around my waist, and we looked into each other’s eyes for a hot second. Then he spun me around to face forward and without a bit of warning ripped the sheer robe off me.
A collective gasp went through the audience as the two halves fell to the ground and I stepped out of the shredded remains. I stood in the nightgown and heels knowing as the flashbulbs popped furiously that this would look amazing on film. He turned me so that we both faced sideways to the audience. As if we planned it, we started dancing together to the beat of the music while making our way back up the runway. Halfway up, he pulled me to him and kissed me briefly but long enough to make a statement.
“Ooo-wee!” Veronica squealed. “If that nightgown can guarantee this response, sign me up for a dozen!”
He stepped back and a slow smile spread across his face. Wicked enough for me to wonder what he was up to now. His smile widened into a grin as he lifted me off my feet and into his arms and carried me toward the bed. If not for all the hoots, hollers, and clapping, I would’ve thought we were at home about to do a lil sumthin’ sumthin’.
Remembering the audience, I threw a big smile and a wave over his shoulder. He set me down on the bed and lay down next to me. The smiles on both our faces disappeared as he leaned over me. That look in his eye had me reaching up to slide a hand behind his head and stroke his nape. His eyes flickered closed. His lips were a hairsbreadth away from mine when the stage went dark.
“Who else knows how that story is going to end?” Veronica announced, breaking the spell as the audience broke into laughter.
“Jesus, Belle,” he breathed as they rolled the bed offstage. He got up and strode backstage without a backward glance.
More shaken than I’d realized by the encounter, I took a deep breath and stepped into the less sheer matching robe that someone held out to me. The models were lining up to go out on stage for the final walk as Katrina sidled up to me with a Cheshire grin on her face.
“Well, Ms. Delaney, that was hot—was that planned?”
“Not exactly,” I muttered.
“You two kill me.” She chortled and pranced out on stage.
“The design director, Katrina Montgomery, ladies and gentlemen.”
Beau had slipped on a long navy robe, which he left open, the ties dangling on each side. It was patently unfair that pools of drool formed in my mouth as I watched him swagger out onto the stage.
“This gent is no stranger to the fashion world either. This piece of eye candy is the total package—brains, brawn, and beauty. The creative director of BellaRich Men, Beau Montgomery.” He bowed and stepped to the side.
I stepped out from the wing and walked down the runway with a huge smile. I never got tired of this feeling after a successful show. A job well done.
“Proving that she can still set the runway on fire: our founder, creator, and the chief executive officer of BellaRich—Ms. Belle Richards!”
I smiled and waved and took the microphone. “I’d like to thank everyone for coming out. I hope we put on a good show for you.” I waited until the applause died down to continue. “This new line, BellaRich Men, would not have come to fruition without two of the smartest and prettiest damn people I know. Katrina and Beau Montgomery.” I motioned for them to step forward. Beau smiled and inclined his head while Katrina gave a curtsy.
“And because I don’t often get the opportunity, and yesterday was Father’s Day, I’d like to give a special shout-out to the man who once said, ‘You can get out there and strut like a peacock as long as you don’t shed all your feathers’—my father, Mr. Percy Richards. Stand up, Dad.”
My father stood up and waved once before sitting back down. This was the first of my shows he’d ever been to, and I wanted to show off a little for him.
“Again, thank you so much. We’ve got food and drink in the back for you. God Bless.”
I handed the microphone back to Veronica and marched back off the stage followed by the other models. Once backstage, I thanked all of the models, staff, and crew for their hard work.
Yazlyn raced over and enveloped me in a huge hug. “OMG! That rocked so hard! Did you and Beau plan that?”
I stepped behind a curtain to change back into my dress, a short, belted safari-style number in a coral color. I searched for the matching shoes while I answered her. “Um—not so much. I didn’t even know he was going to model.”
“Well, wow and bravo! The media is all abuzz. Honey, you two almost set off a fire alarm up in here.”
I slipped my feet into the sky-high slides and beamed. “Whatever gets them going, I guess. That is one thing about doing shows outside of New York and Paris; you can be a little more creative with them. It’s not just straight-faced stomp, stomp, music, clothes, stomp.” We crossed the floor to head over to the cocktail area.
“Dallas has lit you up from the inside. If I were you, I would just keep the small showroom in New York there and move everything else down to Dallas. You’ve come into your own here, Mirabella, professionally and personally. You could really have it all.”
I stopped and abruptly switched course. I zipped into a small office near the back of the warehouse and pulled Yazlyn in with me. I sat down in a chair and put my head in my hands. “Oh shit, Yaz. I think I really screwed up.”
She sank down on the desk and crossed one long limb over the over. “What did you do now?” Her voice indicated that she’d been waiting for this.
“Beau asked me to marry him yesterday,” I announced baldly.
She squealed, and I hopped up to clap a hand over her mouth. “Sssh! I don’t want anyone running in here right now.”
She grabbed my hand. “Where’s the ring? I know he got you a fantabulous ring.”
“The ring is fantabulous. It’s at home, in a drawer. I didn’t say yes,” I mumbled.
“What?!” she shrieked, and I threatened to put a hand back over her mouth. She leaned back. “Delaney Mirabella Richards, what did you just say?”
“I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no, but I didn’t say yes, either.”
“What the hell did you say?” She looked at me as if I’d grown two heads.
“I said I needed more time.”
“More... what? I knew from the moment you said his name that he was the one for you. Are you crazy?” She was approaching shriek level again.
“We haven’t known each other for very long.”
“When it’s right, it’s right, though. This isn’t either of your first time at the dance. Are you crazy?”
“What if I’m just a whim for him?” My voice wavered.
Her mouth fell open, and she eyed me in disbelief. “For that man? The one who just got half naked and claimed you in front of God, man, and your daddy? Again I ask, are you crazy?”
“I have to be sure of him.” At this point, I didn’t know if I was trying to convince her or myself.
As usual, Yaz did not hold back. “Mirabella, you’re an idiot. That man makes you orgasm with half a sideways glance, he puts up with all your artsy-assed mood swings, he is brilliant in your industry of choice, and he gets you. What more are you looking for?”
I sighed. “I want him to be sure. Beau isn’t Lucas.”
“Damn right he isn’t. Thank God for that.”
I clarified. “What I mean is, I actually want this to be right from start to finish. He matters, he really matters. Lucas, well—he wasn’t so hard to get over when it all went to hell. But with Beau? If it all goes south? I don’t know.”
Yaz stood up and shook her head. “Just so you know, you’re certifiably crazy. Completely Looney Tunes.” She started gesturing wildly with her hands. “For someone so smart, honey, you’re acting like a damn fool. And to cosign your original statement—yes, you screwed things up.”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot for the pep talk.” I pursed my lips.
“Whatever. What did the ring look like?”
“Cushion-cut chocolate diamond, at least four carats with—”
Yaz put her hand up. “I can’t talk to you right now. I’m going to drink and schmooze and forget that my best friend is a super-talented lunatic.” She stormed toward the door.
I grabbed her arm to stop her. “Yaz, wait! How do I fix it?”
“Well now you done hurt that man’s feelings. The only way I know to smooth ruffled feathers is to stroke the hell out of them.”
30
Now That’s Just Hitting Low
Beau—Thursday, June 24, 7:23 PM
“I hope to be back for the engagement party before the year is out,” Percy Richards declared as he climbed out of Roman’s truck at the airport. As much as I loved the Porsche, Percy struggled climbing in and out of it so I had baby bro give us a lift.
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