by Nancy Warren
“Interpol?” She sounded impressed. Good. The more he could impress her with his international connections, the more likely she was to cooperate.
“That’s right. But it’s top secret, so obviously you can’t tell anyone.”
“Well, there goes the lead on today’s blog.”
“Very funny. Where do I meet you?”
He heard pages flicking. “I probably won’t need you again until the reception this afternoon in the Marais district. I’ll send you the address. You’re lucky. Because of space in the magazine, we can’t cover every show. Well, I try to get all of them in, but we haven’t got space for all the photos I’d like. You’ll only be covering the main shows and a couple by rising designers I’m keeping my eye on. I’ll figure out what I need and e-mail it to you.”
He understood that she was deliberately giving him some leeway. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Make sure you break the theft ring.”
“I’ll do my best.”
KIMI SPENT half her morning steaming at Holden. He was blatantly using her and her publication, had assigned himself to her without anyone discussing it with her first and then wasn’t available today when she’d expected him to be.
And then he walked into the reception and she forgot her anger.
He looked amazing. Of course, he was wearing the outfit she’d picked out for him. But seeing him wearing pieces of the ensemble in tiny change rooms before the tailoring had been done couldn’t have prepared her for how absolutely stunning he’d look striding into the cocktail reception with confidence and even a touch of arrogance.
Damn, she was good, she thought as she watched how the perfect-fitting blazer sat on his broad shoulders, how the fine wool sweater clung to the hard planes of his chest and stomach and how the dress slacks emphasized the power in his mountain-man legs.
His hair, while still untamed, exposed the rugged angles of his face. And he was so wonderfully tall. Okay, she’d had excellent raw material to work with, but the Holden coming toward her, and the one who’d bumbled into Simone’s soiree, looked like completely different men.
Then, almost as though he was aware of her stare, he turned and his gaze met hers. And the zing took her back to the first moment she’d bumped into him and noticed the hard body, and then the feel of his lips on hers when he’d given her a brief good-night kiss.
He was the same man, all right, but looking far too much like her ideal fantasy man. Not surprising, since she’d created his look. Still, a dangerous distraction during an important week. She’d have to make sure that business and pleasure didn’t get in each other’s way this week. Because the way he was looking at her, and the way her body was responding, she had a feeling there was going to be more between them than work.
“Hi,” he said, nearing.
“Hi. You clean up pretty good.”
He made a face.
“You’ll be working with these people, it would be good if you got to know them.”
He nodded and she began circling the room with him, introducing him.
“What happened to Nico?” asked Estelle Carmody, a rival editor, looking interested. She’d been trying to steal Nico—the Milan photographer Holden was replacing—ever since Kimi discovered him, and so far hadn’t had any luck. Kimi did her best to hold on to her smile while simultaneously gritting her teeth. That conniving shrew wasn’t going to get her hands on Nico. She’d make sure of that. He was her find.
“He’s on another assignment for us,” she said smoothly. “Which gave us a chance to use Holden MacGreggor.” She put a hand on his sleeve and dropped her voice. “He’s my latest find. He’s amazing.”
Estelle had a small, skinny hard-body. No one had ever seen her eat food. Presumably she took her skimpy meals in secret, under cover of darkness. She was holding a glass that either contained straight vodka or tap water. She looked Holden up and down in an assessing way. “And how is he with a camera?” Then she smiled her thin-lipped smile and moved away.
“Friend of yours?” Holden asked when they were once more alone.
She stared moodily after Estelle, who already had her cell phone out. Damn it. Nico had better be on a fabulous assignment, and extremely well compensated, or she could kiss him goodbye. “Backstabbing rival.” She shrugged. “It happens.”
They moved on. “Ah, here’s someone you’ll love. Marcy Wolington-Hicks is one of Simone’s assistants. She’s fabulous.” She waved and went toward a red-haired young woman in a black-and-white houndstooth mini and boots. Her only makeup was black eyeliner, her only jewelry a diamond nose ring.
“Kimi, how are you?” she said in a posh London accent.
“Wonderful, and you?”
“Dying for a fag. But I loathe going outside in the back lane to smoke.” She grimaced. “Hopeless, really.”
“Marcy, this is Holden, my photographer.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” she said, shaking hands. “Don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
“No. I’m Kimi’s latest find,” he said, sending a wicked expression her way.
She ignored him. “How are things?”
“A complete madhouse. It’s all about The Dress,” she said with a dramatic flourish of her hands. “We’ve got an entire season of couture, but all anyone cares about is ApplePie’s wretched wedding gown. It’s pathetic.”
“Sure. Completely pathetic.” There was a tiny pause. “What can you tell me about it?”
A hearty burst of laughter greeted her. “Nothing. Of course. Simone says she’ll rip out the tongue of anyone who says a word.” She dropped her voice. “And knowing Simone, I’m not sure I don’t believe her.”
“I hear there’s a matching baby gown?”
“I can’t confirm that.”
“And you’re not denying it.”
She grinned. “Right.”
“I can’t wait to see them. Is the gown as amazing as the hype would indicate?”
Marcy glanced around furtively. “This is so off the record. You know I’d get sacked if this got back to Simone, but you’ll find out soon enough. And I know I can trust you. There are diamonds all over it. Actual diamonds. And not any old rubbishy diamonds. Nicola and Mark don’t want any bloody conflict diamonds cursing their wedding, so I had to source Canadian diamonds and ask a lot of impertinent questions about the environmental impact of the mines and fair-trade practices. Then I got the okay from ApplePie’s people, but get this, the diamonds had to be flawless. Flawless. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get a large quantity of environmentally and socially responsible flawless diamonds?”
Kimi laughed. “I can’t wait to see the dress.”
“It’s definitely a showstopper. I can’t stand Simone—well, no one can—but she is a bloody genius. I think this dress is the most fantastic thing she’s ever done. Of course, she’s absolutely paranoid somebody will get an advance peek and spill the beans, so it’s in a location so secret I don’t even know where it is, with loads of security. If it gets seen before the final night of couture week, heads will roll. Simone’s making absolutely sure it’s locked up tight.”
“Do you think—”
“Kimi, and Marcy, my two favorite fashionistas.”
The lazy drawl had them both turning to greet Brewster Peacock, whose pale-blue eyes took in all three of them.
“Hi, Brewster. Have you met Kimi’s latest find? His name’s Holden.”
She thought for a second the cruelest wit in fashion wasn’t going to recognize the badly dressed, rumpled guy from the Rue de Rivoli, but of course, Brewster didn’t get the scoop on everyone and everything by not being observant. Today he was particularly showy in a gold brocade jacket and flannels. He wore large gold earrings to match.
He stepped back and observed Holden, from his neat hair, to his all-black ensemble, to his Versace loafers. They hadn’t done anything to his glasses, but somehow the eyewear only added an intellectual note to the elegant ensemble.
“Kimi, chérie.” Brewster smacked extravagant air kisses. Always a sign she should be cautious. “I see you’ve tamed the beast.”
Damn. Brewster had recognized Holden. There was nothing she could do but display an amusement she didn’t feel. “I warned you, Holden loves to play practical jokes.”
“I wonder if someone isn’t playing one now,” Brewster murmured in her ear, then pulled away and, before she could think of anything to say, turned to Holden.
“Zanetti’s a good choice for you. And their prêt-á-porter collection is really quite good.”
She was about to rush in and try to save Holden, when he spoke with cool assurance. “I agree. Nobody does a better pinstripe. Classic with a touch of whimsy. Not sure I’m ready for the return of the double-breasted suit, or those wide ties. Remind me too much of my dad’s wardrobe. I like the recent trend to tweed, however. I’m adding to my Burberry position.”
Kimi could have kissed Holden. He really had read all those magazines. Boot camp had worked! He sounded as if he knew what he was talking about. Whether Brewster Peacock was as impressed with his fashion blather was impossible to say. With an enigmatic smile, the columnist drifted over to a group surrounding Daniel LeSerge, one of the top hat designers in Europe.
Marcy glanced at him in surprise. “I thought Brewster would try and pump me for information like he usually does, and so sneakily that you end up telling him things you never meant to. But he seemed more interested in you two. Are you up to something?”
“No. He’s just sniffing around for trouble as usual.”
“Well, I’d better run. If Simone sees me talking to you for too long she’ll get suspicious.” She shook her head. “This is going to be a very long week.”
“Before you go,” Holden said, “do you have a card?”
“Sure. Of course.” Marcy dug one out of the tiny beaded bag hanging at her side.
“Thanks.” He took out his wallet and slipped the card into it. Then he offered her one of his. Kimi didn’t realize he had new cards. Obviously, he couldn’t use the ones he’d started with. She saw, when he offered the new one, that it said simply, Holden MacGreggor Photography. And his cell number. He must have had them printed since she’d last seen him.
“What did Peacock whisper to you?” Holden wanted to know as they walked away.
She was watching Brewster chatting animatedly and never sparing her a glance. “He said he wondered if we were playing a practical joke. He took a stab in the dark trying to provoke me into saying something indiscreet, unless he knows something about why you’re really here.”
“If he knows anything more than where to pick up Liberace’s old wardrobe, I’d be surprised.”
“He’s deliberately outrageous. It’s his thing, but he’s also extremely smart, powerful in the world of fashion and very well connected.”
“In what way?”
“There isn’t anybody in fashion who won’t take his calls. Even if he cuts you to shreds in his column, it doesn’t matter. If he calls, you talk.”
“Why not tell him to shove his column up his ass?”
“Because the only thing worse than being hacked to pieces in Brewster’s column is not appearing in his column at all.”
6
“GOOD MORNING.”
Heat shot through Holden. All she had to say was two words in that sexy, cool voice of hers and he felt himself stirring with desire. He was naked in bed and the sexiest woman in Paris wasn’t naked in bed with him. She was phoning him. He squinted at the bedside clock—and calling him at a stupid hour.
“I don’t need a wake-up call. I set the alarm.”
“For what time?”
“Nine.” He’d been going over files last night, also trying to conduct a little business. His partner, Mandy, was handling everything with her usual efficiency, but there was a theft case they were working that was heating up. They’d been cops in the same precinct and learned they both liked working together a lot more than they liked the routine and bureaucracy of police work. So they’d opened their agency. So far it was working out well. After they’d mutually debriefed each other, and he’d asked Mandy to do some digging into the stolen couture gowns on her end, he’d finally packed it in at 3:00 a.m. Getting up at nine didn’t feel like sleeping in.
Kimi gasped. “Nine? But I’m picking you up at nine-twenty. Didn’t you listen to a word I said last night?”
He yawned hugely. “Every word. I’ll be there.”
“I suppose you’ll roll out of bed and stuff yourself into the first thing you pull out of your closet.” She sounded as though she was hyperventilating, so he couldn’t help teasing her a little.
“You could come over and help me dress.” He only meant to loosen her up a bit, but the second he said the words he pictured her walking into his room wearing one of her fancy dresses—one of the shorter ones that showed off her legs—and the high heels he scoffed at but secretly loved. That woman had some shoes.
The idea of her walking in here like that had the bed-sheets tenting as he, of course, imagined that instead of going to his closet she’d be overcome with his manly chest—not to mention the manly tent—and she’d climb right in bed with him, high heels and all.
In the second or two the exciting picture flashed across his brain she spluttered a bit and then said, “I think I’ll dress you from a remote location.”
His grin went wide. “You don’t trust yourself to walk into my room while I’m in bed.”
A muffled snort. “I don’t trust you.”
“Smart lady.”
“Now that you’re awake, pay attention.”
“Okay.” He yawned again.
“Today you put on the gray Marc Jacobs jacket with the pants by Bottega Veneta. The black-and-white Dolce & Gabbana shirt.”
“For a press conference?” He’d studied the schedule she’d sent him yesterday. She’d obviously tried to keep his schedule fairly light so he’d have more flexibility, which he appreciated.
“It’s followed by lunch. Rule of thumb. Always dress for the most important occasion of the day if you don’t have time to change between events.”
He kind of liked her little rules, the way she imparted her lessons like a schoolteacher priming kids on the Civil War. Of course, he’d always been the kid in class who challenged the teacher, on principle. Which had made him popular with the best teachers, the ones who actually appreciated an inquiring mind in a kid who thought for himself, and made him equally unpopular with the plodding types who dragged out the same lesson plan year after year and spent their lunch hours calculating how soon they could retire with a pension.
“Why wouldn’t I dress for the most casual event? It’s more my style.”
“Because you can take off your jacket and slip your tie in your pocket, even throw a sweater overtop to dress down your look. Then you slip back into the jacket and tie and you’re ready for the lunch. Make sense?”
“You’re a good teacher.”
There was a tiny silence. “Are you mocking me?”
“No. I like having things explained. Now I get it.”
“Okay then. So, what are you wearing?”
He repeated the ensemble back to her word for word. And the very idea that he could even think the word ensemble in relation to his own wardrobe had him thinking he should demand an extra bonus for doing this job.
“Excellent. And for your hair—”
“Oh, no. Don’t even go there. I had my hair cut. That’s it. End of story. I shower, I comb it. No hot rollers, no straightening irons, no dyes, highlights or lowlights.”
“You seem to know a lot about hair products,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.
“I’ve been with a few women.”
There was another short pause. “I was only going to suggest some pomade to keep it from blowing around in the wind. Plus a slicked-back look would bring out your eyes and your cheekbones.”
He could not believe it. “You want
to bring out my damn cheekbones?”
“You have nice bone structure.”
There was only one bone he wanted her interested in and currently it was giving up the ghost. His tent was now as flat as a Kansas farm. She wanted him in slicked-back hair and cheekbones. Pomade. Shit.
“No.”
“At least blow dry it?”
“Not a chance. I will shower, shave, brush my teeth and apply deodorant. That’s it, Manhattan.”
“All right. But please take your time dressing. Fashion is an art.”
“I’ll see you at nine-twenty.”
“Oh, and Holden?”
“Yeah?”
“Bring your camera stuff.”
“Very funny.”
HE WAS READY on time and she arrived promptly. They might not have one damn other thing in common, but at least they were both punctual. She stepped out of the limo before he could get in and came toward him clickety clicking on today’s totteringly high heels. These ones were navy with a big bow on the front. And she wore them with a navy-and-white dress that looked crisp and cool.
She narrowed her eyes slightly and looked him up and down as though she might be thinking of buying him for her collection. Then she walked slowly around him. Once back at the front, she eased his collar away from his neck and straightened his tie. “Do I pass?”
“With flying colors. Let’s go.”
The driver was getting out, but Holden waved him back in and opened the door for Kimi himself, then followed her into the limo. It was luxurious and the privacy screen was up.
“Most of the media will be at the press conference, and a lot of industry people, of course. I’ve also arranged for you to have access to photograph the models practicing their run-through for Simone’s big fashion show after lunch. They’re doing it on location in the opera house.”
“Good thinking.” He was impressed. “If I can get in there with them, I can shoot the dressers and the entrances and exits. I’ll make sure I get all the security guards and anybody who seems to be wandering around.” He reached over and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Really. Great work.”