One-Click Buy: April Harlequin Blaze

by Kathleen O'Reilly

  After finding himself the proud owner of brogues, loafers and boots, none of which he could ever imagine wearing once this week was over, they finally escaped.

  To the hairdresser.

  Where it took a full hour as Kimi and another of her pet Frenchmen discussed his cheekbones, his jaw, even pulled his hair up to check the shape, size and angle of his ears. They were pronounced excellent. He’d have mentioned how he found them useful for hearing, but decided to save his breath for when they started doing stuff to his hair he didn’t like.

  But, surprisingly, for all the discussion, he ended up looking way more normal than he’d imagined. His hair was shorter, and maybe more shaped, but he hadn’t had to fight off dye, or bits draping strategically over one eye, or strange spiky things, all of which he’d seen in the salon.

  Once out, he thought his ordeal was over and that he’d been amazingly patient.

  “Whew,” he said. “I’m ready for lunch. And then a nap.”

  She laughed at him. “Well, since you’ve been very good, we’ll have lunch sent up to my suite. But we’ve got a stop to make first.”

  He liked the sound of lunch in her suite. But something about her businesslike manner suggested his idea of the two of them alone in her Paris hotel suite, and her idea of same, weren’t going to gibe.

  Sure enough, their next stop was at a huge bookstore that stocked a large selection of books and magazines in every language. Even as he went over to the mag rack to see if they had any outdoor magazines, she was busily filling her arms with one copy of every fashion magazine the place carried, including a couple of French-and Italian-language ones.

  He had a very bad idea in the pit of his stomach that she wasn’t going to be reading them all herself.

  Sure enough, after she’d paid for the booty, they walked back in the sunshine to her hotel.

  “I’ll order lunch while you get started.”

  “Get started?”

  She emptied one of the bags of magazines onto the table in the living room. “Boot camp.”

  “No, please,” he groaned.

  She walked to a fancy desk that could have been used by Napoleon and Josephine and opened the drawer to find a pen and notepad, which she placed beside him.

  “Make notes. I want to know the hot designers, what they’re known for, the colors for this season and next, and I want you to be able to recognize the models. You’ll be expected to know most of them at a glance. If you don’t, you’ll be revealing yourself as a clueless amateur.”

  “Okay, okay. I get it.”

  He grabbed the first magazine on the stack. Flipped it open.

  “I DON’T UNDERSTAND how Rhett could send someone who doesn’t know the first thing about fashion,” she grumbled.

  “I know your purse is Prada,” he snapped.

  “Good. Maybe by the end of the afternoon, you’ll recognize my dress and shoes.”

  It was going to be a very long day.

  And night, it turned out when Her Ladyship informed him that she was attending a magazine editors’ dinner and he didn’t need to bother coming.

  “But—”

  “Get more room service sent up. I’m serious about this boot camp. You’ve got to know your stuff or your cover will be blown the first time you have to work with your newspaper editor.”

  “Okay.” He knew she was right, but of all the worlds he’d had to learn in a hurry, this was the one he had the least interest in. “Look, I’ll take this stuff back to my hotel and keep working. Besides, I’ve got some calls to make.”

  She gave him a suspicious look. “There will be a test.”

  He rose and stepped up to her, maybe a tad closer than strictly necessary. She raised one eyebrow and sent him a cool, blue challenge.

  “Whatever test you have for me,” he said, “I promise you I’ll pass.”

  He had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen and her breath jerk in sharply, before he turned on his heel, grabbed his homework and left.

  5

  THE PHONE DRAGGED Holden out of a troubled sleep. He’d been dreaming he was being strangled by a sadistic killer, and the jangling sound of a French telephone with its jarring brrring, brrring had him sitting straight up in bed before he realized that he’d been dreaming of himself in a bow tie. A nightmare if there ever was one.

  He snatched at the receiver. “Yeah.”

  “You had yourself reassigned.” It was Kimi and she sounded pretty pissed about the results of a couple of the calls he’d made last night.

  “I was going to tell you about it myself this morning. How did you find out so fast?”

  She ignored his question. “Why did you do it?”

  “I thought about it, and me working with you makes sense. You already know who I am and you said you’d help me. This way I don’t have to pretend I’m something I’m not, or let that miserable-looking editor get a piece of me.”

  “Think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”

  “Above-average intelligence. What are you so pissed about?”

  “I don’t like being railroaded into things without my permission. I don’t like people—” she emphasized the word people so it had the same connotation she’d give vermin “—going behind my back and messing with my career. And Paris during couture week is my career.”

  “You said you’d help me.”

  “Unofficially. But I’m a fashion editor. Not a detective. I have priorities.”

  “Okay, fair enough.” He shoved his hair out of his eyes and wished he’d already had at least one strong cup of coffee inside him before dealing with an irate Kimi. “I didn’t even think of getting myself assigned to you until after I got finished studying and started doing some thinking. It was too late to call you by that time.”

  “You could have waited until morning. Talked to me first in case I had a problem with your brilliant idea.”

  “I could have, but it all needed to be done fast. Plus, we needed your people onside. So, yeah, sorry I didn’t tell you before. I was going to tell you this morning.”

  “My publisher called me with the news. It means I don’t get my own personal handpicked favorite photographer, the one who flies in from Milan specially. He was supposed to meet me here today. They’ve given him another assignment. Instead I get you.” He heard her teeth snap together and was reminded of the time in the backwoods of British Columbia when a cougar had tried to have him for lunch.

  “Don’t you think solving a major international crime ring is more important than your career?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  He tried another tack. “How do you know I’m not a better photographer than your Milan guy?”

  “Let me count the ways. One—he’s photographed every major fashion event of the last three years. I’ve never seen you at a single one. Two—he trained under RichardAvedon.”

  “Wow. Impressive.”

  “You bet your ass it’s impressive. And three—he knows fashion, he understands it. He likes it.” She wound up for the knockout punch. “He wears it.”

  “Look, I get that you’re upset.”

  “Upset doesn’t begin to describe how I feel. Brewster Peacock already has his suspicions about you. If we work together and he takes you down, then he takes me down with you. That man could destroy my future.”

  “Then we’ll make sure he doesn’t get a chance. I’ll get great shots,” he promised rashly.

  “How?”

  “I’m tall. I can see over the heads of most of those little French guys. Your guy from Milan—is he?”

  “Six feet two inches,” she snapped.

  Damn. “Well, I’ve got an inch on him.”

  She let out a breath. “If I’m stuck with you I’m stuck with you, but I am not happy that you went behind my back and reorganized yourself onto my staff. I expect you to put as much energy and thought into your photographs for Uptown as you put into the investigation business, understood?”

  “Yeah. Of course. I have my
professional pride too, you know.”

  “Good. And if your photos are shit—”

  “They won’t be.”

  He heard her breathing out slowly, as though she was stopping herself from saying more. “Okay. Now, for what you’ll wear today—”

  “Excuse me?” It was his turn to get huffy. “Now you’re telling me what to wear?”

  “Trust me. I’m doing you a favor.” And she gave him explicit instructions on what to wear. He couldn’t decide if he liked the idea of having a professional fashion editor dress him or not. But then he didn’t have a clue what was appropriate for most of these gigs, so he decided to let her have her way at least in this. He’d have to watch her though. She was way too bossy.

  “I’ll pick you up eleven-thirty and we’ll head over to the media lunch sponsored by the fashion council together.”

  Uh-oh. “You should probably give me a schedule of what you need me to do and when. I, uh, can’t make the lunch. I’ll have to catch up with you later.”

  “And why can’t you make the lunch?” she said slowly and evenly.

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “I am stuck with you against my wishes. The only reason I’m not throwing a hissy fit and getting my own photographer is because I am trying to help you do your job. So cut the crap. Who are you meeting?”

  Even though she was mainly acting pissed because she hadn’t been consulted about the change of photographer, he could appreciate that she was in a tough spot. Likely there were some things he wouldn’t be able to tell her over the next week. But telling her about this meeting was a lot better than having to find another cover story. For better or worse, he and Kimi were going to be working together this week. He might as well start trusting her.

  A little.

  “I’m meeting my contact at Interpol. We’re going to exchange information.”

  “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.”