by Calista Fox
When Staci Takes Charge
Calista Fox
New York Boston
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Table of Contents
An Excerpt from What Lola Wants
Newsletters
Copyright Page
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Chapter One
The flashing strobe lights, the hard-driving music, the energetic vibe pulsating through the air, through every inch of Staci Kay, were mere primers for the evening ahead.
Staci’s heart beat erratically and her pulse pounded in her ears as she finalized last-minute details before the curtain rose on her first-ever runway shoe show.
Elaborate, personalized invitations had gone out to global VIPs in the fashion industry—magazine editors, TV hosts, designers, bloggers, models, celebrities—with an overwhelming RSVP response.
It’d been a painstaking effort to coordinate the prestigious event on the heels of a production crisis for Staci Kay Shoes, but the Marketing and PR departments had fully embraced Staci’s vision for the rollout of the newest line of ultra-sexy, über-sassy, six-inch stilettos and had worked tirelessly to pull this extravaganza together.
And the timing couldn’t be more perfect. Two weeks before Valentine’s Day, so fans of her shoes could pick up styles to accentuate their date-night outfits.
Staci’s event crew gathered in the staging area of the Grand Ballroom at the luxurious Four Seasons at Baltimore’s Inner Harbor, prepping for the big reveal. Chaos ensued, but because of her brilliant team, it was organized chaos.
This evening’s models were Staci’s employees from both the Scottsdale hub and the Baltimore headquarters, because she believed wholeheartedly that there was no better representation of shoe-loving consumers than those most dedicated to the success of her company. The ladies who’d been selected for this rare unveiling were all experts in strutting their stuff in the skyscraping heels. All were now professionally primped to within an inch of their lives and dressed in gorgeous, daring, stunning clothes.
As was Staci.
“T-minus ten minutes,” said a perky Maxi Shayne, Vice President of Operations and a close friend of Staci’s.
Maxi was a lithe brunette with sapphire eyes and a feisty attitude. Staci had assigned her hot-pink platforms to go with her multicolored, geometrically blocked minidress.
“Just enough time for a glass of champagne.” Staci handed over a crystal flute from a nearby table. They clinked rims and sipped.
Lola Vonn, the Marketing Specialist who’d pitched the risqué campaign that had truly put the company on the map, joined them. She wore a tight, siren-red, one-shouldered dress to show off her Marilyn Monroe curves and fluffy blond hair.
Her platforms were covered with bold images of snapshots of various models—including Lola—posing for the web and print ads with the marketing slogan “Leave Your Shoes On” stamped at different angles across the canvas. Very clever. And apropos, since Lola had been the one to coin the phrase for all of the promo. She tapped her glass against the others and said, “This is so exciting. I can’t tell if I’m about to barf, or break out in song and dance.”
Staci laughed. “Please, let it be the latter.”
Staci’s signature accessory was her long, sleek, dark-auburn hair that complemented her tawny eyes. So she’d chosen all black for herself tonight to highlight her trademark features. A chic business suit with a super-short hem that was slightly flared and pleated low on the sides, paired with metal-spike-heeled stilettos. Thin silver chains were wrapped around and dangling from her ankles, with charms in the shapes of whips, handcuffs, and riding crops attached to them. She also wore black leather gloves and crimson lipstick.
Her boardroom-to-bedroom dominatrix look was an inside joke among the three ladies. Maxi and Lola thought Staci was a take-charge whip cracker behind closed doors. She went along with their perception, not having the heart to tell them no man had been tied to her bedposts (or had even been in her bedroom) in so, so long. It was too disheartening an admission. A reality she preferred to neither face nor dwell on.
“May none of us pull a Carrie Bradshaw and end up flat on our faces,” Maxi stated.
“‘Fashion roadkill,’” the trio said in unison.
“Best line ever from Sex and the City,” Staci declared.
“And Heidi Klum just stepped right over her and kept on swinging those hips down the runway,” Lola tossed in.
“That’s exactly what I’d want any one of us to do,” Staci contended. “Keep the action moving. If Kerri Strug could pull off an Olympic-winning vault with a strained ankle, I expect you girls to pick yourselves up, dust yourselves off, and keep on strutting!”
Both women glared at her over the rims of their glasses.
“I’m kidding! Of course!” She laughed again. “I’d be horrified if anyone got hurt out there.”
“That’s more like it,” Maxi said and took a deep drink.
“Everything’s going to be fantastic,” Staci assured them. “We’ve practiced. And we’re all used to being in front of the cameras. We did the ads for Lola’s campaign. We’ll score our own gold, I have no doubt.”
“Ah…There’s the fearless leader we all know and love,” Lola quipped. “But this is a live audience we’re talking about. A raving, maniacal audience from the sound of it. And Alex will be out there…” She pulled in a long breath. Her creamy cheeks turned rosy. Her sky-blue eyes glowed.
“Oh, geez,” Staci murmured into her glass of champagne. Then she hitched her chin and said, “Don’t melt in your Staci Kay shoes, girlfriend. He’s hot, yes. But you’re sharing a bed with him in a suite upstairs tonight, Miss Soon-to-be-Mrs. Alex Reed, so backburner the lust, huh?”
Then Staci shot Maxi a pointed look. “You, too. I know your sexy PhD is also out there in the crowd. Don’t get distracted by those chocolaty irises of his and trip all over yourself.”
“You had to go and mention chocolate, didn’t you?”
Maxi was a dessert fiend. Staci knew the only thing Maxi craved more than sweets was her Director of Operations, Dr. Ryan Donovan.
Staci should have known better than to mention either.
“Stay focused, my friend,” she said to Maxi. “Stay. Focused.”
“And who did you invite to cheer you on?” Lola asked with wagging brows.
“Oh, yeah, right.” Staci rolled her eyes. “Like I’m going to have a single breath left in my body at the end of the evening for moaning or dirty talk. Not a chance. This girl’s gonna kick off her heels and fall into bed. I’ll be asleep in two seconds.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Maxi deadpanned.
Staci said, “We barely made it out of crisis mode with the manufacturing bottleneck, and I turned around and spearheaded this launch. I just might spend the entire weekend here at the Four Seasons, huddled under the down comforter, ordering room service, and binge-watching angsty teen eighties movies.”
Maxi and Lola exchanged a concerned look.
Staci sighed. “Come on, seriously. Do not worry about me. I am over-the-moon ecstatic about this new line and how we’re unveiling it. So let’s finish our bubbly, because it’s showtime, ladies!”
The three ceremoniously touched rims once more and polished off their champagne, just as the show’s manager started issuing orde
rs and everyone hopped to.
This is it. The moment when my shoes take the world by storm!
The adrenaline pumped. The excitement escalated.
This was Staci’s dream come true. Taking her company to the next level.
No.
Launching it into the stratosphere!
She grinned at her friends. “Let’s go prove to that chomping-at-the-bit crowd what sexy Staci Kay shoes are all about!”
* * *
“Oh. My. God.”
The door of her suite had barely closed behind Staci as she collapsed into a chair in the entryway, next to a narrow table. She unclasped all the chains at her ankles and slipped out of her shoes. No lie, her feet were killing her after spending hours in the stilettos for the prelaunch events and circulating out front with the guests, then working the staging area to keep everyone’s spirits up and nerves calmed, then strutting her stuff on the runway, then mixing and mingling more at the after-party…
Holy hell.
The exhilaration had been so consuming that she hadn’t really noticed her pinched toes and aching arches. Now it seemed every inch of her feet throbbed. They were exhausted.
Staci’s mind, however, was a flurry of activity, recalling the conversations, the thrilled looks on the faces in the audience, the cheers and applause, and just…everything. The entire frenetic, vibrating exuberance had her body charged and her blood singing.
This was everything she’d ever wanted.
Well, in addition to her closet full of shoes to go with every outfit she owned.
Pushing herself out of the chair, she hobbled toward the bathroom, passing the sitting area and contemplating plopping down on the sofa. But while her feet screamed bloody murder, her nerve endings buzzed. She was riding a high the likes of which she’d never known.
Staci entered the large space and stripped off her clothes. She had to get rid of all the makeup she wore and the massive quantity of volumizing mousse in her hair, so she stepped under a warm spray in the shower.
Unfortunately, instead of relaxing her, the rhythmic pinging of water against her body charged her more, made her skin tingle.
Staci groaned. So much for being so exhausted she’d fall into bed and be asleep within two seconds. Not a chance in hell. She’d be lucky if her mind shut down at all tonight in order for her to get some rest.
And, damn, did she need it.
She’d spared a glance at the crystal clock on the desk on her way through the living room. It was three in the morning. Definitely time for some shut-eye. But Staci was wide awake.
She left the shower and patted away the drops of water with a towel before using it to rub the ends of her hair. The strands held a natural curl—a look she rarely wore because she preferred a more sophisticated, sleek style.
But there was no one around to see her clean-faced and with wavy, damp hair.
No one at all.
Her excitement dimmed.
Staci’s gaze swept through the bedroom. The empty bedroom, with the empty, turned-down bed. The mound of pillows, of which only half would be used. The TV mounted to the wall that would never be switched on, because Staci didn’t watch TV in bed and there was no one else there to do it, either.
She was alone. On her biggest of big nights.
Meanwhile, Lola and Alex were probably going at it like bunnies. Maxi and Ryan, too. Hell, the same could likely be said for her entire stable of models, for whom she’d comped suites here this evening in exchange for their participation in the show. They also got to keep the clothes and the shoes.
With a sigh, Staci crossed to the closet and pulled out the black satin baby doll nightie she’d hung up when she’d unpacked. Slipped into it and the satin thong that matched. The nightie had thin straps and a fluttery hem that dipped in the front and back, but rose on the sides. There were lace insets at the tops of her breasts and along her left ribcage.
It was luxurious and sexy. And there was no reason in hell for her to be wearing it. She should have brought an oversized T-shirt and wool socks. Who would have known the difference?
All of her lingerie was strictly for her own personal pleasure because Staci hadn’t dated or had sex in…well…longer than she could remember.
Not exactly a fun thought.
One that drove her straight to the truffles housekeeping had left when they’d prepped her room. She unwrapped the chocolates. Savored every bite. Felt slightly better.
Since she was still too keyed up for sleep, she padded barefoot into the living room and raided the wet bar. There was rum and flavored sparkling water. Wild cherry. Her favorite.
Unfortunately, she’d told the valet earlier that she didn’t require ice this evening, again believing she’d be too fatigued for anything more than crashing the instant she returned, rather than brimming with anticipation to see what the critics would have to say about her new line and what sort of sales spikes the company would experience.
Spikes they were fully prepared for this time around.
Collecting the silver-plated bucket, she headed to the door. The ice machine was right around the corner, and it was the middle of the night. There wouldn’t be a soul in sight to see her quickly nab some cubes, then slip back into her room. For good measure, she stole a peek out of the peephole. All clear there. So she cracked open the door. Stuck her head out. The hallway was deserted.
Perfect.
She quietly closed the door behind her. Started down the carpeted corridor, creeping along so no one heard a single footstep or—
Oh, son of a bitch!
Staci stopped dead in her tracks. Stomped a foot without even thinking about it.
Just as she hadn’t thought to grab her key from the entryway table.
“You have got to be kidding me,” she hissed out.
Staci backtracked to her room and reached for the handle on her door, jerking it downward.
It didn’t give.
Of course not.
Regardless, she tried again. And again. Forcefully.
“Please tell me this isn’t happening,” she grumbled.
The metal bucket dropped from her other hand and clamored to the floor. She ignored it and applied more pressure to the lever. As if that would suddenly free the lock.
“No, no, no!”
She said the words out loud, though they weren’t the ones echoing in her head.
They were more like, Fuck, fuck, fuck!
“Oh, come on,” she softly wailed. “I can’t go downstairs in a—”
The lock clicked. She jumped.
By some fabulous act of God, had she been spared public humiliation? Or maybe the hallway was monitored by security, and whoever was watching the screens took pity on her and unlocked her door electronically from his console?
Was that even possible?
She had no idea. Didn’t care. She’d take being saved any way she could get it at this moment.
She jammed the handle down again.
But like before, it didn’t give.
What the hell?
“You wouldn’t mind keeping it down out here, would you?” a deep voice asked from behind her. A deep, intimate, sexy voice, to be exact.
Staci’s hand froze. Her heart leaped into her throat.
A lock had released. It just hadn’t been hers.
She spared a glance heavenward and mouthed, Really?
A bit mortified and a lot agitated, she slowly turned around.
And lost her breath over the dark-haired, blue-eyed mountain of a man standing before her.
Chapter Two
Evan Hart stood across the hall from what could only be described as a fantasy come to life.
Mile-long legs. Narrow waist. Plump breasts. Soft-looking, damp red curls that fell just past her slender, bare shoulders. A freshly scrubbed face.
Despite being separated by an expanse of carpet, he could smell her. Vanilla with perhaps a hint of lavender, which was extremely alluring.
She stared at
him with fiery eyes that were tawny, mostly golden with flecks of orange. She was beautiful. Breathtaking, actually, with high cheekbones, honey skin, and rosy lips.
He had to run a few medical terms through his head in order to divert his attention from how stunning and scantily clad she was. The tactic was also necessary to help ascertain whether the vision before him was real or not, for Evan had a tendency to sleepwalk. He never went far and typically woke up after a few minutes. But hotels could be a bit hazardous for someone with the affliction. It’d been a while since he’d done it, so he’d thought he’d broken the habit.
But there really couldn’t be such a striking, half-naked woman standing eight feet away from him. Could there?
He mentally shook his head. Whether he was imagining this or not, he was willing to fall down the rabbit hole when the fantasy spoke.
“Sooo, this is awkward,” she said, her tone low and breathy. Sultry. Sexy as hell.
His groin instantly tightened. His pulse hitched a notch.
She kept talking as his body started to burn. “See, I was on my way to get some ice—”
“You know the valet could have gotten that for you.”
“Yes,” she ground out. “I realize that. Not my first rodeo at a swank hotel.”
He bit back a grin. The fantasy had some spunk to her.
“Anyhoo,” she said. “I didn’t think there’d be anyone in the hallway in the middle of the night. I even checked.”
“And you would have been in the clear. Except that you got a little loud.”
“I did not get loud. And what the heck are you doing up at three a.m.?”
He sighed. “I was working late. Then I drifted off at the desk. I woke up and did more work, then drifted off again…”
“Aha,” she softly said. Her entire demeanor softened, in fact. Making him wonder how malleable she’d be in his hands, how she might writhe against his body if he held her in his arms.
Whoa. Where were those thoughts coming from?
They were not normal ones for Dr. Evan Hart. By any stretch of the imagination.