Wardrobe Malfunction

by Samantha Towle

  I take the shirt from her. “Should I put some music on? I know how you like to twerk before you work.” I snort at my own rhyme. I’m such a fucking loser. “I don’t have any of Madonna’s early stuff, but I think I have ‘Vogue’ on my phone. I’m pretty sure I remember the dance routine as well, if you want me to join in?”

  She stares at me for a moment, and then laughter bursts from her. The sound is like sunshine. If sunshine had a sound.

  “You’re such a tool.” She laughs again. “Just put the damn shirt on, so we can get this over with.”

  A big grin on my face, I peel my tank off and put the shirt on, buttoning it up.

  I notice she doesn’t once look at me. She busies herself with her sewing stuff at the dining table.

  “Ready?” she asks.

  “Yep.”

  When she turns to me, she has that damn pincushion on her wrist again, and I swear to God, my balls shrink in on themselves.

  “Do you have to use pins? They’re making my balls twitch.”

  She snorts out a laugh. “Afraid so. But don’t worry; I won’t get you again.” She steps closer, and I get a whiff of raspberries and vanilla, like I smelled yesterday. “I promise.”

  I stare down into her eyes. They’re blue. Dark. Like the color of blueberries.

  “I’ll put my hand inside the fabric to protect your skin. I could have done that yesterday, but it didn’t seem appropriate to put my hand down your pants the first day I met you.”

  I wouldn’t have minded. “That sounds like a bad pick-up line I’ve used in the past.”

  She laughs again. It’s throatier this time. Sexy. And I decide that, from now on, I want to make her laugh all the time.

  “Looking at this, I just need to hem the sides a little. I’m just going to put my hand up your shirt—”

  “I bet you say that to all the boys.”

  “Only to the pretty ones.” She smiles, glancing up at me through her lashes.

  God, I want to fuck her so bad.

  She slips her hand under the shirt. Her hand is cool against my heated skin. I suck in a breath.

  “Sorry. Are my hands cold? I should’ve warmed them up first.”

  Down my pants? Of course you can, sweetheart. “No, they’re fine. You’re fine.”

  I grit my teeth and stare over her head at the wall. I force myself to think about my mother and my grandma, basically anything but the feel of her touching me.

  In no time, she’s done and moving over to the other side of the shirt. Her hand brushes over my abdomen. She stills. “Sorry,” she says, her cheeks turning pink.

  “Don’t be. So far, you’ve nailed me in the balls, seen me in only my boxer shorts, and made a cock warmer for me. What difference is a little ab-groping going to make?”

  She shakes her head, laughing. “And people say I’m odd.”

  “I prefer the term unconventional.”

  Her eyes flash up to mine, surprise filling them.

  “What?” I ask her.

  “Nothing.” She shakes her head, her eyes clearing. “Okay, you’re done.” She steps back. “I just need to measure up the vest and jacket. I can size the rest from those. You need me to help you take that off?”

  I don’t, but I just want her close again. “Sure.”

  She steps up and starts to undo the buttons.

  “I meant to thank you for keeping what happened to yourself,” I say.

  She glances up at me, a coy look in her eyes, as she continues undoing the buttons. “How do you know I didn’t tell anyone?”

  “Because I haven’t read about it today.”

  “Well, I wasn’t exactly about to broadcast that I nailed Vaughn West in the balls.”

  “You nailed me, huh?” I grin, and she blushes.

  I like making her blush.

  “You know what I mean,” she chastises gently.

  “Yeah, well, I appreciate you not saying anything. You’d be surprised by what people are willing to tell to earn a fast buck. You could have made yourself ten grand with that story.”

  “Ten grand? Shit, is it too late to change my mind?” She gives me a teasing grin. Then, her expression changes. “It sucks that you can’t trust people though.”

  “Yeah, but I think that’s the same for most. I trust my family, Alex, and Jack, who’s my manager. And…right now, I trust you.”

  Her eyes soften on me.

  I want to kiss her so fucking bad in this moment. I can’t remember wanting to kiss a woman more.

  “Well, just not with sharp instruments,” I add to pull us out of this moment.

  “I didn’t stab you just now, did I?”

  She pushes the shirt off my shoulders. I slip my arms out of it.

  No, but I wish I could stick you with something long and hard.

  I watch her walk to the table and pick up a vest.

  “No, but the night’s still young,” I tease her with her earlier words.

  She walks back over to me and hands me the vest. I slip it on.

  I like this. I like getting along with her about as much as I like arguing with her.

  The sick part of me wants to piss her off again though. I have visions of having angry sex with her. I bet angry sex with Pins would blow my mind.

  She fits up the vest and then the jacket, and I stand there like a good boy while she does.

  “There. All done.” She walks around behind me and slips the jacket off my shoulders.

  I find I’m disappointed that we’re finished.

  I’m just about to offer her a drink when my cell starts to ring. I walk over to get it and see it’s Brandon calling.

  The guy is an amazing director, but fuck, he’s a needy bastard. Every I has to be dotted and every T crossed. I like things to be thorough, but he’s a step above me.

  We spent all afternoon running lines for tomorrow. And, honestly, I’m tired. I just want to sleep, so I can be ready for filming tomorrow.

  And I want to have a drink with Pins.

  And not fuck her.

  Or maybe fuck her.

  “Hey, Brandon,” I answer.

  “Vaughn, have you got a few minutes? I just need to go over some stuff for tomorrow.”

  I hold back a sigh. “Sure, just hang on a minute.” I cover the phone with my hand and turn to Pins.

  She already has the stuff packed up and in her hands, ready to go.

  Can’t say I’m not disappointed.

  “Sorry, it’s Brandon. I have to take this.”

  “It’s fine. We’re done anyway.”

  She’s heading for the door. I follow her.

  She stops by the door and turns to me. “Thanks for letting me come here to finish up.”

  “No problem. And, hey, you got through it without maiming me.” I grin.

  “Shocking, I know.” She flashes her gorgeous eyes at me.

  “How are you getting to your hotel?”

  “Alex said something about a car, but I can take a cab.”

  “No, take my car. I’ll just call to sort it out.”

  “It’s fine, honestly,” she starts.

  I wave her off.

  “Brandon, give me a few, and I’ll call you back.” I hang up with him and call my driver, who is also my bodyguard. “Aiden,” I say when he picks up, “I need you to give someone a ride back to her hotel. Her name is Pins.”

  I see her roll her eyes, and it sends a thrill through me.

  “Pins? Are you serious?” he says in that deep voice of his.

  “No, her name is Charly.”

  “Cool. Is she leaving now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tell her I’ll be in front of the hotel in five.”

  “Thanks, Aiden.” I hang up. “My driver, Aiden, will be up front in five to take you home.”

  “Thanks.” She smiles. “It’s really nice of you.”

  “I’m a nice guy.” I lean my shoulder against the wall.

  “Yeah, sometimes.”

  I giv
e her an affronted look, and she laughs.

  She opens the door, and I follow her through it.

  “So”—she’s backing away—“I’ll see you later.”

  “Are you on set tomorrow?”

  “Probably.”

  “Then, I’ll probably see you tomorrow.”

  She smiles, and my insides heat.

  “See you, West.” She turns and starts to walk toward the elevator.

  “See you, Pins.”

  I see her head shake, and I laugh.

  I step back inside and shut the door.

  I like Pins. I really like her. She’s hot and cool and witty. And nothing like the women I usually spend time with. I should ask her to dinner…and then fuck her.

  My phone starts to ring in my hand.

  Jack.

  Jesus Christ. Can’t a guy get a minute’s peace while he thinks about the woman he wants to fuck but is trying not to?

  I answer the call, putting the phone to my ear. “Jack, can I call you back? I’ve got to call Brandon.”

  “What were you doing with a woman in your hotel room?”

  “What the hell?” I suspiciously glance around the room. “Have you got a spy cam in my room?”

  “No, you idiot. I just spoke to Alex, and he said you were busy with someone called Charly. And I’m guessing he didn’t mean a man.”

  I sigh. “She’s the wardrobe assistant on the film. She came to fit some clothes for tomorrow. For fuck’s sake, Jack. I’m not a kid. I can keep my pecker in check.” Mostly.

  “Yeah, well, it doesn’t hurt to remind you of it. You need to keep it zipped up while you’re making this film. You don’t need another scandal taking the attention of your career back to who you’re screwing.”

  “We don’t need to have this conversation again, Jack. I’m going. I need to call Brandon back.” I hang up the phone and sigh.

  Well, if that wasn’t just the motherfucking reminder that I need to stay away from Pins.

  Great. Just fucking great.

  Charly

  I got in really early this morning to fix Vaughn’s clothes for today’s shoot. I could have done them last night after leaving his hotel, but his driver dropped me back at my hotel and insisted on carrying my things to my room for me, which was really sweet of him. After that, I couldn’t be bothered to go back to the studio. I don’t have a sewing machine here with me, so I figured I’d go to bed early and get up early.

  God, I’m such a party animal. Not.

  I’m all done, his clothes fitted to size, ironed, and pressed to perfection.

  Right now, I’m just heading over to his trailer to take them to him.

  And I have a smile on my face.

  It’s a beautiful day, and I’m wearing a dress of my own design. I make my clothes when I get time. This is an oldie but a favorite. It’s a hot-pink skater dress made from jacquard fabric, and I’m wearing it with a thin silver belt around my waist that I picked up at a thrift store. On my feet are my sparkly gunmetal-gray ankle peep-toe Kurt Geiger boots that Nick bought me last Christmas. He had them shipped over from the UK, as you can’t get them here. They’re hot as hell. The man knows me well.

  My hair is up in one of those messy buns that looks like you did it in a few minutes, but you actually spent half an hour pinning and perfecting it to get it like this.

  I look good.

  I also feel good because fitting Vaughn last night went better than I could’ve hoped. At first, I’d thought it was going to be pistols at dawn, but then, shocker, we’d started to get along. It was nice. I liked talking with him. I was kind of a little sad to leave. He’s actually quite funny. Quick-witted. I like humorous men. Especially the hot ones.

  And, when he said he trusted me…it felt big. It made me feel valued…worth something.

  That doesn’t happen to me often.

  Today is going to be a great day; I just know it.

  Reaching what I hope is Vaughn’s trailer—Ava gave me directions to it—I knock on the door and wait.

  Alex opens the door.

  “Hey.” I smile.

  “Charly, good to see you again.”

  “I have Vaughn’s clothes.” I lift them up as proof.

  “Come in.” Alex steps aside. “He’s just in makeup.”

  I step inside his trailer, and…wow. It’s really nice. Nicer than my apartment.

  It’s done in dark wood. A real masculine feel to it, which is perfect for Vaughn. A circular seating area with a table has an open laptop on it. Next to it is a comfy-looking sofa with a large TV fitted to the opposite wall. There’s a kitchen area, and a little further down, there’s a dressing table with a large mirror lit up with bulbs. And that’s where Vaughn is, sitting down on a chair while a woman is doing his makeup.

  I walk over to Vaughn. “Hey.” I smile in the mirror at him. “I have your clothes. Where should I put them?”

  He flicks his eyes at me and then immediately looks away. “Anywhere.”

  “Okay.” I step back and look around for somewhere to hang them, but I don’t see a hook. “Is there a closet anywhere, so I can hang them?” I ask him.

  “Just put them on the fucking table.” He throws a hand in the direction of the table where Alex is sitting with the laptop.

  His hard tone takes me back a step.

  I swallow back my discomfort and surprise. “I just don’t want them to get creased. I spent a long time pressing them.”

  “I’ll put them in the closet in the bedroom for you.” Alex takes them from my arms, a look of pity on his face.

  “Thanks,” I say quietly to Alex.

  “Knock, knock,” a cheery voice calls. Natasha Warner, Vaughn’s costar in the movie, walks in.

  It’s the first time I’ve seen her—in real life, that is.

  She’s taller than I expected. I’d say she’s about my height. But she’s just as beautiful in real life as she is on-screen. Thin but athletic, she looks like a swimwear model. Shiny black hair sits perfectly on her shoulders. With huge bright blue eyes, her oval face is heavy with makeup, but I know that’s for the film. Even still, it doesn’t diminish her beauty.

  She’s stunning.

  I feel like a little kid next to her.

  And she’s wearing a Stella McCartney dress that I know for a fact costs a thousand bucks.

  How the other half lives. Sigh.

  “God, you’re still in makeup?” She laughs, walking over to Vaughn. She stops at the back of his chair, putting her hands on the top of it, while the makeup artist continues to do his makeup. “You men take longer to get ready than us women do.”

  “What can I do for you, Natasha?” His tone isn’t much friendlier than it was with me, which makes me feel a little better at the reception I got from him.

  “Isn’t he a darling in the morning?” she says to me, playfully rolling her eyes. Then, she sticks her hand out to me. “We haven’t met. I’m Natasha.”

  “Charly Michaels.” I take her hand and shake it. “I work in wardrobe. I was just dropping off Mr. West’s clothes. It’s really great to meet you, Ms. Warner.”

  “Natasha, please. God, Vaughn, you don’t make this lovely girl call you Mr. West, do you?”

  His eyes momentarily flick to me, and the look in them is filled with annoyance.

  Jeez, who pissed in his cornflakes this morning?

  “No.” He looks back at Natasha. “I’ve told her countless times to call me Vaughn. What do you need, Natasha? Or did you just come for a girlie chat?”

  She laughs; it’s light and airy. “I need you to run lines from act four with me again, Mr. Happy. I can’t get them to stick.”

  “Sure. Whatever. Give me five minutes.”

  Then, he looks at me again. It’s a look that tells me he wants me to leave.

  “Okay, so I’ll be going.” I start backing away. “If you need me for anything else, Vaughn, have Alex call my cell.”

  He doesn’t even bother to respond.

  Al
ex does from his seat at the table where he’s working on the laptop, “No worries, Charly. I’ll call if we need anything.”

  “It was nice to meet you.” Natasha smiles at me, taking a seat at the table. “Oh, and I love your dress.”

  “Oh. Thank you.” I run a hand down it. “I made it.”

  “You made it? Wow. It’s really good. Are you a designer?”

  “No.” I shake my head. I just want to be one.

  “Well, you should be. It’s amazing. Do you have any other designs? I’d love to see them.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Vaughn growls, getting up from his seat, pulling the tissues that protect his clothes out of the collar. “I feel like I’m in a fucking episode of Project Runway.”

  “You watch Project Runway?” I stifle a laugh.

  “No, of course I don’t fucking watch Project Runway,” he barks at me. “Now, are we running these lines or not?” he says to Natasha.

  And that’s me being dismissed.

  The makeup girl catches my eye, giving me a smile—the one people like us who work in the movie industry share, which says that all actors are stuck-up assholes and not to take it personally.

  But I am taking it personally.

  Because, after last night, for a crazy moment, I actually thought he was a nice guy.

  The Vaughn who got his driver to take me home so that I wouldn’t have to get a cab—what happened to him?

  Apparently, he was an anomaly.

  I won’t make the mistake of thinking he’s a good guy again.

  “Bye,” I say in general.

  I get responses from everyone, except for Vaughn.

  I step outside, back into the bright sunshine. Pushing my hands into the pockets of my dress, I walk back to wardrobe, my steps a lot heavier than they were on my way here.

  Vaughn

  Sex scenes.

  Fucking hate them. First day of filming, and Brandon wants to jump straight into them.

  Those clothes that Charly spent time getting ready for me are to be taken off by Natasha.

  I’m trying not to think about how weird I feel about that.

  Dressed by the woman I currently want and can’t have—as Jack so kindly reminded me of last night—and undressed by my costar and friend.

  In the movie, she’s a stripper, and I’m a hard-ass Mafia guy. In this scene, I’m going to be fucking her on the bar top in the nightclub where she dances while people watch us. Alongside those other actors, fifty crew members will also be watching us simulate having sex. I’ll be butt-ass naked, apart from the cock sock I get to wear. All the while, Brandon will be firing out orders at us on how to fake fuck correctly.