Page 122 of By A Thread

Nina waved me off. “Shh! I’m telling a story here. Poor Jersey bumpkin comes to the big city and catches the eye of the gorgeous, grumpy boss who refuses to fall for anyone. But there’s something special about her. Something he’s never seen before in a woman.”

“I want to be special,” Missie whined.

“You are special. We are all special,” I insisted.

I felt the frisson again. This time it started at my toes and spread through my entire body.

“He’s coming this way,” Missie sang.

“Be cool, guys. For the love of God, be cool,” I hissed.

“He’s practically pushing people out of the way,” Ruth observed.

I hoped to God she was exaggerating.

“Hey, beautiful. Feel like causing a stir?” Christian appeared at my side and gave me a heart attack.

I clutched my heart. “Jiminy Crickets! Where did you come from?”

“Uh, the bar.” He grinned at me and wiggled a rocks glass. “I have an idea. Come with me.”

He was safer than whatever torpedo of sexy was headed my way. I took the hand he offered and let him drag me away.

* * *

Five minutes later,an up-and-coming designer was on his knees in front of me backstage, and his hands were on my breast.

“Ouch. That’s boob,” I hissed. “Are you tattooing me?”

“Sorry,” Christian said, through the pins in his mouth. “Try to hold still, and I won’t stab you as much.”

“You know, usually I wait until at least dinner and drinks before I let a guy feel me up.”

“This is completely professional. I promise,” he insisted with a lecherous wink. “Not that you’re not built to perfection, of course.”

“Oh, of course.” I rolled my eyes.

“I just only have room for so many obsessions. I’ve got a limited amount of bandwidth. Right now, mine is this line. What’s yours?” He sat back on his heels and admired his handiwork.

“Oh, I don’t think you have the time. Besides, tonight’s your night.”

He picked up the top layer of my skirt and fluffed it. “You know what I see when there’s a pile of fabric in front of me and a beautiful woman?”

“I’m guessing not just a pile of fabric and a beautiful woman?”

He shot his pointer finger at me. “Bingo, smartass.”

I helped him to his feet.

“I see a story, and I try to tell that story with cut and color, thread and accessories.”

“I like that,” I mused into my now warm and mostly flat champagne. I’d clung to the idea of using it as a prop. Also I didn’t want to get shitfaced at a work function and throw myself at Dominic or throw him off a rooftop.

“Do you want to know what I see in you?”

“Definitely not.”

“I see sexiness. Struggle. Someone who isn’t living the life she set out to build,” he mused.