When I glance back at the club, I see him at the door, watching me run away like goddamned Cinderella leaving the ball before midnight. Only I didn’t lose a shoe, because Colton knows where I work, and I’ll be seeing him again.
I’m not sure I’m ready for that. But I’ll do anything for my job—even sit in an interview with a man who steals my breath and heats my body like never before and try to ignore his flirtatious behavior.
Once I step through the door of my apartment, I sigh loudly, speaking to the empty room, “Why does he have to be so …” I shake my head, unsure of what I think he is. Beautiful? Perfect? Handsome? Brazen? The name of the underwear line suits him perfectly. I bet when he walks out of that nightclub this evening, he’ll have at least three women on his arms.
Jealousy niggles at my stomach, twisting it into a green-eyed monster. But I shove it down as I toe-off my shoes and make my way into the kitchen to grab a glass. Filling it with wine, I take a seat at my laptop to find a response from Ida.
Dear Crazy in Brooklyn,
It sounds to me like you need to focus on your job and know that you’re capable of anything. I’m guessing this is a dream job. If so, I would tell you to calm the hell down and take a long, deep breath. Then I’d allow you to have one drink. Anything more will only lead to chaos and bad decisions.
What I would also tell you is that you are in charge of your own destiny. And if this does change your career drastically, focus on that end goal, the promotion, the life-changing path on which you’re headed.
And also, if this in any way includes a man as a distraction—don’t get lured in. If he’s worth it, he’ll be there in the end.
How the hell would she know it involved a man? One that I can’t get out of my head, and one who's most certainly going to hang around until god knows when.
After his overconfident actions tonight, I find myself trying to dissect every word, every touch, and every smile. I drive myself crazy until I yawn, realizing it’s almost one in the morning, and the bottle of wine I had chilling in the fridge for a whole week is now empty.
Besides going through old submissions on the "Ask Ida" website, I spent even more time looking up Colton King. Stupidly, I thought about going onto Facebook, which was a rabbit hole I fell down looking at photos of him, his family, and even some of the events he attended in London, Paris, and Rome.
He’s good at his job. Being that gorgeous comes with a lot of perks, but I’m sure it also comes with its fair share of frustrations. One being early mornings, which I noticed him wince at when Blythe told him to be there at five on Monday morning.
When I finally shut my laptop lid thirty minutes later, I sigh, feeling almost sorry for the cocky Brit. He may be a brazen bastard, but he’s still a bachelor at twenty-seven.
Most of the guys I know from school and college are married, running their own small businesses, and already have two-point-five kids. I wonder briefly if his party-going ways are all because he’s lonely.
Shaking my head, I tell myself I’m overthinking it. Tomorrow is Sunday—well, technically, today is Sunday—which means I get to dog sit the golden retriever next door. The highlight of my weekend.
Perhaps that will get my mind off Colton King.
7
Colton
A groan rumbles in my chest when my alarm wakes me at four-thirty. After the busy weekend of meeting new people, smiling, and talking to industry experts, I feel more exhausted than ever before.
What I didn’t expect, though, was to think about Violet all through those meetings. She’s a welcome distraction from this life. Being in the public eye all the time. And even though she may not particularly like me, I’m not giving up. That’s not who I am.
I push off the bed and head into the bathroom to get ready for the day, and twenty minutes later, I’m showered, dressed in a pair of gray tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt. The car is waiting when I reach the lobby, and I slip into the backseat and shut my eyes as the driver pulls away.
I can’t stop picturing her. And each time, it brings a smile to my face when I recall her blowing me off, and not in the way I was hoping. She told me she wasn’t a notch-on-my-bedpost type of girl, but I have to be honest—I didn’t think she would be. At least, I didn’t want her to be.
When we reach the venue for the shoot, I head into the building, up to the floor where they told me to go. I find Blythe with a myriad of photographers. Along to the left are hanging racks for the underwear, which I find very strange, and a long table filled with snacks, fruit, and bottles of chilled water.
“I didn’t think you’d make it this early,” Blythe remarks with a dark brow arched at me.
“You told me to be here, so I’m here. It’s my job, remember?” I remind her and notice the photographer smiling.
“I’m sorry,” she grits out coolly, but then continues to speak, “I’m just shocked that a party boy can even open his eyes before the sun comes up.”
“That’s all right, love.” I smile and turn away, heading toward the golden railing, which has small hangers lined up. There is a collection of trunks, briefs, and tiny shorts that look like they could be women’s underwear rather than men's.
Sighing, I grab the first one and look around for the changing area. Blythe saunters up to me, smiles, then informs me, “You have a room over there,” while pointing to the back of the large hall we’re in.
“Am I alone?”
“There will be a female model coming in about …” She glances at her watch, then looks at me. “Ten minutes?”
“Fine.” I leave her, heading for the room. Once I’m changed, I glance at my reflection in the mirror. They’re a perfect fit, tight, snug, and I actually quite like them.
When I step out of the change room, I find a slender woman who’s dressed in a bikini, getting her makeup done. She glances at me as the stylist pins her long, red hair atop her head and smiles.
“You must be the infamous Brazen Bachelor,” she says as I near her. “I’m Courtney.” She holds out her hand, and I take it. “Nice to meet you.”
“And you too. I’m Colton.”
“I know. Most of New York knows who you are. And after this, the world will most certainly know you.” She looks older than me, but not by much.
“And you’re …?” I allow my words to trail off as I wait for her to give me more information.
“I’m the woman who started the Brazen line.” Another smile and I can’t help but be impressed. Once the stylist and makeup artist are done, she turns to fully face me. “When I saw your advert while I was in London, I told my marketing team I needed you to launch my men’s line.”
“Well, I’m grateful for the opportunity.”
“I’m just thankful we got you to fly all the way over here to walk around in …” She glances at my crotch, blushes, and then smiles. “Those.”
“They’re … comfortable,” I admit. “Not my first choice, but they’re not bad at all.”
“You fill them out very well, on both sides.” She laughs easily. She doesn’t seem like the giggly fangirl type, and I’m thankful for that. But then again, she is a businesswoman, someone who’s creating a career for herself.