Runway models like Mira, who had been giving him come hither looks all day, were fragile. A meltdown could erupt any moment. They all lined up like North Korean soldiers, standing up straight and expressionless. The room, which moments earlier swirled with activity and voices, stilled, and all he heard was his own heartbeat.
Next, the muffled sound of Salvatore’s voice on stage rang in his ears. His accent always came out a little thicker when he addressed his fans. Prada never tried to hide its heritage and Salvatore was the best face for the design arm of the company. He liked to pretend he forgot certain words in English so he could slip in as much Italian as he could into his introductions.
Andrew would have liked to see Salvatore be a more charitable person, give back to the industry that made him rich, mentor new designers, and not act like...well, like such an asshole.
In the monitors above, he caught a glimpse of Gwen sitting with Vogue’s editor-in-chief. Smart.
With her legs crossed, Gwen showed off the shapely thighs that had wrapped around him last year.
Salvatore cut that damn slit way too high. It looked even higher than last night.
Enrico sat to the editor’s left and behind them, sat Thalia, her eyes glued to her phone.
So why was he backstage alone?
In a minute, the entire line of models would take off, only to return and change into their next outfits. He’d rather not get trampled and preferred to be with Gwen.
In the viewing area, Andrew noticed she had moved to the other side of the room. The way her head twisted from side to side suggested she was looking for someone. Couldn’t have been Salvatore, he was on stage. Catching sight of Andrew made her body language change. The curves of her face told him she’d found what she’d been looking for.
Him.
He crossed the room with confidence, basking in her blue eyes. “Hey, I saw you sitting with Anna.”
“Yeah, I couldn’t get away from her fast enough. She scares the crap out of me.”
Andrew laughed. “Well, we want her to concentrate on the show.”
“Where do you usually watch all this from?”
Andrew squared his shoulders and took Gwen’s hand. “Come with me. I’ll show you the best seat in the house.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
his is amazing!” Gwen found it hard to breathe.
“TThe view from the lighting designer’s booth, although no bigger than a fireman’s rescue bucket, really was the best seat in the house. The crowded space left her no choice but to pin herself up against Andrew for most of the show.
As the lighting team passed by again and again, her body fell further and further into his. Finally, Gwen gave in and just rested the back of her head against his chest. Her heart rate shot up when his hands pressed into her waist. The hold went from soft and gentle to a tighter sensation. Demanding.
Or maybe she imagined all of this.
From being elevated and catching the heat from the lights, the temperature in the booth caused trickles of sweat to bead down her back. Andrew’s breath, hot on her shoulder, sent tingles all over her skin. She feared her nipples had grown hard and long and the small cups Salvatore had sewn into the gown would not be enough fabric to camouflage how Gwen felt at the moment.
During the show, Andrew’s head bobbed in a rhythm that matched the beat by beat steps of the models. He should go back to modeling. Sales would soar. Gwen loved how he usually skipped a jacket in the office. Prada’s men’s shirts were designed for his build. Wide shoulders and a broad chest tapered down to a narrow waist. He wore a lot of brick red, which made his skin look pearly and accentuated his cheekbones.
Boy, could this man could rock dress slacks, even if Prada’s pants weren’t made for his high round butt. The fabric stretched tight across his delicious derrière. Andrew may still look like a top model, and his work persona was very professional, but this was the most human she’d seen him.
Since their night together.
Salvatore’s models began marching down the stage together—signaling the show was over. Gwen sighed and erased all of the inappropriate thoughts from her mind. It had become a guilty pleasure to fantasize about Andrew.
“We’d better get down there,” he whispered in her ear.
His breathy suggestion registered loud and clear, even over the roar of clapping from below.
When he took her hand this time, his grip felt tighter.
After a deep cleansing breath to get her libido in check, she smoothed her skirt ready to go back to work.
They shared another look and once again the world fell away. The cozy moment either meant nothing or something. She hoped she’d find out. Soon.
“Ready?” he asked, smiling.
So ready. For what, she wasn’t sure. He acknowledged people hooked up at work and seemed open to the idea for himself if it were the right person.
Was Gwen the right person? “Yes,” she answered him.
Hand in hand, they crossed behind the crowd as Salvatore walked at the end of the line with Mira.
Enrico’s voice came over the loudspeaker. He thanked Salvatore and kissed some media ass, finishing with a few embarrassing jabs at some of the celebs.
Andrew gripped her hand tighter. “Here we go,” he said, like he knew Enrico’s routine.
“And finally, I want to present the two people who made this event happen,” Enrico said into his mic. “Our U.S. brand manager, Andrew Morgan and PR Executive, a woman new to Prada, Gwendolyn Foley!”
Zipping around the seating area earlier in the day, she’d blushed at the remarks about her dress, her shoes, and her hair. She’d laughed off the compliments that she could have been a model. Now, with the full lighting package shining down on her, every step she took made her feel more and more beautiful. With a former model at her side, one who knew how to waltz down a runway, any feeling of awkwardness that she didn’t belong on this thing vanished.
She slowed her pace and loved the feel of Andrew leading her. At the end of the platform, they waved with their free hands, but Andrew let go completely to whistle at her, commanding more applause.
People stood up and clapped. She recognized all the faces she’d said hello to earlier. The admiration felt exhilarating, topped only by the feel of Andrew’s hand in hers again. He whisked her away like she was his and he wanted her all to himself.
Just as they escaped to the backstage area, almost everyone out front teemed in behind them.
Gwen struggled to breathe, taking in the madness all around her. So many faces, everywhere, like a swarm, made her dizzy. Andrew’s beautiful eyes anchored her, though.
“Are you okay?” He gripped her hand tighter. “You look worried.”
“What...” She swallowed. “What do I do now? I hadn’t anticipated all this.” She pointed to the swelling crowd. No one had ever wanted to meet a Starlight designer.
“I tried organizing this craziness once. We have to let this part of the show flow. Don’t worry, security will do their job.” He glanced around. “And Salvatore loves this. Remember I said he wants to be worshipped? Let it happen. All of these people will upload tons of pictures. It’s the best free publicity we can hope for.”
“Okay. Um, I’ll let you do what you need to do.” Gwen tried to let go of his hand.