“So?” Mira whined, interrupting his thoughts.
“So, if she looks so good as a size four—”
Gwendolyn blinked feverishly at the so good comment.
He shook his head and continued, “Anyway Mira, you are not fat.”
“You think you’re fat?” Gwendolyn asked, sinking into the chair next to the model, her face full of questions.
Mira threw up her hands. “I’ve put on a few ounces.”
“Ounces?” Gwendolyn dropped her chin.
“Mira, it’s fine. I promise you.” Andrew placed his hand across his heart. Beating. Rapidly.
“Tell that to the master. ” She pushed herself off the chair with an impressive amount of force for someone who weighed less than one hundred pounds.
Gwendolyn’s eyes trailed upward taking in Mira’s impressive six-foot height. “Who’s the master?”
“Salvatore,” Andrew answered letting spite slip into his tone. He looked at Mira and said, “If he gives you an issue at all for the show, you come to me. Okay? I’m in charge here. Not him.”
Mira ran long thin fingers down her neck. “Okay, Andrew.” Her eyes narrowed at Gwendolyn.
“Can I speak to him in private for a moment, please?”
“Oh, yes. I was leaving,” Gwendolyn said and marched back to the door.
Andrew blocked her path. “Actually, Gwendolyn and I have a lot of work to do.”
Winking, he sent her a message that he didn’t want to be alone with Mira. After a nod, Gwendolyn inched back toward her desk. She made a good wing girl. This could work out.
“Right.” She nodded. “For the show. I’m in charge of publicity now. You want people at your show, don’t you?”
The way Mira sized Gwendolyn up bothered Andrew. Her hawkish look of disapproval said, I know what you like, Drew, and she’s not it.
Ha! Think again. Someone like Gwendolyn may not have turned his head in the past, but after a taste of that woman’s luscious curves, skin and bones wouldn’t satisfy him again.
Mira grabbed her Fendi wristlet and draped her fur-trimmed vest over a long forearm. “I will see you in L.A. then, Andrew.” She held out her hand to him.
He clasped her cold fingers out of politeness, gave her hand a quick squeeze, and dropped it even quicker. “Sure thing.”
Mira spun a perfect practiced turn and sashayed out of the office. Her movements were precise and robotic...and she had about as much appeal to him as one of Salvatore’s hollow dress forms.
Gwendolyn watched her leave, smoothing her hands across her pencil skirt again. His eyes tracked the motion until she picked up on his stare.
She raised an eyebrow. “Does that happen often?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer the question. Sure, models fled to his office for either comfort or a job. And in the past, for a date or a meaningless hook-up.
Then he married Cate. The aggressive ones didn’t respect his marriage, though. The idea of that starting up again made him queasy. A generic answer for Gwendolyn right now was best since he loathed for her to see him as some kind of man-whore.
He jammed his hands in his pockets. “Sometimes.”
“Let’s make sure to link our calendars so I’ll know when to avoid the office. I find them...creepy.”
“Find what creepy?” he asked.
“Models. Runway models,” she clarified.
A rush of heat slammed against his neck. “Uh, what...what about male models?”
Her body turned in his direction, her eyes regarding him. “I don’t know. I don’t have experience working with any, yet. It’s not like Starlight hired men to model their thongs.”
His chest tightened, his eyes grazing across her body. Is she wearing that lace thong right now?
He pulled on his tie. “That would be something to see.”
“It’s like anything else, there’s always a double standard. The male models I see in ads are usually tall and really good looking.” She stopped, her eyes sweeping up the entire length of his frame. “The whole androgynous thing done to women on the runway doesn’t do it for me.”
“Do it for you,” he said quietly, listening and thinking.
At that moment, he wanted to tell her he modeled at one time. She would never figure it out. He used the name Drew Michaels. Michael being his middle name. No one at Prada knew...except Enrico.
Gwendolyn leaned against her writing desk and began emptying contents of the tote bag, starting with a laptop. “If there were aliens watching us, I’m sure they would look at all the models and say,
never mind boys, some other extra-terrestrials have already landed on that planet. Let’s see what’s happening on Mars.”
Andrew released a soft laugh, grateful for the break in his self-inflicted tension. A girl with a sense of humor. No, not a girl. She was a woman. Mature. Smart. Confident. Sexy and...silly. Sexy, he caught last year. Silly, no. Then again, it had been a bitch of a week.
Andrew didn’t think he would find funny endearing. Pouty and annoyed had turned him on for years. He took a breath and said, “It’s a battle I’ve been fighting since I got here. Trying to work with models who look more like the average human being.”
“Except the average human being can’t afford our clothes. Try making them less expensive, first.”
Her unexpected response, perked him up further.
He enjoyed the healthy banter with Gwendolyn. He liked the way she talked, expressive, full of emotion. Eager to see how far he could take this, he said, “I have a better shot at sending down a model with two percent body fat than lowering our prices.”
“You both have zero shot,” Salvatore said from the doorway. He walked in, all swagger and ego.
“Hello, Gwendolyn, how are you today?”
“Good. You?” She leaned on her desk, smiling. Her right leg bent, like she enjoyed the attention.
“I am much better now,” Salvatore responded, grinning stupidly at her.
Really? Andrew stepped back, aghast to see Salvatore make such a blatant play for someone at the office.
Andrew took a sip of his coffee, wondering why the designer wanted Gwendolyn, when it hit him.
Hard. The same reason he did apparently. He choked, realizing how much he still wanted her.
“Are you okay, Andrew?” She rushed to him and laid a hand on his arm.
“Yes.” His skin tingled from the touch of her fingers. So warm and comforting. Yet, confusing.
After years as a husband, and now a widower, Andrew didn’t know who he was anymore.
Gwendolyn’s large blue eyes searched his face to make sure he was all right. Salvatore forgotten.
It rang so fucking clear in his head, yes, he wanted her. Her charms had pulled him in once, if he didn’t watch out, he’d get completely lost in her.
Lost was not the destination he had in mind, returning to New York.
CHAPTER FIVE
ndrew had been too quiet for Gwen’s taste the last two days. The lively interaction after Mira Aleft their office was the last time he’d spoken more than two words to her. Things had looked hopeful between them. He’d been on the verge of warm and friendly. What had cooled his heels?
Gwen tapped the end of her pen against a folder on her desk, almost hoping he’d look up and tell her to stop. Tap tap tap. Nothing.