Chapter 30
Chapter 31
What to do now
Books by New York Times bestselling author Aleatha Romig
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Aleatha Romig
Dedication
ANOTHER ONE is truly a joint venture with my wonderful, patient daughter.
Many writer’s roadblocks arose during the creation of Trevor and Shana’s story. Sometimes it’s difficult to get going in the world of make believe when real life is busy and full. I have no doubt that it was my many conversations with my daughter that steered this story back on track time and time again.
I couldn’t be happier with the final result of A SECRET ONE and ANOTHER ONE.
I fell head over heels in love with this pretend couple. I’m so grateful to the readers who encouraged me to pursue Shana and Trevor’s story, and mostly, I’m thankful to my daughter who during her own wedding preparations willingly added her advice. As a woman about Shana’s age, her insight was beyond helpful and often comedic.
Maybe one day she will decide to follow her mother into the world of writing. Until then, I’m happy to have her at my side and as my constant support. May she, through life’s ups and downs and friends and foes, have her HEA!
Thank you, Cass Romig. I love you and appreciate all you do, always.
~Mom
Author’s Note
Trevor and Shana’s story begins in A SECRET ONE. You do not need to read it to enjoy ANOTHER ONE, but I recommend it.
~ Aleatha
Another One
ANOTHER ONE: Standalone romance
Forbidden romance never felt so good!
Trevor Willis is sexy, sweet, and oh so fun. He’s also my best friend’s brother-in-law. That should mean he’s off-limits—or that I should be off-limits to him.
Someone probably should have told us that before my best friend married his brother, before the morning of the wedding when we woke in each other’s arms, before I woke with gaping holes in my memory.
They didn’t.
We did.
Shana Price is that one woman.
Usually shy and awkward, I want to be more for her—and in her presence I am more. I don’t even have to try. She’s my one. I knew it the moment I first met her.
The problem is the little hassle of the thousands of miles between us.
Now, everything has changed.
Shana is back in the United States—all I have to do is make her see that her job isn’t the only reason to stay.
From New York Times bestselling author Aleatha Romig, get ready to laugh out loud, swoon, and fall in love with this fun and sexy stand-alone novel. ANOTHER ONE is set in the same world as PLUS ONE, yet the two may be read in any order.
*This novel contains the connecting novella previously released as A SECRET ONE.
Chapter One
Nearly a year after A SECRET ONE
Shana
“There are so many boobs—everywhere,” Chantilly says with a shake of her head.
She’s right.
We’re in the middle of chaos—which if you don’t know is filled with tall, beautiful women with high heels and perfect breasts—better known as the fashion show dressing room. Tomorrow all the models will have their makeup done and hair styled. Today they’re simply here to make the last adjustments to the lingerie and final prep on the Saks Fifth Avenue semi-annual lingerie fashion show.
You may not think of lingerie as complicated.
I mean, it’s something we wear under our clothes or to sleep.
Not here.
Not tomorrow with these models’ bodies highlighting the latest in Saks intimate apparel. Not with my promotion on the line.
Today is the final rehearsal, the last chance to make this lingerie fashion show the best it can possibly be.
“So many,” she whispers again.
“And our job is to be sure they’re covered when they walk onstage.”
We both eye the model wearing only a black lace thong and matching bra that barely contains her C-cups. The padded half-moons of material push her boobs upward with the upper edge of her areola visible. My gaze narrows and lips purse as I turn back to Chantilly and fight back a smile with a shake of my head. It’s the same battle we’ve been fighting for the past week.
Chantilly lifts a tube that resembles something like a bottle of roll-on deodorant or better yet, a glue stick from preschool. In reality, that’s what it is, glue—body glue. By the time these models walk onstage their lingerie will be attached like a second skin.
“No wardrobe malfunctions,” we say in unison.
“Shana.”
“Shana?”
I’m turning and twisting in a million different directions as models and dressing assistants call my name with questions or simply look for my nod of approval.
That’s who I am, the number-one point on Saks Fifth Avenue’s semi-annual New York lingerie fashion show. It’s one of the top shows for the company in terms of attendance. Not only will there be buyers from all over the world, but the show is also open to the public. That means interested parties from everywhere will be in attendance, possible buyers and investors as well as the competition and of course, just the curious attendee.
That isn’t my choice. I like keeping shows professional. However, the added attendance is said to ramp up the excitement. According to Chantilly, who has been backstage for the last three shows, the enthusiasm radiates from the audience to the models.
As I fan myself with my clipboard, I wonder if we can handle more radiation. The temperature in the dressing room already feels like a hundred degrees and we still have hours of planning and refining.
Maybe the higher temperature is beneficial for the models. Since I’m not walking around in a bra and panties, my extra clothes may be part of my problem. No doubt that their lack of clothes could be an issue if they were cold.
Then again, too hot and body glue begins to melt.
No one wants that!
“Which one with the chemise?” Chantilly asks from across the room. “Thong or tanga brief?”
I eye the two swatches of white satin material she’s holding in the air, neither looking as if they’ll cover enough of the beautiful six-foot-tall model by her side to make a difference. However, with the way the white silk chemise hits the top of the model’s thighs, unless this fashion show wants to be renamed a striptease, one is definitely going to be necessary. Yes, more than breasts are on display behind closed doors. “Tanga brief, but in black.”
Chantilly’s eyes narrow before her lips move upward. “I like that. Yes, through the white silk it will pop.”
Models in all stages of dress and undress talk amongst themselves, moving about the crowded dressing room as they wait for their final assignment. I’m twisted in different directions with questions as I work to pin a too-long spaghetti strap onto the lace bodysuit.
“Shana!”
I turn my gaze as I poke the straight pin through the strap and into my finger.