Playing with Fire (22 page)

In amusement, Reign said, “I swear I think you are more excited than I am, and I am pretty wound up about the whole deal.”

This morning Louise wore fishnet stockings, a short black skirt, and a lacy pink top with a black bra underneath. Clunky black heels completed the ensemble, and her hair was an unusual red not found in nature, at least not in most human beings.

But once again, she was really good at her job.

“Let’s go over the first design again, can we?” Reign’s desk was more of a disaster than usual, a computer angled at one end and her new sketches scattered everywhere. “I’ve picked out the fabrics and colors and I want to see how it works. Cocktail dress, my size, and let’s make the skirt full, so more women feel comfortable wearing it. This will be a mass-market enterprise, not just for certain body types.”

“Not all of us have your figure.” Louise had wide hips, but a pretty petite bosom.

“Not everyone has my nose either,” Reign pointed out wryly. “Supposedly it gives my face character.”

“Men don’t seem to mind.”

She glanced up at the sound of the male voice and set aside her sketch pen as she realized someone was in the doorway. “Joey.”

Louise audibly gasped, which was rather funny, but then again Joey Carre had an iconic name in the business that was more recognizable than Reign’s. This afternoon he wore a flamboyant red shirt—that he actually looked good in—and dark gray slacks, leather Italian loafers, and his smile flashed white teeth.

“Reign.” He strolled in, and she automatically rose to give him a swift kiss on the cheek. She hadn’t seen him since he had introduced her to Nick at that party. It felt like it had been years.

He squeezed her shoulders. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” She sank back into her chair. “Nice of you to drop by. Have a seat. Do you want a cup of coffee or something?”

Louise rushed to pick a pile of magazines off a chair. “Espresso?”

“Thanks, sweetheart. Sounds wonderful.” Joey sat, his smile benign, not even glancing over. “I’ve been coveting a breakthrough like yours for years, but that’s hardly a secret because, let’s face it, we all do. The New York fashion scene is buzzing over Reign Grazi.”

Reign said dryly, “The New York fashion scene is always buzzing about something. I think you told me that the day I first met you.”

“True, you’re just the flavor of the hour, but savor it, Reign. Tell me, you still seeing Fattelli?”

“No secrets in this town, I take it.” She lifted her shoulders. “Some, yes.”

“Word is all the time.”

The man in question was at the café across the street, working, but also, as Nick had pointed out, keeping an eye on the street and the doorway to her building. She said mildly, “I like Italian men.”

Joey chuckled. “You like good-looking men, and he just happens to be Italian. Speaking of your ex, how’s Vince? What’s he up to?”

“On Long Island right now, having a little vacation with a family friend.”

“Someone I know?”

“Probably.” In an effort to change the subject, she pushed a piece of paper toward her unexpected guest. “Since you’re here, what do you think of this design?”

The conversation then became centered on the cut of the neckline, and while Reign was the designer, she always respected someone else’s opinion, or at least listened to it. Joey’s taste might be a bit eclectic, but he was the tuning fork of the world she worked in. Style was an interesting facet to every personality. Not everyone liked the same thing, so that was just a stone cold fact. However, appealing to the most people possible was the important slant to every single career in her profession.

He sipped his drink and offered some pretty good advice, and when he left, she went right back to work.

An hour later, she took a break and called Sal. “How are you doing?”

“Well, still not able to leap buildings in a single bound, but I’m not sure I was ever up for that anyway, so maybe not all that disappointed.”

“You sound good.” She
did
care about him and felt a nostalgic sense of their lost romance. The good part was that their friendship was growing, even if it was entirely in a different direction. And, in her mind, everyone could always use another friend.

He told her, “Dr. Altea stopped by with breakfast and changed my bandages. If you weren’t such an audacious bitch, that wouldn’t have happened, so I guess I should thank you.”

“Bitch? I’ve never been called that before.”
Yeah, right
. About a thousand times by her ex-husband, which was part of the reason he was her ex-husband. She didn’t mind the label as long as it wasn’t said vindictively. “And yes, you should thank me.
You
wouldn’t have made a move.”

“Can those two bullet holes excuse me from my less than flirtatious behavior?”

“I like your shyness, but if I wasn’t an audacious bitch you and I wouldn’t have slept together either. I needed to step in.”

“Reign.” He laughed, and then it cut off and a second later he said on a suffocated voice, “Don’t do that to me again, okay?”

“Fuck you? You seemed to like it—”

“Stop being funny.”

She took mercy on him. “I’m sorry. I was just calling to see if you needed anything.”

“I need
you,
but it isn’t going to happen, is it?” He sounded wistful, but resigned.

Gently, she said, “No.”

“Damn it, Reign. Why would you ever pick Fattelli over me?”

“Sal, I could never hurt him like I could hurt you.” She looked out the window and tried to quell the pang of regret.

On the other end of the line, he blew out a breath she could clearly hear. “I hate to break it to you, but you’ve already hurt me.”

“It was a compliment.”

“And maybe you’re selling
him
short. Ever think of that?”

This conversation was getting entirely too involved. Evidently he felt the same way, for he added, “Sorry. My fault. I keep bringing up the same topic when I already know the answer. Call me tomorrow?”

“I will.” She ended the call and frowned at the latest sketch. This was going to be entirely different from anything she’d done before. Part of the deal was swimwear, and she was much more comfortable with evening wear and formal attire in general. It was a little difficult to make a bikini unique, but a challenge was a challenge.

An idea occurred to her and she started to work, putting a hint of a ruffle on the tiny skirt of the suit bottom, which she never did, but the cut of the suit would be perfect for it. Along with that, she decided on a deep purple for the color, which made her consider that later she might need a big chilled glass of wine because—purple, really? But it worked, and sometimes taking chances paid off.…

“You look pretty intent.”

Reign glanced up. Nick leaned in the doorway of the studio, a faint smile on his face. “I’m at work,” she informed him. “So I’m working.”

“Is it okay if I use your restroom? I’m not a germ freak or anything, but I wanted to check in and I assume yours will be cleaner here than the one across the street.”

“Right there.” Louise pointed at the door. “Like right there.”

“Thanks.”

As soon as he went in and the latch clicked shut, she leaned a hand on Reign’s desk. “Who the fuck is that? Seriously? First Joey Carre—
the
Joey Carre—and now this guy? Checking in? Why?”

“He’s a … friend.”

“With benefits, I’m guessing.” Louise tilted her head back with an exaggerated sigh. “I have
friends
and none of them look like him.… He’s gorgeous. His shirt cost more than a new set of tires on my car and he wears it well. Have you thought about using him as a model?”

Reign took a moment to contemplate how that suggestion might go over and stifled a laugh. “I don’t think he likes being photographed. Besides, he’s an investment banker. I’d guess he doesn’t need whatever we could pay him.”

A loose description. Maybe Nick was a little bit more than an investment banker, but keep it simple.

Louise wasn’t buying it. She had some pretty discerning street smarts. “My ass that’s all he is.”

Reign took in a breath. “He’s a very beautiful man. I agree with that. What else he might be I don’t know, and maybe we should not push to find out. Get it?”

*   *   *

“Of course I would model.”

It was always fun toying with Reign and this was no exception. She turned and sent him a glare that would incinerate the devil.

To ashes. In the depths of hell.

He liked her office. It was business-like, and though he would have never chosen the red-and-white-striped chair she sat in, it worked. There were shelves and filing cabinets, and her desk held the usual clutter of a laptop, pens, and a stack of business cards, but it was definitely an organized mess. He also liked her in a soft pink blouse and a casual skirt, because he was used to seeing her dressed up, or entirely undressed. Both were great, but this was nice too.

“You were listening?” Her nape looked soft and tempting under a very business-like upsweep of ebony hair secured by a gold clip.

“I walked out of the bathroom and heard you,” he said with no hint of defensiveness. “Am I supposed to apologize?”

At least she owned it. “No. I just assumed you’d politely pretend you didn’t hear.”

“I didn’t know you also designed men’s clothing.”

“There is a lot about me you don’t know.”

Don’t count on it, sweetheart
.

Louise chimed in. “Don’t assume anything about Reign. She designed that chair she’s sitting in. Awesome, isn’t it?”

Nick rested a hip on her desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s
very
talented. I can attest to that.”

“She isn’t referring to blow jobs, darling.” Reign said it with false sweetness, leaning back in her chair and twirling a pen between her fingers.

“You have a younger brother? I give good blow jobs.” The rather eccentric young woman who appeared to be an assistant or secretary was obviously enjoying the exchange, her mouth twitching into a gamine smile.

“Sorry, honey, his brother’s a priest,” Reign informed her. “Will you excuse us for a second? Maybe go get us lunch? I was thinking Chinese.”

The young woman left, muttering, “A priest, that’s practically a crime.”

When the door closed, Reign said quietly, “She was joking. She’s a nice girl.”

He spread his hands. “You happen to be the one who brought up blow jobs. I merely gave you a compliment. What did Carre want?”

“Just to say congratulations.” She tilted her head toward the window that faced the street and the café where he’d been all morning. “Everything quiet down there while you were buying and selling stocks and probably making millions?”

“So far, so good.”

He hadn’t seen anything suspicious, which was somewhat of a relief, but he couldn’t quite get past the idea that he might be missing something crucial. It bothered him.

“Want to work in here instead?” Her face held a troubled expression when she turned back. “I don’t like you sitting there exposed at a table on a busy thoroughfare. Anyone could take a shot.”

“Are you protecting me?”

“Is there an objection?”

“No.”

He leaned forward and let his mouth linger inches from hers. “You sure?”

She wanted to kiss him. He could tell.

“Oh, Fattelli, just go back to the café.”

“I thought you just invited me to stay.” He straightened, still propped on her desk.

She laid her hand on his thigh and her green eyes were somber. “It isn’t like I care or anything, but maybe you
should
stay.”

He was starting to realize that her armor was penetrable, but he really needed to be the right man. Decision time for
him,
just as much as for her.

It was comical, when he considered it. Covering her hand with his and entwining their fingers, he was pretty much as afraid of this as he sensed she was.

Maybe more.

And he was never afraid.

“You don’t care about me?” He asked it softly.

She glanced away at the window. The view of the cars going by was about the same, the street busy, the apartment building above the café baked by the sun. “Maybe I didn’t say that the right way. ‘Care’ implies something I don’t want to imply, and you don’t want to hear, so—”

“Hey, that’s the second time this afternoon you’ve decided what I do or do not want. Speaking of which, I keep in shape, so let me model something. I might not be twenty-five or anything, but I might be useful. Don’t overlook the possibilities right in front of you.”

“Really? You’re serious?” It was Reign’s turn to cross her arms in front her chest, freeing her hand first. “Down a catwalk, jacket flung over your shoulder?”

“I might.” His smile crinkled the corner of his eyes.

“You might even like it. You might not be twenty-five, but you know how you look. All the women would be drooling on themselves. Uhm, no. Rule one: I don’t share. That happens to be
my
dick unless you choose to put it somewhere else, in which case, it is all yours again.”

She wasn’t so much difficult to understand—he had some personal issues himself—as she was hard to handle. Their relationship was starting to make her wary, and he was wary as hell too, and … where was this going?

“Your ex-husband cheated?” He asked it cautiously.

“My ex-husband did almost everything possible wrong.” Her eyes were like glittering green diamonds, but then she softened. “Except I do think he loves his son. He just doesn’t understand how to do it the right way, and I’m sorry, as hard as I tried, I couldn’t teach him. That’s a path he’s going to have figure out for himself if he ever makes the effort. It’ll be fine. Vince knows we both love him. He’s very bright. He
gets
it. I’ve got to say he’s one kid that knows the tension is between his father and me and not anything really to do with him. He’s never blamed himself like some kids of divorced parents.”

Nick reached out and did what he’d been wanting to do since he walked in, which was loosen the clip in her raven hair. It spilled over her shoulders in an inky fall.