Chapter 16
Choice breathed audibly as her phone rang again. “Remington, I am not going with you!” she muttered before mashing the talk button without checking the ID. He’d called every day since Tuesday and twice on Friday, trying to convince her to join him for a weekend cruise to Martha’s Vineyard. On this rainy Saturday morning, Choice was in no mood for coercion. One of her assistants had quit, run off to Italy with a lover she’d just met, and another had called in sick. On top of that, two of the vital fabrics needed for her men’s line had not arrived, and the jewelry designer had raised his prices. If one more bad thing happened, she’d lose it for real. She snatched up the phone. “I said no, okay? Now please stop calling. I’ve got to work!”
“Work is why I’m calling, baby girl,” a low, sultry voice responded. “I’m sorry for being so busy the rest of the week. But I’m ready to come down for the fitting that was so wonderfully interrupted earlier.”
The moment she heard Trey’s voice, Choice’s mood instantly changed. Only now did she realize that of all the situations that had put her in a bad mood, not seeing Trey since their hot encounter on Monday night, the one that had flowed seamlessly into Tuesday morning, was probably the truest reason for her funk. “Any other time, I’d fire a model for being a no-show,” she said, a smile evident in her voice. “But I guess I could make an exception.”
“Have you eaten breakfast?”
“No, but don’t even ask me to leave the shop, and don’t expect to dally when you come down. There’s enough work for three people on these tables and I’m the only one here. So this visit is strictly business, okay?”
“Sure, baby. Strictly business.”
“I mean it, Trey. If you can’t abide by my wishes . . . then don’t come down.”
Trey hung up without answering.
Choice looked at the phone before she tossed it aside and continued laying out the pattern of the one-shoulder, form-fitting evening gown that she knew would see a red carpet within the next year. It’s better that he doesn’t come down here, she thought, trying to appease the empty feeling in the pit of her stomach at the thought of not seeing Trey. I need to stay focused.
Forty-five minutes later, the downstairs doorbell sounded. “It’s about time,” Choice muttered, as she stomped down the hall to let in the assistant complaining of food poisoning. But why didn’t he use his key? Choice looked through the peephole. Her heartbeat raced as she beheld the vision of beauty on the other side. She opened the door. “You came?”
“Sure I did,” Trey said casually, brushing past Choice and taking the steps two at a time. “You think you can scare me with that funky attitude?”
“No, you didn’t,” Choice indignantly responded.
“Yes, I did. A fluffy cheese omelet and your choice of bagel: cinnamon raisin or blueberry.” He smiled as he faced her, having purposely misunderstood her previous statement. “You can thank me with a kiss.” He closed his eyes and pursed his lips. Choice thought he looked perfectly devilish and delectable, all at once.
She walked over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks. I’m starved.”
She unpacked the sack that also contained a bowl of fruit salad and two containers of orange juice. After washing her hands, she joined Trey at the break room table. “You know you’re not supposed to be here. It’s not cool to jeopardize your six-figure job for a modeling gig that at best will get you a free pair of pants.”
“Oh, I squashed all that. Everything’s cool. You can marry me now.”
Choice’s eyes widened. “Marry you?”
“Dang, girl, don’t look so scared. I’m just teasing. But I did handle that rumor and the mistaken-identity situation. You know that information I e-mailed over to you, proving I’m Trey Edmond and not Tre’ Eugene? I gave a printed version to your dad as proof against what Remington had told him about me.”
“How do you know Remington had anything to do with it?”
“Please. Who else could it have been?” Trey took a bite of his food. “It doesn’t matter. In fact, I’m glad it happened. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been aware that the problem still existed. Now everybody knows what’s going on, and there will be no surprises at a crucial moment to potentially screw up a deal.
“But enough about me and McKinley Black. I’ve been dealing with that all week. What’s going on in the world of fashion?”
Choice was silently amazed. Trey and Remington couldn’t be more different. Where she couldn’t remember the last time Remington initiated a conversation about her work, if ever, Trey seemed genuinely interested in her world. Her heart swelled with love for him, and her kitty meowed with wanting.
“It’s crazy,” she began, and spent the next fifteen minutes giving him the brief version of what had happened the past week. “So I’m actually glad you called,” she finished, gathering up their empty wrappers and placing them in the trash. “I can fit you, and then at least get started on the toile for the first suit.”
“What’s a toile?”
“It’s like a dummy design, so I can test out the pattern before cutting the more expensive cloth.”
“Oh.”
They walked back to the main area of the shop, where Choice instructed Trey to strip down to his undies. This time she practiced restraint, resisted the urge to sculpt him with her hands, and quickly took his measurements. “Okay, we’re all done.”
“Cool.” Trey dressed and leaned against the cutting table. “What can I do now?”
“What do you mean, what can you do?”
“I’ve got a few hours before my match with Josh. You said you’re running behind. How can I help?”
“Trey, that’s so sweet. No one I’ve ever da . . . I mean, you’re the first person to ask me that.”
“You can say it, baby. We’re dating.”
“I don’t know, Trey. Granted, I am very attracted to you. It’s almost scary. But we’re both at crucial times in our careers. Do you really think we have the time to commit to a relationship?”
“We’ll take the time.”
Choice turned back to the table and began cutting around the pattern placed there. “It sounds easy. But relationships have a way of turning complicated.”
“That’s because you were dating the wrong dude!”
“Ha! Oh, that’s it.”
“Umm, it sure is.” Trey slid behind Choice, ground himself into her butt, and nibbled her ear.
“Trey. Don’t. Start.”
“Just one kiss, baby.”
“No! I mean it. I’m going to count to three, and if you haven’t stopped, I’m going to have to ask you to leave!”
Trey squeezed her butt cheek. “Can you put about a minute between the one and the two?”
“Trey!”
“All right,” Trey said, laughing. He stepped away from Choice’s plump onion, even though he wanted nothing more than to take a bite. “If you’re not going to give me any loving, then put me to work.”
He had no background in design, but Trey did manage to trace the outlines of four paperboard patterns onto muslin, and using a chart that Choice had designed, matched various accessories—buttons, piping, lace, etc.—with the corresponding fabric swatches for that garment. During this time, Trey and Choice chatted like old friends who’d known each other for years, and Choice shared more about her fashion goals than she’d ever shared with anyone else. Remington called again. She let it go to voice mail. In spending time with Trey, Choice discovered that while she appreciated hearing about and supporting others’ dreams, she also relished talking about her own with someone who seemed genuinely interested. For the past ten years, her dream had been to be a force to be reckoned with in the world of fashion. Now she had another dream . . . to spend the rest of her life with the man who’d simply asked, “How can I help?”