Page 34 of The Billionaire's Ride

“Because it’s impossible. The lace alone would take days.”

“Not if you have help.”

“Who? My seamstresses are in L.A., and I need to be hands-on. Especially with such short notice. There’s no way. It’ll have to wait until fall fashion week.” The reality of waiting to show these is the low point of the night. But I don’t want to go there. “I may still see if I can put at least one of these together.” I’m thinking the red one will make Drew explode in his pants.

“If you’re going to do that, might as well try for the rest. You’re in London. And you have so many contacts. I’m sure you have a few favors to call in.”

I consider her proposal. “Hmm, these designs would make a bigger splash. Plus, the investor’s coming to the show. If I move some things around and delegate, maybe it could happen.”

“No, Kate, itwillhappen.”

“It’s not crazy?” I ask, thinking it’s a pretty big undertaking. Then I close the leather cover of my sketchbook, embossed with a classic serif “F.” If Drew could get these hard-to-find, out-of-stock sketchbooks and have them delivered to my door at exactly eight o’clock, then maybe I could make the impossible possible too.

“It’d be crazy not to.”

I wish her a good night and finally surrender my date clothes to the floor while the shower heats up. The warm water is soothing until it trickles around my back. Ouch! That stings. Twisting around, I spot a rug burn-like scrape about three inches long right above my ass.

“Ooh,” I say. Is that a sex injury? I close my eyes, putting myself back there against the hard, wet . . . tree. I should’ve known I wouldn’t get out of a night with Drew unscathed.

Bang. Bang. Bang!

A pounding at my door jolts me awake.

Bang. Bang. Bang!

I rub the sleep out of my eyes and squint at the side table clock. It’s after ten. Who could be banging at my door? Drew is the first person to come to mind. This whole scene is veryreminiscent of yesterday morning when I showed up at his place unannounced. Would he do the same thing?

I hope not. I doubt I look as scrumptious in my pajamas as he did in his boxer briefs. I peek through the peephole, my heart pounding as hard as my visitor’s fist.

“Kate? Are you in there?” Beau’s nose covers my view.

I relax a little and open the door. “Girl, what’s with the rude wake-up call?”

“Does this look rude to you?” She hands me a coffee. “He’s not here, is he?”

“No.”

“Well, you didn’t answer your phone, so I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

I yawn. “Yes, I’m fine. I just had a late night.”

Beau grins. “Oh, yeah . . .”

“Yeah, I sketched until three in the morning.”

“Sketched?” Her expression crumples. “What about your date?”

“What about it?” I pinch my lips sealed.

“C’mon, Kate. Don’t make me beg.”

I take a sip of the fresh coffee. I’m not sure if it’s the first drop of caffeine or the mention of my date, but I’m wide awake. I climb back into bed, and Beau curls up next to me, wide-eyed and waiting.

From the Fredrickson gift to the first kiss, the motorcycle ride beneath the moon to the rain, I spare no detail about the entire wet night. God knows I’ve sat through dozens of Beau’s blow-by-blow sex tales.

“Kate!” She squeals, hugging a puffy white pillow over her chest. “That is so hot! In the middle of Hyde Park!”

“No one could see us,” I say, hoping that’s true. There better not be a shot of the two of us in the throes of passion publishedon theCheeri-Ooh!site.But strangely, I almost don’t care. It’s worth it.

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