Page 1 of Secret Match
Chapter 1
Paris Fashion Week…
Somehow,everyone loved her shoes.
Everyone.
The press had actually cheered for her bright yellow platforms with daffodil-painted heels as the models strutted the catwalk.
Kiwi Washington used her phone to track the location from her hotel room near Notre Dame and the Seine, to the after-party where her boss, Victoria Morgan, and her coworker, Caro Morgan, were holding court.
Paris was nothing like Detroit, or Miami Springs, where she’d lived for the past few months. The shining white pavement showed care in every step whereas Miami had the created-and-loved fifty years ago feel. The spark in her veins after the show tonight meant nothing could go wrong.
For once, everything was perfect.
Without a care in the world, it was her night to just smile and party in paradise. Her phone directed her to the building across the street.
Kiwi straightened her knee- length purple dress from the House of Morgan that she’d matched withherblack and purple daisy shoes. As she passed a mirror in the lobby, Kiwi fluffed her curly hair that reminded her of Halle Barry when the actress had playedCatwomanway back in the day.
Done, Kiwi headed inside and checked the text with the apartment number. How did anyone survive without a cell phone? The question flitted through her mind as her feet bounced in excitement.
Naturally, it was the penthouse suite. Kiwi walked into the elevator and pressed the button. The House of Morgan never partied like peasants in a regular apartment.
She exited into a hall and knocked on the door. Caro, who had recently married Luke Morgan, answered and kissed her on both cheeks. “You were amazing, Kiwi.”
Kiwi hugged the talented dark-haired designer whose clothes were also the talk of Paris, and then scanned the room.
The acceptance of the French was absolute. White and black mixed and smiled with each other as though color wasn’t even noticed. This was so different than Detroit or even her new home in Miami where your zip code still segregated everyone. Here all that mattered was that the champagne flowed.
Caro didn’t seem to even notice the differences, but then Caro had more money than most of the free world—her circle was different than Kiwi’s day-to-day life.
The Morgans could probably live on a different planet, but that was okay. She had a job that made her happy—designing shoes. “Thank you,” she said and slipped into the party
“Go. Mingle.” Blonde, blue-eyed, Victoria Morgan was on the phone in the corner of the room and signaled for Caro to join her. Caro winked at Kiwi. “Victoria is dealing with some trademark issue with the House of Morgan. Look, I’ll find you soon.”
Kiwi instantly caught the gaze of an olive-skinned man who could double as an ancient god or at the least a movie star. He probably wasn’t into dark skinned girls—then again, his perusal warmed her skin. Instead of leaving she said, “I should help you and Victoria.”
Caro had no idea of Kiwi’s intense interest in the man across the room as she said, “No. You should enjoy yourself. Your shoes were amazing on the runway today. Everyone loved them.”
“Thanks.” Kiwi hugged her coworker one more time. If only she truly was confident and sassy, but despite the stereotypes that she should be strong, Kiwi was in her heart a bit of a nerdy girl who also loved fashion.
Kiwi resisted the urge to tug her purple dress a little higher over her plunging cleavage and strode toward the bar where she picked up a glass of white wine from a tray.
A masculine hand settled next to hers on the bar counter as the man took a glass for himself. “Hi, gorgeous.”
The energy of Paris buzzed through her veins combined with the success of her show—she laughed and decided to erect a shield of confidence. She smiled flirtatiously up at the man who had to be well over six feet with broad shoulders stretching the white silk of his shirt. His accent wasn’t French. “Thank you. It’s nice to meet a man with good taste.”
Seriously, that hadn’t even sounded like her.
But it was.
She sipped her wine as the man’s strong arm slid sensually against her bare arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. “And a woman who so easily smiles? You must be American.”
Her eyes had to be sparkling. She drank and pretended to be sophisticated as she laughed softly. “My smile gave me away?”
“Yes.” He guided her to a quieter corner of the dazzling main room. Outside the balcony door, the Champs de Elysee shone in the distance. He didn’t seem to notice the brilliance of the city as he leaned close to her and she smelled his woodsy cologne. “It’s entirely too bright,” he cautioned, “and everyone can see your happiness.”
As happy as she was, her smile was nothing like Paris, the city of lights. She held her wine glass next to her cheek, deciding her best tactic was to ignore the jibe at her country. “Well, I’ve had a good day.” Stellar was closer to the truth. “My shoes-”
