Page 26 of Triggered By Love
“Ave.” Trent waved her over. “Haven’t seen you around in ages. You doing okay?”
“Yes, okay.” She leaned in to give him a friendly hug.
The brunette didn’t wait to be introduced. She stuck her willowy hand at Avery and said, “I’m Jayla Cooper, and I do a little modeling in my spare time.”
“Nice to meet you,” Avery said, taking note of Jayla’s athletic build. “Do you surf?”
“I’m more of a skier,” Jayla said. “Competitive, but I snowboard, too. There aren’t many places to surf around here. Why do you ask?”
“I do a photoshoot in Hawaii every winter,” Avery said. “If you’re interested.”
“I better work on my tan.” Jayla glanced at the freckly skin on her arms.
“I’ll introduce you to Kerry when she comes to the show,” she replied, looking at Trent. “Would you like tickets?”
“Sure, if you’re handing them out.” Trent grinned. “I understand the show’s dedicated to Brando. He would be so proud of you.”
Avery gave him a tight nod. She’d never get used to talking about Brando in the past tense. Suddenly, she wanted to be alone and nurse her sorrows over a stiff drink.
“I’ll get you a beer,” Trent said, mollifying her. “A Corona with a twist of lemon, no lime?”
He remembered. It was what Brando ordered her every single time they went out.
“Thanks.” She sidled away from Jayla’s overly enthusiastic prattle and found a seat in the corner of the bar underneath the clock.
It was all she could do not to burst into tears.
A shadow fell over her. “You look a little lonely. What’s up?”
She glanced up into a pair of wraparound sunglasses and huffed. “I’m surprised you can see through those shades.”
Larry the Leech laughed and removed them. His name was Larry Leach, quite unfortunate, but he had a good sense of humor about it.
“Buy you a drink?” he asked, tucking the shades in his shirt pocket.
“Someone beat you to it.” She smirked, picking up a peanut and cracking the shell. “When did you get back in town?”
“Day before yesterday.” He ordered a gin and tonic.
Avery crunched on a peanut and gave him a skeptical appraising look. “There have been multiple sightings of guys wearing wraparounds. No trench coats though.”
“Not going to catch me in aviators. I’m not my dad.” Larry crushed a peanut shell with his thumb and index finger. “He’s mighty proud of you, by the way.”
Avery’s stomach soured, but she gamely kept her face from crumbling. Professor Orson Leach was her mentor at the fashion institute, and without his help, she wouldn’t have scored a spot in the Manhattan Fashion Show.
“That’s what he tells you.” She accepted her light beer and raised the bottle toward Trent to thank him. “He thinks my Cocky Heroes line is too retro, hearkening back to the day when men were men, or as he put it, cavemen.”
Larry twirled his finger around, tracing the condensation beading on her beer bottle. “I take it your guys aren’t wearing skirts or meggings.”
“Not even a kilt.” She was about to say Brando wouldn’t be caught dead in even a pink or lavender shirt but squelched the words.
Larry was an international financier and dressed fashionably well, but his tastes in clothes were trendier and more unisex than she could stomach, tending toward form-fitting jackets and slender slacks.
“Are you going to give my father a private showing before the show?” Larry asked without a hint of innuendo.
How could he know what kind of hold he had on Avery? To Larry, his father was a jolly, if somewhat eccentric, fashion designer who thrived on teaching, critiquing, and encouragement. He was so well connected that any student he recommended would get placements in the most competitive shows.
“I might, if I had the right model,” Avery said. “Wouldn’t he want front row seats at the show instead?”
