Page 8 of Triggered By Love
“You used to—”
She hung up. She hated cutting him off, but it had to be so she wouldn’t relapse. He had no idea how hard it was to stay clean.
Twenty minutes later, she alighted from a cab and made her way to her publicist’s office. The city was caught in a midsummer heatwave, but as much as she wished she opted for jeans, she was aware that image was everything in the fashion business.
Tucking her large-framed sunglasses in her purse, she ascended the elevator to Alida’s twentieth floor office. After her discussion with Detective Burnett, Avery was sure she didn’t want Matt Swanson or any other man with her on the ramp walk.
She would do it alone, and she’d show whoever was gunning for her that she wasn’t afraid.
“You’re late,” Alida said, standing at the window of her corner office.
Avery was about to protest when she caught a movement from the corner of her eye.
Quarterback Matt Swanson leaned against the doorway with one elbow up, striking a pose designed to show off his muscular shoulders and arms.
He gave her a slow wink and said, “Every inch worth the wait.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you had company,” Avery said to Alida who was primping her severely cut bob of sleek black hair.
“Thought I’d kill two birds with one stone.” Alida gestured to a chair opposite her desk. Her overly red lips gleamed with a fresh application of gloss, making her look like a hungry wolf.
Avery sank onto the chair and noticed it was lower than the one Matt took, making her feel like a child at the school principal’s office.
“Now that we’re all here,” Alida said. “Let me make the introductions. Matt Swanson, meet Avery Cockburn. Avery, meet Matt.”
Avery went through the motions of shaking the big man’s hand and keeping her composure. Why was Alida so keen on putting them together?
“Alida tells me one of your male models has come down with mono,” Matt said. “Since I’m going to be at the fashion show, I volunteered to take his place.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Avery looked him square on the shoulders. “I don’t have your measurements, and I’m sure you won’t fit into anything Jorge was wearing.”
“How about your Cocky Heroes big and tall collection?” Alida suggested. “Think what a boon it would be to have Matt Swanson modeling it. You couldn’t pay for such publicity.”
Alida did have a point, but in the business world, nothing was for free. She wanted to ask directly what was in it for Mr. Swanson, but she was sure she already knew. He wanted to show the world he was brave enough to be in the Cocky Heroes lineup for Manhattan Fashion Week, especially since it would be the one-year anniversary of the shooting.
“I’ve taken a look at the outfits,” Matt said. “Such power. Dazzling boldness. The colors and fit. Totally on fire. It’s like you designed them with me in mind.”
Actually, Brando was the muse for this new line of active and formal menswear. It was cut to fit powerful and heroic men—the first responders who put their lives on the line without a thought for their own safety.
It was definitely not inspired by a selfish athlete with their multi-million-dollar contracts and off-field antics.
Avery’s lips twisted, holding back the words that would get her in trouble.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” Alida filled in. “We all know your brand took a beating after you ghosted the media the entire winter and spring season. I did the best I could, milking the sympathy for Brando’s heroic death, cultivating the mystery of the unknown assailant, and yes, I did amp up the danger inherent to your designs. One could get hurt with some of the hardware you stitch into the apparel.”
Avery had taken to enlarging sequins into colorful and iridescent metallic scales and stitching them onto the bodices of her evening gowns. She’d also incorporated quill-like spikes down the backs and over the shoulders of fitted jackets, and of course, she littered her party dresses with dazzling arrays of sewn on crystals and shimmering chains.
“The Cocky Heroes menswear line is paying homage to first responders,” Avery stated, hoping Matt would get the hint.
“And every dollar raised will go to the firefighter’s widows and orphan fund,” Alida said. “Matt is prepared to write a huge check in addition to being the public face for Cocky Heroes.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Avery stuttered. This was beyond what she’d ever imagined. If she were to look at it objectively, having all-pro quarterback Matt Swanson be the public face of her Cocky Heroes line was like getting a presidential pardon for jaywalking.
What’s in it for him?
Before she could think of a polite way of determining what she had to do in return, Alida shoved a contract across the desk.
“Just say ‘yes’ and sign,” she said.
