Forty Day Fiancé (Sassy in the City 3)

“Off and on for eight years. I’ve spent stints in Vancouver, London, Berlin, and Milan.” Every year or so I had to leave temporarily to meet the pesky terms of my visa.

“Wow, quite the international woman. Here I thought you were from Pennsylvania.”

I turned and make a face. I had to be prepared for him to tease me about being Savannah, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. “I’ve never been to Pennsylvania but I’m sure it’s delightful.”

“What were you doing in Milan? I love Italy. I spent a month there two years ago.”

“In my younger years, I did some modeling. I was a showroom model for Versace for fashion week.” Becca was clearly not a Versace woman. I hadn’t spotted any pieces from the iconic house. She was more of a conservative dresser. I, on the other hand, loved the glamorous sexuality of Versace. I just didn’t have anywhere to wear it anymore.

“I’m not surprised you were a model, but you’re saying ‘younger years

’ to the wrong person.” He gave me a grin. “That sounds ridiculous to me. What is a showroom model? I’m visualizing you lying on the hood of a car and, trust me, it’s a good visual.”

That made me stand up straight and give him an appalled glare. “What? Bite your tongue! It’s where you stand in an outfit, perfectly still, for hours, while international buyers come in with the label and go through all the pieces. They want to see how the garments lie on a real body, not a mannequin. There is usually a half dozen models or so in a showroom and the buyers have appointments to view.”

“That’s not at all what I was picturing.”

I laughed. “Clearly not. No, I was not lying on cars in a Union Jack bikini, sorry to disappoint.”

“That is actually very disappointing. Did you enjoy showroom modeling?”

“God no, are you bonkers? It’s boring as hell to stand there immobile, not speaking while they touch and prod the clothes you’re wearing while saying things like ‘I love the affordability of this’ when it’s a ten-thousand-euro jacket.”

“That doesn’t sound enjoyable at all.”

“No.” I snapped a pic of the Chanel Classic quilted single-flap in a caviar color. I put my hand on a drawer. “May I look inside?”

“Of course.” He just watched me.

Inside there were velvet boxes with necklaces, bracelets, and earrings laid out.

I would be jealous of his wife except the poor woman had barely had time to enjoy her beautiful things. It made me feel instantly sad for her. What a hard knock, getting breast cancer at thirty.

Quickly, I took a few pictures then closed the drawer again. “I’m done,” I said, wanting out of there. I could feel his eyes on the back of my head and it made me uncomfortable.

Besides, what if Becca’s ghost had just seen me snog her husband and now I was picking through her clothes to sell them? I did not want to be haunted by a jealous ex. That was all I needed in my life.

“I’ll have a quote in a few days and you can let me know if you want to proceed.”

“Oh, I want to proceed,” he said.

His voice was whisky smooth and dripping with innuendo. Presumably sexual. Or maybe that was wishful thinking on my part.

But I had to get out of there before I asked him to bend me over the ottoman. It had been far too long since I’d had sex and I really, really wanted to call him daddy.

Bye, Felicia.

As much as I hated the expression it had its appropriate moments and this was one of them.

Gripping my tablet against my chest, I eased past him out of the closet. For a second I didn’t think he was going to move, that he was going to kiss me again, but then he shifted to allow me to exit.

I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I set my tablet down so I could stuff my feet into my boots and threw my coat over my arm. I’d put it on in the lobby.

“I’ll call you about Thursday,” he said. “Do you have a cuisine preference?”

“I’m fond of sushi. Speak to you soon.” I opened the door to his flat and bolted for the lift.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he called after me. “I’m looking forward to a lot of things.”