“Damn.” He fans his face, and I turn my laptop away, wary, checking over those hips, too. Fucking hell, they’re exactly how I imagine Lainey’s naked hips to be.
Sal claps his hands and rubs them together. “Let’s nail this.”
Nail. His terrible choice of word makes me wobble even more before I force myself to concentrate on the PowerPoint document on the screen. I haven’t nailed anything for too long. “Consider it nailed.” I mentally punch myself in the face. “Ready?”
“Ready,” Sal replies, just as there’s a knock at the door.
Gina wanders in with a smiley Karen and Whitney close behind. I slap on my killer smile and approach them, greeting both women with a solid handshake, making sure I keep them in my grasp for long enough for them to wonder what these hands are capable of. Which at the moment isn’t a lot. Nada. Zilch. Zero. No wanking off with these hands, fuckers. “Wonderful to see you again, ladies. Take a seat.”
Gina leaves, and I swing straight into action, loading the punchiest, most captivating image from my project file onto the screen at the back of the conference room. “Introducing Pyra,” I say, watching in satisfaction as both women’s eyes light up. I let them take in the image of the fully dressed woman stepping off the curb, just for a few moments, before continuing. “All the ads out there for sexy underwear show the same old thing. A perfectly formed, semi-naked woman looking seductively at the camera. The majority of the female population don’t have a figure like the beauty in the image. They’re not looking at that picture and thinking how divine the lingerie is. What they’re actually doing is cursing their rounder backside or shorter legs. They’re comparing the perfect stats of the model to themselves, and that doesn’t make a woman feel good about herself.” I unbutton my jacket and stroll casually to the other end of the table. “Pyra is all about making a woman feel good about herself. Giving her a beautiful fit while making her feel beautiful, because every woman is beautiful, right? And damn society for saying otherwise. When a woman steps outside fully dressed, no one knows what’s hidden beneath the skirt or dress. But she does.” I look at Karen and Whitney, seeing their growing excitement. “Her confidence soars, because when she wears the Pyra brand, she’s not compromising on comfort or fit to feel sexy. How can a woman feel sexy if she’s uncomfortable? Bottom line, she can’t, and it shows in her façade.” I pause for effect and let them take it all in before delivering my killer line. “Wear lingerie for all to see.”
Both women sit back, looking a little dazed. “Wow,” Karen breathes. “You’ve grasped the message we’re passionate about perfectly.”
I smile. “I’m quite passionate about lingerie myself.” And women’s curves.
Sal laughs lightly, as does Karen. “I can see that.”
“And I know right now, you’re wearing Pyra, aren’t you?”
She smiles coyly, flicking a look to Whitney. “How’d you guess?”
I point to the screen and the image. “I can see it in your poise. You’re comfortable and confident. Men like confident women.”
“Do you have X-ray vision?” she asks cheekily, making me laugh loudly.
“I wish, Karen.” I pull a chair out and take a seat. “I wish.” Her eyes are telling me that I don’t need X-ray vision, because she’ll happily show me. And the pre-meeting-Lainey Ty would have encouraged her blatant offer. But now? Now I just feel a bit . . . uninterested. Well, fuck. What kind of bullshit is happening in my head?IT’S THURSDAY. THANK GOD, THE week has flown by. Mike at Paco Rabanne has kept me busy trying to find the perfect face to front their campaign, the Dior team has nailed their pitch, and I nailed Pyra, winning us the deal. I’m buzzing. Tomorrow is Friday. The end of another long week. A productive week, all things considered. This weekend, I’m going to fuck like a Trojan, you mark my words. Enough is enough. But tonight, celebratory drinks with the staff.
“Cheers.” Sal chinks my glass and sinks down his beer, gasping dramatically as I take a more dignified sip of my Scotch. Some of our staff have joined us in the wine bar down the road. It’s been a standard practice for Sal and me since we established Christianson Walker. Take our employees out for a few beers every now and then to keep up morale and make sure we have relaxed time with them away from the stress of the office. The fact Sal has to slip off these days after just one teasing pint is something I’ve gotten used to.
I watch as he finishes his first and orders the illusive second. “Living on the edge?” I ask as I pull a stool up and take a seat at the busy bar.