Bad Reputations: A steamy, celebrity romance (The Breaking Through Series Book 1) Page 6

  Lucy took a relieved breath. “I saw you on the Larry Williams show the other day. It was fabulous the way you took off when he started asking you about the sex tape. It took a lot of courage.”

  “Not really. I was just so shocked, I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Hi.”

  A door shut behind them, and at the mellow sound of Blake’s voice, Kirin swiveled on her seat, her pulse inexplicably racing.

  “Looks like I’m just in time.” He strode across the room in a smart jacket and artfully faded jeans. “Great to see you, Lucy. Sorry I’m late.” He leaned in and kissed her on both cheeks. “Your new studio’s looking great!” A twinge in Kirin’s chest at the sight of Blake kissing Lucy caught her by surprise. She was angry with him, that was all. Being late once was unfortunate, twice was plain bad manners.

  “Oh, Blake.” Lucy staggered a little as he released her. “Thank goodness you’re here. Now that we’re an hour late, I’m running into another booking. Just give me a minute and I’ll get everything together so you can take Kirin through at your own pace.”

  As she hurried away, Blake shrugged out of his charcoal jacket and tossed it on a white couch as he pulled up a chair. “Sorry I didn’t pick you up myself this morning. Stuff came up.”

  “Do you make a habit of making people wait?” She didn’t care that her tone was icy. “You were late yesterday, too, and I’m not used to being kept waiting. I’ve given you fourteen days. Now there are only twelve and a half left. I’ve got better things to do than spend that time waiting around for you.” She almost mentioned the driver’s concern about being tailed, but she stopped herself. She’d handled that sort of thing without Blake Matthews, and if he wasn’t going to be reliable, she’d continue to do it on her own.

  He crossed his ankles and lifted a brow. “I’ve apologized. What more would you like me to do?”

  She shrugged. “A simple text would be a start. Were you with another client?” Of course he was with another client. His intimate talk yesterday had convinced her she was something special. She wasn’t. According to Lucy, that was all part of his business style.

  “No.” He pulled up a chair and eased himself into it. “There was an accident while I was out running, and I had to stay and help the women in one of the vehicles. I was thinking on the way here, though, that it’s much better if we do this whole thing incognito, in the meantime, anyway.”

  Kirin blinked, trying not to feel guilty for where he’d been, and also trying not to notice the way his black shirt skimmed his torso, or the way he fitted so perfectly inside his jeans. She was angry with him and she wanted to stay that way, whether he’d been a good Samaritan or not. Far better for her concentration levels. “Incognito?”

  “Yes.” He leaned back a little and crossed his feet at the ankles. “First, it’s best if your transformation looks like it comes from you as much as possible—that you’ve taken control and made choices for yourself. Secondly, it’s important you’re seen on your own or in the company of other women only. We don’t need any paparazzi photos of you and me together. Or you with any man, for that matter.”

  “No men?” Blake’s brisk business tone had caught her off guard, and she had to concentrate on what he was saying. “How long for?”

  “Six to nine months, at least.”

  “I can’t date for six to nine months? Not that I can imagine dating at all any time in the next millennium, but still.”

  “Effectively, yes.” He turned more fully to her. “Significant damage was done to your reputation through your relationship with Trent. We want everyone’s focus to be on you alone now. There’s no room for anyone else in the picture.”

  Her blood chilled, and she sat back. “There was no relationship with Trent. I’ve told you that.”

  He fixed sea-green eyes directly on her face. “Okay.”

  Didn’t he believe her? The questioning set of his eyes suggested maybe not, and for some ridiculous reason it hurt.

  “If we’re to work together this closely, you’re going to have to believe me,” she said quietly. “There was no relationship, not even a hint of one. My dealings with Trent Bray were brief and nothing but professional.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  Telling the celebrity what she wanted to hear.

  He squared his shoulders. “I understand the details of what happened are important to you, but your public doesn’t give a damn about reality. It’s all about perception. We need to move on to how we can change the way they perceive you.”

  Her throat dried as she listened to his small talk about what they’d do today. Why should what he thought of her matter so much? He was right that they needed to focus on changing the public’s perception. And for some unexplained reason, she wanted his perception of her to change, too.

  “So, how do we do all this, then?” She shrugged off the gnawing in her belly and lifted her chin. “How do we meet to discuss strategies and visit places like this if we can’t be seen together?”

  He stood and walked to the clothes Lucy had hung on the racks, and self-assurance pumped out of him. It didn’t matter where he was—in an alleyway, a studio full of clothes, the kitchen of a woman he hardly knew—he possessed an overpowering sense of arrogance that left Kirin steaming, in all the good ways and all the bad. Never had she met anyone with such unapologetic, ball-breaking confidence.

  “I’ll send drivers to pick you up and take you to and from appointments and I’ll meet you there as we did today.” He picked up the hem of a dress and rubbed the fabric through his fingers. The movement was strong and sensual all at once.

  Lucy’s description of him half-naked in the magazine shot flashed through her mind, and she bit her lip.

  “Any time we need to be together to talk strategy it’ll be at your place or mine.” He let the fabric fall. “And when we need to do something in public, we’ll attend separately.”

  Part of her sagged with disappointment. In the days since they’d met, she’d had an underlying hope that Blake was going to be her knight in shining armor, the man who’d be there to protect her from all the nasty things that could happen. But of course he wasn’t there to protect her, he was there to change her, and she’d get her head around that just as soon as she could stop imagining him in those tiny white boxers.

  She shouldn’t need a knight in shining armor. That was the whole point. Joe had been her protector for so many years, and it had been a large part of the reason she’d lost her own identity. It was time for Kirin Hart to be the one in the driver’s seat—she would not be relying on any more men in her life. Especially not younger ones who thought they were the center of the universe.

  Before she could reply, Lucy came hurrying back in with another pile of boxes. “You said you wanted some shapely dresses in block colors, Blake, so I’ve put a few things together. I’ve teamed them with my choice of accessories but we can change anything you’re not comfortable with.” She turned to Kirin and put the boxes down. “The first thing we need to look at is your underwear.”

  Her blood ran cold. “Pardon?”

  Lucy lifted the lid of the nearest box and pushed back some tissue paper. “I think we can find a much better bra for you. This one’s not working with your gorgeous figure. I’ll measure you up for something that fits and lifts you better.” Lucy stepped forward and on reflex Kirin slammed her hands across her chest.

  Blake rubbed a palm across his chin, head on one side as if appraising a brood mare or a new sports car. “Not shape-wear though, Lucy? I want to keep Kirin’s curves. If we’re to believe she loves food and eats her own cooking, we don’t want her looking too skinny. No tummy controllers. A natural-looking bra with decent support and a bit of push up will do it.”

  “Oh, really?” Lucy said, tilting her head as if to get a better view of the lumps and bumps, and Kirin automatically sucked her stomach in. “If you think it best—being au natural, I mean.”

  Kirin’s head swung between the two
of them as if she was at a tennis match.

  Blake nodded. “Absolutely.”

  A piece of bacteria under a microscope or dog poo being inspected on the bottom of a shoe—that’s what it felt like, being spoken over like this. As soon as Lucy turned to get something from the clothes rail, Kirin let out the breath and whispered to Blake, “We’re not doing the underwear thing now, are we?”

  His lips tipped in a grin and he whispered back, “I think we can let Lucy take care of that later. Let’s just try a few of these dresses on and get a feel for the image. Unless you want me to take a look at your lingerie now?” He clasped his chin in his hand, head tilted. “I’d be more than happy to.”

  A rush of heat flooded Kirin’s face, and she turned away. “I bet you would.”

  Five minutes later, Kirin was sucking in a breath again as Lucy buckled a thin white belt around her middle in the brightly lit fitting room. Blake sat only feet away behind a gauzy white curtain and already the roof of Kirin’s mouth had dried, and her palms were damp at the thought of him scrutinizing her again.

  Lucy stepped back and let out a sigh. “Oh, wow, Kirin. This look really suits, you. Truly. I have to admit when Blake told me I’d be working with you, I had my reservations. The last time I saw you in a photograph you were wearing one of those alligator clips in your hair and Crocs on your feet.” Her whole body shuddered. “But you wear this updated fifties goddess look, beautifully.”

  Kirin grinned. She loved her alligator clips and wouldn’t stop wearing them for anyone. Hesitantly, she stroked the soft fabric of the dress. It was light and comfortable, but seemed to hug every inch of her, and it was far too bright.

  “Are you ready?” Blake called. “I seem to be growing roots out here.”

  “Ready,” Lucy said, and before Kirin could prepare herself, she flung back the curtain.

  As he lifted his eyes from the contract he was reading on his phone, the air seized in Blake’s lungs. Kirin stood in front of him, hands crossed protectively in front of her, and he’d never seen anyone look more beautiful.

  It wasn’t the flyaway hair that had yet to be styled, or the belt she’d so vehemently argued with him about only minutes ago, it wasn’t even the designer dress that hugged every perfect curve of her that caused him to stay motionless in the chair. It was the look on her face that he hadn’t seen before. A hesitant, inquiring look that showed a spark within, as if a light had gone on and she was searching for how to make it brighter.

  “I’m off now,” Lucy trilled. “Sorry to leave you, Sweets, but I can’t be late. You’re in expert hands here, Kirin. I had fun today. Let’s get together for a drink soon. I’ll bring my sister, Pippa. She works magic with a makeup brush.”

  “I’d love that,” Kirin called over her shoulder. “I’ll text you.”

  Distracted by the vision in front of him, Blake lifted a hand to Lucy and he struggled for words. “How do you feel?” he finally asked.

  She stared at herself in the mirror, shaking her head as her hands slid up and down the fabric. Her tongue poked out and moved slowly across her lips as she turned left, then right. Still, she said nothing.

  “You look great,” he finally said, his legs disobeying his desire to stand and be closer to her.

  She frowned. “The fabric feels nice but…” Turning side on, she shook her head. “It makes me look far too busty.” She pushed out her chest and then rolled her shoulders so it sucked back in. “I look like a bobble head.”

  Words refused to form as he battled for what to say. She most definitely did not look like a bobble head. She must know how stunning. . . and incredibly different. . . she looked, but he had to give her the impression she was making decisions just as much as he was. “You’re in perfect proportion.” He was still rooted to the spot, blood pounding through his veins.

  “No, I don’t think so.” She swiveled on bare tiptoes. “It’s not practical. Look at how this skirt sticks out. Imagine if that caught a gas flame.”

  He chuckled. “You’d need to be doing something pretty wild on a stove-top for that to catch alight.”

  A red tinge rushed across her cheeks, and she looked over her shoulder and frowned in the mirror. “I’d hate to spill spaghetti sauce down my front with this on.” She looked back and her fingers brushed the skin exposed above her breasts and his mouth dried. The thought of her cooking in that dress, dripping a little sauce there and having it wiped—or licked—away, sent fire through his veins.

  The dress, the sexiness of her bare feet, and the tiny belt at her waist had him mesmerized, but it was the way she held her chin higher, the tilt of her head as she looked at her reflection over her shoulder, that was doing him in.

  He cleared his throat. “This is a great look for you. It’s not cutting-edge fashion, but that’s not what we want. We’re after a look that defines you as an individual but still has you firmly in the role of domestic bliss creator. It’s a perfect outfit for a cooking show.”

  “No, I’m not convinced.” She dismissed everything he said with a flick of the wrist. He smiled inwardly at the return of controlling Kirin. “I’d have to wear high heels if I wore this and that would just look silly on a cooking set.”

  “You’d feel more comfortable in flats?”

  “Flats are what I’d usually wear but they wouldn’t look right with this, would they?”

  He started looking through the boxes of shoes Lucy had left. “You don’t like heels?”

  “I do, but I’m five-four and Joe was only five-six. It never seemed fair to be towering over him, so I never wore them. And I was always worried about slipping in a TV studio.”

  “Try a wedge.” He picked out a dove-gray shoe with pin pricks at the front and a tortoiseshell clasp at the side. “They’ll give you the height and provide balance for the dress. And they’re hot.”

  Kirin put her fingers to her lips as if physically holding back a smile.

  “What?”

  “No man I’ve ever met used the word wedge in relation to a shoe, let alone that it might be hot.”

  Trying to ignore the way her warm chuckle floated around the room, he took a shoe from the box and knelt. “Women love that I find shoes hot.”

  “Oh, I bet they do.” She lifted her foot and the second it was in his palm, a bullet of heat shot up his arm. Her skin was silken-smooth, the delicate bones beneath making perfect ridges against his fingers.

  Now. Put the shoe on now, a voice in his head said, but he didn’t want to lose the sensation of her skin against his palm, and he stayed motionless.

  “Blake?” she asked. “Are my feet too big? Oh, God, there’s a bit of a bunion or something on the bottom of that one, too, isn’t there?” She looked down and wiggled her toes. “How gross.”

  He slid his hand up to circle her smooth ankle. “No, your feet are perfect.” He slipped the shoe over her delicate toes and placed her foot on the floor. “Although, when we’ve got you wearing peep toes, you’ll be wanting a full pedicure.”

  What was this reaction to her all about? She didn’t have the looks or style of women he’d dated in the past. And he’d vowed to avoid relationships with anyone famous since the disastrous relationship with Ellen. Having paparazzi follow his every move, being constantly burned like an ant under a magnifying glass, had sworn him off the lifestyles of the rich and famous for good.

  Apart from the fact that there was no way Kirin could be with any man—let alone one five years her junior after what had happened with Trent—he’d never go back to the moral vacuum of the celebrity lifestyle.

  Talking about spicing things up and having to focus so closely on her lush figure and her sparkling eyes was bound to make him feel spiced up himself. And Kirin Hart was so much more than a client in need of a makeover. She was his ticket to owning the most powerful image consultancy in the nation. He wouldn’t forget it and would rein in these responses to her before they got him in any trouble.

  He buckled the shoe and drew himself to his f
ull height. “Well?”

  She turned side on and then to the front again, her lips pulling side-to-side, and then down in a pout. “No, it’s not right. I can’t see myself in this sort of thing. It’s a major fail, I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve only tried on one dress. There are dozens more.”

  She tipped her head to one side. “Maybe something else would work.” She tugged at one shoulder. “This is too revealing. Too sexy.”

  Sexy. She was damn right there.

  “It’s the perfect sort of sexy.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a camera. “Just the right amount of skin showing, hugging in all the right places. Turn this way.”

  Immediately, her hands crossed over her chest. “What’s that thing? What are you doing?”

  “It’s an instant camera. Prints instant photos. I use it to keep a record of the looks you’ve tried and we can find a common theme to the ones you like.”

  “Can I take a look?” He passed her the camera, and she turned it upside down. “Why don’t you just use your phone and look at the photos later?”

  “Because I’ve had fussy clients like you before and they get paranoid about having bad photos floating around. This way you can be in charge of ‘possibles’ and you can burn the ‘no ways.’”

  Her warm honey eyes narrowed. “You think I’m fussy?”

  “I know you are, but I’ll tell you how bad when we’ve tried some more outfits.” He appraised her again. “What if you wore something around your neck, would that make you feel better about the neckline?”

  “I don’t know.” She chewed her lip. “What did you have in mind?”

  He put his hand low on his hips. “That necklace you were wearing the first day I met you would look good.”

  “The letter K?” A rose glow swept across her face. “You noticed that? I bought it the very first time I had enough money to start saving.”

  “It’s good,” he said. “Very you and a perfect complement to the dress.”