“Where are you moving to? What are you going to do about a job? Samair—have you thought any of this through?”
Samair knew from experience the conversation was only going to go downhill from there. “I’m staying with Joey, and I’ll find a job. There are plenty of clothing stores out there.” So what if most were chain stores that wouldn’t allow her any freedom to alter the clothes for the clients?
To be honest, she was sick and tired of letting other people tell her what she could and couldn’t do. The ultimate plan would be to open her own store, but she couldn’t even afford to rent an apartment, let alone start a business.
As she looked out the window, Samair listened with half an ear to her sister babble on about what Mom would think, and question why she would want to work in a clothing store when she had a college education. “You might be a bit flaky but you’re such a smart girl, Samair. You could do so much better than working as a salesgirl in some retail outlet.”
Tired of banging her head against a brick wall, Samair brought the conversation to a close. “I have to go now, Cherish. Tell Mom I’ll call her in a couple of days. And don’t worry, I’m fine.”
Samair stared at the people around her. Everyone doing their own thing, minding their own business. No one had heard Cherish’s harangue, but it was embarrassing just the same. It had been years since she’d been lectured like that. There’d been no lectures because she’d been a complete wuss. She’d stayed at a job when her new boss walked all over her, and she’d ignored the lack of chemistry with her boyfriend just because she thought she
should
be in a relationship.
Why she’d done that, she didn’t know.
Yes, actually, she did know. She’d never really wanted a relationship, but after college, when she’d gotten a solid job—it
had been
a good, solid job when Bethany was running the boutique—a boyfriend seemed like the next step.
She’d been following the same plan the rest of her upper-middle-class family followed. And she’d gotten herself stuck in a relationship that was false and, by a twist of fate, a job where she was unappreciated.
Basically, she’d gotten a life she didn’t really want.
She glared at the cold mug of coffee in front of her. She’d ordered it because it was what one did at a coffee shop, but she hated coffee. She hated the smell of it, the taste of it . . . she hated it.
Damn it!
She stood up so abruptly her chair fell back onto the floor and people stared. But she didn’t care. She was done caring what others thought of her behavior. Last night, for the first time in way too long, she’d felt good.
She used to enjoy life. She used to be someone who had friends, plans . . . dreams. She used to feel things. Sometime in the past few years she’d lost her way. She’d given up on those things. She’d given up on herself, and settled.
Sure, she’d been a little impetuous, even a little wild, but she’d been alive. She’d been in charge of what she did and what happened to her. No one else, just her.
Just like she’d been last night.
She’d felt playful and daring when she’d hit the club, and even better when she’d gotten Valentine Ward alone.
Holy hell, that had been better than good!
A laugh bubbled up inside and spilled from her lips as she grabbed her backpack and headed for the door. She’d been her own boss, and she’d liked it. There was absolutely no reason why she couldn’t go after her dream of
always
being her own boss.
8
J
oey didn’t bother with her keys when she got to her building. Instead she pushed the buzzer for her apartment and yelled, “It’s me. Let me in.”
The door buzzed and she pulled it open and started to climb the three flights of stairs. The audition had been long and grueling. She’d made it through the first three cuts, but not the final one. It totally sucked because she’d made it that far in auditions before, too many times to count, but she’d yet to get the break she needed.
Sometimes she wanted to give up. Sometimes she wondered if her love of dancing was enough, if maybe she just wasn’t good enough to make it. In two more years she’d be thirty. Too old to be the kind of dancer she wanted to be. She enjoyed teaching—up to a point. But her heart was really in performing.
As much fun as dancing at Risqué was, she wanted more than that. She wanted to go on tour with a troupe or a show. Or at the least do some music videos or commercials. Vancouver’s film industry was booming and there were plenty of opportunities; all she needed was the right break.
She was glad not to be alone with her thoughts that night. It was sort of nice to know someone was there waiting for her. Especially nice that it was Sammie.
She hadn’t seen Samair in way too long. In all honesty, she’d wondered if she might never see her again.
The last time they’d hung out, Sammie had seemed so distant, and . . . well, sort of limp. Like all the life had gone out of her. But last night it was back full force, and Sammie had been as seductive as ever.
It sucked that the shit had hit the fan in Sammie’s life, but it was good to see her friend’s fire hadn’t disappeared.
Just thinking about it made Joey feel a bit better. There was a time when she’d been in love with Samair. But that had changed. Romantic love had shifted sometime during their college explorations, morphing into a deep, abiding friendship. And Joey was going to do everything she could to help her friend follow her heart.
After all, she thought as she pushed open her apartment door and hefted the plastic bags she was carrying onto the counter, life was meant to be
lived
.
One look around the studio apartment showed her that Sammie had indeed moved in. A couple of suitcases were lying on the bed, and Sammie was glued to the loveseat in front of her sewing machine, which was set up on the coffee table.
“Been busy today, have you?” She tossed her gym bag onto the bed next to Samair’s suitcases. “I brought Chinese.”
“Yum!” Samair said, cutting some threads and pulling her newest creation from the machine. After she ran a critical eye over it she tossed the material at Joey. “Try this on.”
“Ohhh! For me?” Pleasure ran through her and she squealed like a little girl. She
loved
it when Sammie made her clothes. They always fit perfectly, looked good, and lasted forever.
“Made just for you, baby.”
All her depressing thoughts floated away while she whipped her sweatshirt over her head and did up the bra-like top as she walked toward the bathroom.
She pulled the door closed and gazed at herself in the full-length mirror hanging there.
“It’s gorgeous, Sammie!” She ran her hands over the royal purple satin that cupped her breasts lovingly before she tangled her fingers in the soft fringe that hung from under the underwires to her hips. “You are so talented. When are you going to realize people would pay a lot to have something like this?”
She did a shimmy and a little bump and grind, loving the way the fringe played peekaboo with her fair skin. The top was going to help her rake in the tips.
“You really believe that?”
“Fuck yeah!”
“Good.” Sammie’s voice was determined. “Because I want you to help me start my own design label.”
That got her attention. She spun away from the reflection in the mirror. “Really?”
Samair nodded.
“It’s about time!” Joey left the mirror and grabbed Samair in an enthusiastic hug. She felt like a proud mama. Sammie was finally going to go after her dream and do what she was meant to do—be her own creative and original self.
This was exactly what Sammie needed. To remember what her dream was, and to go after it. When a person gives up on their dreams, their spirit dies.
She went back and looked in the mirror again. This time Joey looked herself in the eye. It didn’t matter how many auditions she had to go to, she wasn’t going to give up on her dream either.
Her stomach rumbled and she spun around and pointed at the waiting food. “You get that out while I change. Then we can eat, and you can tell me how I can help.”
They didn’t bother with plates, just used forks to eat straight out of the takeout containers as they brainstormed.
“I’ll be your official model and spokesperson! I have a few things you’ve made me over the years, and I’ll be sure to wear them, and tell everyone how durable they are, too. Durability is a key issue for dancers.” Sweat and constant rubbing against body parts were hell on materials.
“I think starting with the dance community is great, but I need to do more. That isn’t enough business.” Samair chewed a piece of ginger chicken before rambling on. “I need to find a way to get the word out about custom lingerie, too. I know I’m not the only woman with hips and a big ass out there who wants to wear sexy underwear and not feel like an idiot.”
“What about a catalogue?” She could leave one at the studio where she taught, and drop them off at every audition she went to. Soon they’d be all over the city.
But Sammie was quick to nix that idea.
“Too expensive. I have enough savings so that, if you agree to let me stay here, I won’t have to look for a day job for a couple of months. But only if I’m smart about where I spend.”
“Mi casa es su casa.”
Joey waved her fork blithely. The place wasn’t big, but she didn’t need a lot of room and it was nice to have Sammie around again.
Samair grinned her thanks. “You know that means you get your outfits for free.”
“Yes!”
“I want to make some low-slung black velvet hip-hugger pants to go with the purple bra, too. Will you wear them to the club when you dance and tell all your friends to order some?”
“Ohh, velvet pants,” she cooed. “Very cool. And for sure I’ll push them for you. Okay, a catalogue is out, but you definitely need business cards! I can do some up for you on the computer as soon as we come up with a label.”
Samair nibbled on her bottom lip. “What do you think of Trouble?”
“It’s perfect.” Joey set down her fork and raised her glass of Diet Coke in salute. “To doing what we were meant to do . . . and mucho success for Trouble!”
9
V
al stood in the shadowed corner watching Samair as she danced. Things had been pretty hectic the last few days with staff problems, calls from Vera, and a visit to the court-house to testify about a fight that had happened outside the club six months earlier. All normal things, but everything seemed to be happening at once, and the curvaceous blonde had popped into his head at odd times. He’d be doing the schedules or talking on the phone with his liquor vendor and the image of her on his desk, all angelic and naughty at the same time, would fill his mind.
He hadn’t lied when he told Karl he wasn’t going to let her distract him, but since she’d walked into Risqué that night he’d been able to think of nothing other than learning more of her secret fantasies.
The club was pretty busy for a Monday night, and he’d watched from his office as she laughed and danced with her friends until the itch under his skin became undeniable. After a quick round of the club, checking in with his doormen and bartenders to see that all was well, he’d found a corner and searched her out with his gaze.
A soft pink top hugged her upper body and showed off her fantastic cleavage, and a long flowing skirt hid the curve of her delectable ass. Her breasts bounced and her skirt swung as she danced with an enthusiasm and abandon that called to the animal deep within him.
As if she sensed his thoughts, she spun around and her gaze landed directly on the corner where he stood. On him.
There was no way she could see him in the darkened corner, but she knew someone was there, watching her. A defiant and blatantly devilish grin spread across her face and she shook her ass, rubbing against her partner. The challenge in her gaze was clear. She was out to have a good time, and nothing was going to get in her way.
She raised her hands, spun in her partner’s arms, did a last rub against him, then walked away, leaving behind the loser who’d been trying to make a move on her on the dance floor.
The thrill of the chase fired up inside Val and he stepped out of the shadows to follow her. If she really wanted to misbehave, he was the man for her.
He saw her at the back bar and moved in that direction. When he stepped up behind her, Tommy was just sliding her drink in front of her. With a shake of his head Val signaled the bartender to refuse her money. Before she could turn around, he leaned in and spoke softly against her ear. “What’s number two?”
She did a tight turn, her body brushing erotically against his, and looked up at him. “Number two?”
“On your list of favorite sexual fantasies.”
“Oh,
that
.” Her baby blue eyes met his dead on. “You thinking of helping me experience the whole thing?”
“Possibly.”
Her little pink tongue snuck out and slid slowly over her pouty bottom lip, making his cock twitch with need.
Samair saw the flare of heat in Valentine’s dark eyes and an answering flame licked at her insides. The urge to dance close to the fire had her reaching out to place a hand low on his belly. His stomach contracted, and heat seeped through the silk of his dress shirt to her fingertips, invading her body.
“I’m not so sure ‘possibly’ is good enough. You’re asking me to share my deepest desires. They’re very personal.” She struggled to keep her voice light and flirtatious.
“How about we make a little deal?”
“Deal?”
He moved closer, leaving mere millimeters of space between their bodies as he reached up to brush a lock of hair away from her cheek. “You tell me your fantasies . . . and I’ll make them come true.”