Johnny walked me outside, and a sleepy-looking valet retrieved my convertible. I threw my purse in the car and turned to face Johnny.
“Dinner tomorrow night?” he asked, cupping my cheek in his hand.
I hesitated. I liked Johnny, I really did, but the sex hadn’t been as casual as I thought it would be. Quite the opposite.
I’d been looking for a rebound guy, not somebody longterm.
But this felt like the beginning of something big, something serious. Despite our earlier promises to keep seeing each other, I didn’t know exactly how I felt about the sexy businessman. Other than hot and bothered.
“Come on. You promised Grandfather you’d come. You wouldn’t want him to miss out on his steak and wine, would you? He was really looking forward to it,” Johnny wheedled.
I laughed. “Far be it for me to let your grandfather down. Dinner tomorrow night. Or rather tonight. Eight o’clock?”
“It’s a date.” Johnny flashed me another sexy grin, leaned in, and kissed me.
It was another fifteen minutes before I was able to get in my car and drive away.
———
I entered my apartment at six in the morning. I tossed my purse on a table and sank onto the scarlet upholstered sofa. A smile spread across my face. Tonight had been fabulous.
Completely, wonderfully, absolutely, perfectly fabulous.
I stretched my arms over my head. The dry spell was over. I was totally satisfied. Johnny Bulluci should have been a sculptor instead of a businessman. The things that man could do with his hands. And tongue. And lips…
My thoughts strayed for a little while, replaying the evening over and over again in my mind. But my stomach rumbled, and I realized that I was starving. Sex really was great for burning calories, not that I had any problem in that department anyway. And it was definitely a lot more fun than exercise.
I was halfway through a gallon of strawberry cheesecake ice cream when the phone rang. I frowned. Who could be calling me at this hour? Johnny? My heart quickened.
“Fiona Fine.”
“Well, it’s about time you got home,” Carmen said. “I left you a message hours ago.”
I looked at the answering machine. Sure enough, the red light blinked on and off. I’d been so busy thinking about Johnny that I hadn’t even noticed it. “Sorry. I was out.”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t want anything important. But tell me, how was your date?”
“What date?” I mumbled through a mouthful of melted ice cream.
“The hot date that ended in you having fantastic sex.”
The spoon slipped from my fingers. “How do you know that?”
“I can hear it in your voice. You’re practically purring, Fiona. And the chief called and said you disappeared with some hot new guy you’ve been seeing. That the two of you were looking at each other a certain way. I just put two and two together.”
I cursed and picked up my spoon. Carmen’s inherent nosiness could be so annoying sometimes, especially when coupled with her new empathic powers. Didn’t I have any secrets from anybody anymore?
“I’m happy for you, Fiona. That you found somebody you like. I really am. It’s time you got back out there again. Now, if only I could get Lulu to—” Carmen cut off her sentence.
“Get Lulu to what?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“What’s going on with Henry and Lulu?” I asked. “It looked like they were fighting at the benefit tonight.”
Carmen was silent. “You’ll have to ask Lulu about that.”
“I did. She told me to buzz off. She almost ran over my feet with her wheelchair.” I scraped the bottom of the ice cream carton.
“Well, I wouldn’t worry about it. The two of them will work things out. Eventually.”
The last luscious bite of ice cream melted in my mouth.
Gone already. Damn. I should have gotten the grocery service to deliver more than just one gallon. “Well, if they do break up, can I finally set Lulu’s hair on fire?”
“Fiona! That’s not very nice.”
“What?” I asked. “She’s always telling me how hot I am. I’d like to show her how right she is. Just once.”
“Henry and Lulu are not going to break up. They’re just having a little problem right now.”
“But you’re not going to tell me what it is.”
“No. It’s not my place to say anything.” Carmen switched gears. “Now, back to you and the hot guy. How was it? I want all the juicy details.”
I sat back against the cushy sofa. Carmen was the closest thing to a girlfriend that I had, and I couldn’t exactly talk to my father about this. Plus, I felt like bragging. Just a little bit. All right. A lot. Who wanted to be modest when Johnny Bulluci was in the picture?
“Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. The man knows how to use his hands very well, if you know what I mean. As well as other parts of his anatomy.”
“So, who is the mystery guy?”
“Johnny Bulluci. Bella Bulluci’s brother.”
“I didn’t know Bella had a brother.”
“Well, she does. I met him at the wedding. He was the guy who thought he could take out Siren and Intelligal by himself.”
“You met him at the wedding? Really?”
I rolled my eyes at the note of triumph in Carmen’s voice.
“Yes, really.”
“Tell me about him,” she said.
So I did. I told Carmen how funny and charming and wickedly sweet Johnny was. How he made me laugh. And how he had reduced me to a puddle of oozing mush.
“He sounds terrific,” Carmen said.
“He is,” I admitted. “I just don’t know what to do about it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” I said. “At first, I was just going to have a fling with him to get my feet wet again, so to speak. But I really like him. A lot more than I thought I would. That’s complicated enough by itself. Then, there’s the whole secretidentity thing. I’ve never figured out how you tell a guy, Oh, by the way, I moonlight as one of the most famous superheroes in the world. I can create fireballs with my hands and bench-press a couple thousand pounds. It’s not exactly pillow talk. Most guys are intimidated by things like that, especially the superhuman strength part.”
“You’re not thinking about telling him that you’re Fiera, are you? You’ve only known the guy a few days!”
I wanted to point out that Carmen hadn’t even known Sam’s real identity before she’d slept with him, but I was too relaxed and mellow to quibble over that fact. Tonight, anyway.
“Of course I’m not going to tell him that I’m Fiera. How stupid do you think I am? I’ve been a superhero a long time now. It’s not something you just blurt out to people.”
It’d be a long, long, long time before I told Johnny what I did in my spare time. If ever. I’d had more than one guy dump me as a result of my nighttime escapades. Guys had one of two reactions when they learned about my secret identity—they freaked out and broke up with me, or they got totally kinky and wanted me to dress up in the Fiera costume for them. It was rather embarrassing when you had to get your father to mind-wipe your boyfriend because he couldn’t handle the fact that you could break his arm like a peppermint stick or barbecue him with a thought. Or when he wanted you to play dress-up in the bedroom all the time.
“Well, whenever you tell him, if Johnny can’t understand your other job, he’s not worth having. Just take it one day at a time. That’s what Sam and I did in the beginning.” Carmen hesitated. “But you need to be careful, Fiona.”
“Why’s that?” I got off the couch and opened the refrigerator door, still hungry.
“The chief told me about your run-in with Siren and Intelligal the other night. Those two are up to something, I’m sure of it. Something big. Something dangerous.”
“Is that what the voices in your head are telling you?” I snickered.
“Yes,” Carmen snapped. She tended to get a li
ttle touchy about her powers sometimes, just like newbie heroes always did. “That’s what the voices in my head are telling me.”
“All right, Mom, I’ll be careful.” I pulled a frozen pizza out of the refrigerator, tore off the wrapper, and put it on a baking sheet.
“Good.”
I wiggled my fingers, spreading flames over the ham, pineapple, and cheese concoction. “So how’s the honeymoon going? Where’s Sam at?”
“Right here beside me.”
My eyes narrowed. “Are you guys still in bed? Isn’t it like noon over there by now?”
“Eleven o’clock actually,” Carmen said in a cheery voice.
“You didn’t think you were the only one who got lucky last night, did you?”
———
After eating my pizza, a bag of chips, three cinnamon buns, and washing it all down with a six-pack of soda, I went to bed. Due to my late night out, I didn’t get to work until almost noon. Good thing I owned the place, or I would have been so fired. I strolled into Piper’s dust-free office, and the Hispanic woman gave me a sly smile.
“Someone must have had a good time last night,” Piper said, her eyes sparkling. “A very good time.”
“Why do you say that?”
She jerked her head at my office. I opened the door to find more flowers and chocolates crammed into the room than I’d seen in my entire life. There were three times as many as before, and they covered every single surface, even the floor. It looked like the Petal Pusher had set up her evil, flower-filled lair inside. I picked up one of the boxes scrunched next to a towering bouquet of white roses. Godiva chocolate bars filled with raspberry. Johnny Bulluci definitely had good taste.
Piper leaned in the doorway. “Like I said, you must have had a really good time last night.”
I just grinned.
I spent the rest of the day working. At least I tried to. It took almost an hour to clear out some of the flowers so I could actually get to my desk. More often than not, I ended up mentally replaying last night with Johnny. I’d catch myself staring at the flowers and chocolates and smiling. Well, at the flowers anyway. The chocolates didn’t last past twelve-thirty.
Eventually, I buckled down and got busy. I okayed Piper’s final pricing suggestions on the fall line and contacted the necessary fabric suppliers. I called a few of Bigtime’s rich society types to let them know their orders would be available for pickup next week and signed a variety of forms and initialed them in triplicate. I even answered all my outstanding Fiera e-mails.
Piper came in the office around three, bearing bags full of burgers, soups, salads, and desserts from Quicke’s.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I said, unwrapping a double cheeseburger as fast as I could without burning off the cellophane.
I bit into the warm, cheese-covered bun. Mayonnaise, chargrilled meat, tomatoes, onions, and more exploded onto my tastebuds. Ah, heaven.
“I know. You should give me a raise. A big one.” Piper snitched a French fry from one of the bags.
I nodded, too caught up in my burger to protest or smack her hand away from the fries. I didn’t like people messing with my food, especially eating what was mine. That was how nasty, fire-filled accidents happened.
“And don’t forget. Joanne James is coming in at four to talk about her next wedding dress.”
I groaned. “Is that today?”
Piper nodded. “Yep. You told me to set it up, remember?”
I groaned again and stared at the white paper bags. “So that’s why you brought me all this food. You were softening me up. Trying to bribe me with burgers so I wouldn’t weasel out of the appointment.”
“Guilty as charged,” Piper said, breezing out. “But it worked, didn’t it?”
I just took another bite of my burger.
———
Joanne James arrived at exactly four. She glided through the front door like she was the queen of Bigtime, even though she wouldn’t officially get that title until she married Berkley. She wore a sleek lavender Bulluci suit and matching heels that set off her blacker than black hair.
Amethysts bigger than small potatoes ringed her thin throat. They looked like something out of a Cracker Jack box. Except I knew the necklace was real. It had to weigh a ton. I didn’t see how Joanne held her neck up with that thing strung on it, much less walked around. When you factored in her golf ball–size engagement ring, the jewelry she wore probably weighed more than her scrawny body.
Like most women on the society circuit, Joanne was painfully thin.
“Fiona, darling!” she cried out, removing a pair of oversized black sunglasses studded with diamonds.
“Joanne, darling!”
We airkissed and told each other how fabulous we both looked. Once the fake pleasantries were out of the way, I led Joanne to one of the many spacious consultation rooms that branched off the storefront. The area featured plush chairs, a low settee, flowers, and sample books of all the garments I’d designed, along with trays of fabric swatches. A round raised dais and three-sided mirror stood in the middle of the area. It was everything I needed to outfit the fabulously wealthy—and unbelievably picky.
A knock sounded on the door, and one of the clerks came by with a tray of vanilla-crème-filled chocolates and champagne.
Joanne nibbled on one of the sweet confections, while I gulped down two glasses of the bubbly.
“Leave the bottle, and keep the booze coming,” I muttered to the clerk. “Slip me something stronger, if you’ve got it.”
She nodded with sympathy. She’d had a few run-ins with Joanne herself. The clerk left, and Joanne settled herself on the settee, sitting up smartly as to not wrinkle her five-thousand-dollar suit.
“First of all, let’s talk price,” I said.
It was always better to lock down the money up front.
That way, I wouldn’t spend my time and energy coming up with something fabulous only to have some penny-pinching rich bitch try to stiff me on the bill. Joanne was particularly notorious for doing that. Sometimes, I thought she should have gone into business instead of trolling for husbands. She was a tough negotiator.
Joanne waved her hand. The sparkles from her ring made my eyes hurt. “Money is no problem. Charge whatever you want for the dress. Berkley is footing the bill for everything. It’s his wedding gift to me. I told him that I wanted the wedding of my dreams, and he is more than happy to give it to me. He’s very sweet that way.”
Sweet wasn’t the word I would use. Besotted fool would be more appropriate. But if Berkley Brighton wanted to blow his whiskey millions on the wedding and throw some of that money my way, who was I to argue? Still, I couldn’t stop myself from asking the painfully obvious question.
“Haven’t you already had the wedding of your dreams? You have been married five times now.”
“Of course. The first one left a lot to be desired, but the last four were absolutely wonderful. But there’s always room for improvement, Fiona.” Joanne polished off her chocolate.
“Now, on to the color. I was thinking of something in a rich red. Burgundy maybe, or perhaps scarlet.”
“Scarlet?” I said. “Are you sure? What about white? Or maybe a nice ivory or pale pink?”
“I look like a ghost in white and utterly washed out in ivory. Pale pink? Disgusting. Besides, it’s not like I’m some sweet young thing who’s never been with a man. I’ve been around the block, several times, and we all know it.”
Despite her other faults, Joanne didn’t mince words or pull punches, not even regarding herself. I admired that small part of her personality.
“All right, red it is,” I said, pulling out a thick book.
For the next half hour, Joanne looked at fabric swatches.
She settled on a crushed velvet in a deep wine red color that contrasted nicely with her blacker than black hair and pale skin. Next, it was on to the dress itself. I showed her some preliminary sketches I’d done for various lines.
“No, no,
no, no.” She flipped through the pages. “Too poofy. Too saccharine. Too much tulle. Too many sequins. Wait a minute. This. Now this, I like.”
Joanne pointed to a sketch, and I snorted. I should have known she’d pick that one. The dress featured a long, flowing, almost transparent silk skirt and a lace-up leather bustier. The dress was a little too slutty for your traditional brides, looking more hooker than virgin. I’d actually been thinking of adding it to my lingerie line for next year.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I was going to use that garment for a more intimate line of apparel.”
“Absolutely. That will look marvelous on me.” Joanne’s voice rang with certainty.
Lingerie for a wedding dress? Well, it’d certainly look good in red.
Joanne stripped down to her undies so I could take her measurements. I couldn’t really tell how old Joanne was, given her ageless-looking face and rumored propensity for plastic surgery. But she still had a fabulous body, trim and toned, if a bit on the bony side. Tiny amethysts sparkled on her lilac-colored underwear, matching the jewels around her neck. Talk about flaunting your wealth.
Once that was done, I draped a piece of white muslin over her and started shaping it into the dress she’d picked out so she could see how it would fit and look.
“The wedding’s in two months. When will you have the dress done?” Joanne asked.
“We’ll do the final fitting in a couple of weeks.”
“Good.” Joanne’s eyes met mine in the mirror. “I want this dress to be especially fabulous, Fiona. The best thing you’ve ever done for me. This is going to be my last wedding, and I want to look my very best.”
I stifled a giggle. “Your last wedding? Are you sure about that, Joanne?”
A dreamy, faraway look crept over Joanne’s unnaturally smooth face. “Oh, yes. Berkley is everything I’ve ever wanted in a man. Kind, caring, sweet, richer than a sultan, fantastic in bed. He’s a very generous lover, the best I’ve ever had.”
I almost swallowed a pin. The woman looked as besotted as a teenager with a movie star. Joanne James truly in love?