Not just any bra. This is the “Yes They’re Real, and Yes They Look Magnificent in Red Lace” ego-booster I’d packed in a moment of delusional optimism, thinking maybe I’d meet someone who’d want to peel it off me slowly.
His eyes go to the cups and back. He tilts his head, studying them as if he’s troubleshooting a physics problem involving gravity and my giant breasts.
I can hear his thoughts.Okay, what size melons are we talking here? Cantaloupe? Honeydew? Oh my God, these are full-on watermelons!
“Emergency lingerie?” he says. “Now that’s a backup plan I can get behind.”
“Put it back,” I hiss.
When a throat clears, we both glance up.
A hotel employee stands holding a stack of towels and the kind of sympathetic smile reserved for people who fall down stairs in public.
“Miss?” she asks gently. “Might I assist you?”
I reclaim my bra from Cole and jam it into my suitcase. “Thank you so much,” I say cheerily. “A minor beverage malfunction. Totally fine.”
Cole stands in one infuriatingly graceful motion and offers me his hand.
I ignore it and haul myself upright.
SQLUUURRRPPPFFFFF.
The sound escaping my pants is wet, squelchy, and juicy, like I just gave birth to a jellyfish. The noise bounces around the soaring, wood-paneled ceiling in a rhythmic pinball of pure humiliation.
I accept the towels with a muttered thank-you. The employee nods and quickly disappears.
“Hey, glass half full,” Cole snickers, “at least you’re committing to the whole ocean conservation theme. I can go grab some kelp from the beach if you want to really nail this mermaid look.”
I stop dabbing uselessly at my chest. “I don’t have time for you. This is my shoot.”
“That’s weird because my schedule says otherwise, Stopwatch.”
The nickname hits as it always does. Annoying. Unoriginal.Sowhy does it still get to me?
“Your schedule is wrong, Cole.”
He straightens slightly, eyes flicking to my iPad, then back to my face.“You’ve got that maniacal look again.”
“This is the face of someone who’sthis closeto using your boot as a bludgeoning tool.”
“Kinky. So you enjoy getting your hands dirty? Good to know.”
“Listen, Hartwell, the girls at the office might fall for your cocky one-liners, but I am immune. You’re not going to breeze in here and turn my entire campaign into a circus with your last-minute inspirations.”
“You make spontaneity sound like a felony.”
“In campaign production, it is!”
“Right. Heaven forbid we capture something genuine before focus-grouping it to death.”
My hands ball into fists. “My campaigns are completely genuine!”
“Sure they are. About as natural as a Kardashian Christmas.”
“That’s not even—” I sputter, then catch myself. “That analogy makes zero sense! I think the word you’re desperately searching for is practical.”
“Being flexible is practical. You should try it sometime.”
