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I smile. “I have something for you too.”
“Yeah, you do,” he growls, hand sliding over my ass and hauling me tight against him.
I let out a sigh full of feigned exasperation. “On the bed.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He sweeps me into his arms, carrying me to the bed while I scream at him about his head. He just laughs.
“I’m fine now. Good as new,” he says, gently setting me on the edge of the mattress. “I’d be even better if you let me have a little taste.”
His present is lying on the bed, so I snatch it and hand it to him before he can get under my skirt. His eyes widen in surprise and he turns the plain brown paper package over in his hands a few times before he tears into it.
They’re just cotton jockey shorts, but I designed the fabric and printed them for him. Little Superman logos with a capital T inside, instead of an S.
He tackles me onto the bed and I scream about his head and my dress, but we’re both laughing and kissing and after, he helps me back into the dress. He’s on his best behavior as I reapply my makeup and fix the mess he made of my hair.
I forget about the surprise he has for me until the driver pulls up in the back of a building on Robertson Boulevard. We’re running late for the wrap party already, but Timothy isn’t remotely concerned and grins as he helps me out of the car.
“What’s this?” I ask as he leads me to the heavy backdoor, pulling keys out of his pocket.
“You’ll see,” he says, letting us in.
The click of my heels echoes in the empty room as Timothy leads me through the back to the front of the shop.
It’s beautiful, with clean lines and shiny surfaces.
He hands me the key. “This place is yours.”
My jaw drops. “What?”
“We’ll get some decorators in,” he says, looking at the exposed rafters and lighting fixtures. “Make it more your style.”
“I don’t understand.”
We both turn at the sound of footsteps and my jaw drops as Soraya Williams, the designer behind Mioe, steps into the room alongside Eric Kouame, who only makes the most elegant handbags and clutches, and oh my god. I must be high. I got into the edibles again. These two are already big names and they’re only getting bigger—how the hell does Timothy know them?
“Perfect fit,” Soraya says, looking at the dress I’m wearing. Her dress, which Timothy rumpled to hell. There is no way she can’t see how badly we’ve treated it.
Timothy winks at me. “Couldn’t agree more.”
I open my mouth, but my words stick.
Timothy introduces us—he knows Eric from his gym and Soraya through a mutual friend and I’m pissed off he never told me. Or I would be if I could emote. Instead, I’m so starstruck he has to guide me through small talk. I can barely follow but it sounds like they’re talking about this place as a small boutique that would sell Soraya’s dresses, Eric’s accessories, and my lingerie.
That can’t be right. My subscription service is a little exclusive, but that’s because I’m only one person with so many hours. Both their brands are environmentally conscious, but that’s the only thing we have in common.
I’m not anywhere near this caliber. I can’t put my thongs or period panties in the same room as a Mioe dress or an Eric Kouame clutch.
“I’m sorry,” I finally manage to get out, smiling because I’m afraid my face is twitching. “I didn’t…Timothy, what did you do?”
He grins and tugs me close, wrapping me in a one-armed hug. “You know how I needed a job?”
Oh no.
“I bought this building. I was told a lingerie shop wouldn’t be enough to make the bills, even with nice stuff like yours, so I called up Soraya and Eric, and they agreed they wouldn’t mind having a place in West Hollywood to sell some of their product.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. When I open them, nothing’s changed. “You…bought a building. Like that.” I snap my fingers.
“Well…with a silent partner. I’m not buy-a-building-on-a-whim rich.”
