Page 21 of After-Party Consequences

Yes, if only...

‘Okay, well, my work here is done,’ Cassie said, thankfully not asking any awkward questions about Cade.

As soon as the call ended, Charley checked her in-box and found a link to a file-sharing site. After pressing Download, ten photos flashed onto her phone.

As she examined each one, her heartbeat slowed, and heat burned her cheeks.

Rapinda Patel was clearly another of Cassie’s protégés, because her work was exquisite, the shots vibrant and yet so fresh and real, capturing her and Cade in sharp focus on the dance floor—amidst a blur of colour.

Her bronze silk minidress looked incredible—sultry and sophisticated, but also fun and flirty. It made a statement about the Trouble Maker brand which Charley couldn’t have replicated even if she’d paid a fortune for studio shots... But it was the two of them together—Cade’s striking handsomeness, the strength of his body, the rugged appreciation in his expression and the fierce joy on her face as he launched her into a twirl—which made the biggest impression, adding raw sex appeal and dreamy romance to the compositions.

She let out a slow breath. She had to use them.

Surely he wouldn’t care? It was a tiny bit dodgy to use his image without his consent. But contacting him was out of the question... He might think she hadn’t moved on the way he had, and hearing that low, sexy Southern accent again would not help with her sleep deprivation.

She swallowed down the foolish yearning making her chest ache...just a little.

You made the right choice, Charley. Time to concentrate on your business now, instead of a one-night stand that didn’t mean anything...

Decision made, she framed her three favourite shots, opened all the Trouble Maker accounts on the different apps she used, wrote a quick caption, and launched the stunning shots onto the internet before she could start the second-guessing game again.

Confidence and excitement—and a strange breathlessness—washed away the prickle of unease as likes started popping up seconds later.

Cassie Broussard had given her the shots to use. And what would be the point of going to the most exclusive event of the summer season in the US if she couldn’t take the best advantage of it?

Anyway, she needed the confidence boost, because she had to ring her brother Adam now...and beg him to release fifty thousand pounds from the trust fund her mother had left her that he still controlled. She’d made a point of never dipping into it before. Partly because she wanted to succeed on her own terms, but mostly because she had got the hump when she’d asked Adam for some start-up funding after graduating from fashion college and he had insisted she write a business plan. If that wasn’t code for ‘I don’t trust you to make smart, career-focussed decisions and not muck this up’, she did not know what was. She’d decided to use her own savings from her catwalk days to get started.

But she couldn’t possibly handle all the commissions she already had on her own. So she was going to have to suck up her pride and persuade Adam she was a good investment. Maybe she didn’t have a business plan which would impress him—she wasn’t the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, after all—but she knew what she wanted, she knew the fashion business, and she had verifiable proof now her designs were good enough toattract the clientele she needed to turn Trouble Maker into a success.

End of.

Even so, her palms were sweating as she switched off the whirlwind of notifications on her phone and dailed Adam’s private number. It was six in the morning Manhattan time, but Adam always woke up before dawn because he was a total workaholic—when he wasn’t being a One Date Wonder.

As expected, her brother picked up on the second ring—sounding alert and aloof and as if he had shaved and showered and probably taken a five-mile run already.

‘Charley, is there a problem?’ he said without a hello.

She sighed. ‘No! Why do you always assume there’s a problem that you need to fix when I call you?’

‘Because there usually is,’ he said far too patiently. ‘I distinctly recall getting a call at five a.m. when you had to be bailed out of a cell in Barcelona for swearing at a police officer.’

‘That was years ago. And I didn’t swear at him. It was a translation problem.’

‘Or the time you ran away from St Jude’s and wanted train fare to get to London.’

‘That is actually ancient history.’

‘The point is, Charley, you never phone me unless there’s a problem. I always phone you.’

‘Okay, fair point.’ She bit down on the urge to point out she had been the one to phone once, begging to come back home after their father had sent her off to boarding school. But Adam hadn’t been interested in talking about those messy things called emotions at the time. And now she was positive he only rang her out of a sense of duty and to check she wasn’t still making a mess of her life. But she had to ask him a favour, so buttoning her resentment was necessary.

All part of being a grown-up businesswoman and not a screwed-up wild child.

‘So whyareyou calling?’ he asked bluntly. Adam didn’t really do small talk any more than Cade Landry.

Then a thought occurred to her, a way of easing into the conversation about trust funds and business initiatives.

‘I thought you’d like to know I was at tech billionaire Luke Broussard’s Fourth of July bash in Marin County last weekend. The photos I just posted of me wearing one of my designs are already going viral, which is going to be invaluable publicity for Trouble Maker.Freepublicity.Organicpublicity. Plus, I picked up four new commissions while I was there. So I’ve decided to expand my operation...’

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