Page 94 of Naughty Nelle

CHAPTER 7

Ari

Gwen looked as stunning and as put together as ever. In a chic olive green pantsuit and stylish heels that accentuated her lean build and her enviable height. With her mane of flaming red hair and lankiness, she could have easily been a model. Grace Coddington, the legendary lookalike Creative Director of Vogue, had once scouted her on the street in The Village when she was seventeen and begged her to model—even offered to introduce her to all the top modeling agencies and pay for her comps, but my brainy, Wellesley-bound companion had no interest. A feminist, she was way more interested in saving the world and fighting for the rights of women than in saving Calvin Klein’s sagging career.

She gave me a hug, her taut, toned body pressing into mine. She’d texted me earlier in the day that she would be here at Penn Station at this time, after spending the day in a Long Island court dealing with a nasty divorce case. We’d agreed to meet up for drinks.

“You look amazing,” I breathed into her ear. “I want to introduce you to—”

I flipped around and she was gone. My eyes darted around the crowded station. She was nowhere in sight. Shit. Sarah was gone. Fucking gone. Why some bizarre girl I hardly knew made my heart beat into a tailspin, I could not explain. I just knew I had to see her again. And I wanted to see her soon.

“Gwen, can I take a rain check?”

“Sure. What’s going on?”

My mind raced. “Is Dawn still at Bergdorf’s?”

With a puzzled look, she assured me nothing had changed on the sixth floor of the venerable department store and gave me all the info I needed. Her sharp inquiring mind, however, wanted to know why I urgently needed a women’s clothing personal shopper.

“I forgot it’s Miss Thatcher’s birthday tomorrow and I need to get her something fast.” Miss Thatcher was my prim and proper spinster secretary, who’d likely never been laid in her life.

Suspicious Gwen cocked an eyebrow. I cocked back a smile. “Honestly.”

With her eyes and ears on me, I pulled out my cell phone and made a call.

“Since when is Miss Thatcher into Marc Jacobs and wearing a size six?” she asked after I ended the call.

“She lost a lot of weight and is changing her style.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, she wants to expand her horizons. And meet a hot guy.”

Gwen shot me another wry look and then told me she was looking forward to tomorrow night.

All was looking good.

Fuck the Black Eyed Peas.

My girl toy filled my head. If I had my way, and I would, she would be playing with me tonight. It was going to be a good, good night.

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