Page 1 of Kissing Danger

CHAPTER 1

Deacon

It wasone hour until show time, and the finale of my showcase was missing. An entire dress, which had taken me six months to create, had just completely vanished.

Panic was not the right word for what I was feeling. No. I was beyond panic. I had transcended to a whole new level of emotion never before experienced by humans.

The dress had been in its transport bag when I checked it this morning. I’d personally arranged each piece of my showcase on the hangers, in the order they would appear, along with the chosen accessories and decorations the model would wear.

Twelve ensembles remained exactly where I’d arranged them, but the last piece, the crown jewel of the collection meant to show off the height of my skills as a designer, was completely gone. Even the shoes and jewelry were missing.

Had someone stolen it?

It wasn’t unheard of for fashion designers to sabotage each other, especially at such an important event that could make or break a designer’s career, but why sabotage me?

It was my first high tier fashion event. I was only an up-and-coming designer with a tentative foot through the door. I wasn’t a threat to anyone yet.

I didn’t even count as competition. I’d earned a spot in the event by the skin of my teeth and a whole lot of luck. Originally, I’d been rejected, but another designer had dropped out at the last minute, and they needed a replacement immediately. I’d been one of the few who could fill the role with such short notice, mostly because I lived in the same city as the event.

The backstage of a fashion show was a blur of chaos and fabric. Surrounded by so much activity, I stood immobile and stared at the empty rack where my grand finale piece should have been.

A cold wave of calm washed over me.

A long, manicured nail poked me in the shoulder. “So, what’s the plan?” Kiki asked me. She’d only been my assistant for a few months, but she’d been my friend for a lot longer.

“Panic,” I said without any inflection in my voice.

Kiki sighed and twirled a blonde ringlet of hair around her finger. “Okay. But then after that, what’s the plan? I know you, Deke. You’ve always got a backup idea.”

I shook my head. “If it was one of the other ensembles, we could throw something together or just leave it out entirely, but it’s the finale piece. There’s no way to...”

My gaze traveled toward a supply box off to the side that had been stashed under a table.

“The kimono.”

Kiki pulled out the box, but she didn’t look convinced. “It’s not finished. The pieces are cut, but we scrapped the idea before stitching anything together. We only even brought it because we thought the brocade might make for a good accessory.”

Together, the two of us spread the pieces of fabric over the table. A fashion showcase almost always ended with a large over-the-top dress. Often a wedding dress, but not always. I’d toyed with the idea of creating an Asian inspired robe, with a long hem and sleeves that would trail behind the model similar to a wedding train, but there hadn’t been enough time to get it together and I already had a more traditional dress mostly made that would also fit the bill.

Now, the elaborately embroidered fabric sat in pieces on the table.

Kiki picked up one piece, holding it delicately between the points of two of her fingernails. “There’s not enough time to stitch it together. This won’t work.”

I dragged a mannequin dress-form over to the table, along with my sewing kit.

“Let me worry about this. You just focus on getting the other models into their outfits and ready to go.”

An hour was simultaneously a lot of time and no time at all. After it had passed, the other models were all ready, and I showed Kiki what I’d managed to put together.

“That’s not an outfit. Nothing’s even stitched together.”

“It’s a deconstructed outfit,” I said, indicating where the pieces of fabric were attached to the model by hidden strings and afew carefully placed stitches. “It’s like when you go to a fancy restaurant and they serve something simple, like a burger, and present it deconstructed with all the ingredients separated. This is the same thing.”

Her eyebrow hiked up so high it nearly disappeared into her hairline. “That’s the kind of thing lazy chefs do when they want to charge more.”

With a flourishing wave of my hand, I ushered the models into line. “Luckily, I am not a chef. I’m an artist. It’s artsy. It’ll work. Not like we have much of a choice anyway. Our turn on the runway is almost here. Let’s go.”

TheCostumes and Cars Fashion Showwas held every year during the spring fashion week atThe Hollywood Car Museumin Las Vegas. While not the biggest fashion event in the world, it wasn’t insignificant either. As I hung in the back wings, peering out between the curtains as the first of my creation-bedazzled models started walking down the runway, a flutter of nervousness attacked my stomach. There were so many important people sitting in the audience just a few yards away, watching my work pass by on the pseudo-catwalk with critical eyes. Whispering. Judging. Some of them could end my career with a single word.

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