Page 79 of Loaded

Which is why I speed.

And that’s how I get a ticket.

The night may not be off to the best start, but when I knock on Bea’s door, and she answers, I forget all about every other thing that led up to this moment. Beatrice Cipriani, in a floor length gown, is absolutely show-stopping.

“You—”

She wipes her mouth. “Is my lipstick smudged?” Her eyes widen. “Or did I get something on the dress?” She looks down.

I shake my head dumbly. “No, nothing like that. But you look. . .”

She winces. “Is it dumb? I bought it on clearance three years ago, and I’ve never had anywhere to wear it.” She tugs on the bodice, trying to pull it up, I think, which is ahugemistake. “I almost wore it to Emerson’s wedding, but then your sister asked me to be a bridesmaid. I was actually a little relieved, because it’s a little too daring in the front.”

I snag her wrist and lower her hand, interlacing our fingers. “It’s perfect. Even the Devil who wears Prada wouldn’t be able to find fault with this.”

She rolls her eyes. “That was kind of the point of that movie, you know—she found fault with absolutely everything.”

I shrug. “I didn’t really see the movie. My sister was nattering on about. . .” I pause. “You know what? Doesn’t matter. The point is that you couldn’t look more beautiful, but thanks to some stuff at work, we’re cutting it close. We should go.”

“What’s the stuff with work?” she asks.

Sometimes people ask about work—my parents, usually—and it’s obvious they don’t really want to know. But the way she asked, it feels like she actually cares. “Well, we’re launching a new. . .service? We’re branching out into women’s style.”

“That’s huge,” she says.

I open her door, and she pauses to raise one eyebrow. “I know it’s a corny thing to do these days, but with you in that dress. . .” I shake my head. “You look like you’re headed for a red carpet event. What was I supposed to do?”

“It’s nice,” she says softly.

She has this way of being small, of being so quiet,that if she wasn’t so stunning, she’d almost disappear. I love it, how demure and understated she can be—and I hate it. Because I’m not sure where it came from, her desire to shrink, to make herself smaller. She was clearly born to shine, not to hide. I mean to draw her out. I mean for the world to see what a rockstar she really is.

Once I’m seated and buckled and ready to go, I continue. “I have to make the calls to set up the meetings with the other brands myself.” I explain the idea to her.

“Wow,” she says. “That’s. . .ambitious.”

“I mean, it is and it isn’t,” I say.

“But won’t all the other brands be able to steal your idea if you call and tell them about it?”

“Every other brand we’re contacting already has a women’s line,” I say. “So they wouldn’t be able to do this, because they’d be in direct competition with all the vendors they’d reach out to about it.”

“What if they specialize in shoes?” I ask. “They could still reach out to other perfume, jewelry, or clothing vendors.”

I shrug. “We currently provide nearly everything in the luxury world. . .for men. None of the other brands have the depth we have without having a corollary for women.”

“So you knew you had a weakness, of sorts.”

“I always focus on my strengths,” I say, “and until recently, my sister and mother were my only connection to or insight into women.”

“I don’t hate hearing that.” She’s doing it again, being small, but I can’t help it. I kind of like it, too. It kicks my protective instincts into overdrive.

“There really wasn’t anyone before you, Bea.”

She’s smiling as we make our way into the City.

Once we reach the restaurant, though, she shuts down a little bit. “Are you alright?” I ask as they seat us.

She nods.

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