“I think it’s very bright,” I say after a quiet moment. My voice rings in the otherwise silent room and I bring my fist up to my mouth, coughing as lightly as I can. “The colors are fun, like a ‘90s vibe—”

  “So you’re saying it’s not modern enough.” He toys with the bra strap, twisting it around his index finger. I watch, distracted by his hand. His fingers are long, his palm broad. I imagine him touching me, tracing my skin with his fingers, cupping my—

  “It’s modern.” My gaze flies to his. He’s smirking, like he actually could read my mind. God. “Yet with a vintage feel. Both cute and sexy. Fun, even. Does your—mistress not like vintage items?”

  “I don’t have a mistress,” he growls, dropping the bra like it’s a dead animal. The sneer on his face tells me he’s displeased. I’m guessing he believes I overstepped my boundaries, but tough shit. His rude attitude is slowly making me insane. “Show me something else.”

  Sighing loudly, I pull a sheer pair of panties out of the box. They’re trimmed in vibrant pink lace, little red cherries randomly stitched across the black fabric. The backside is practically non-existent, with a heart-shaped cutout that would expose pretty much—everything. I planned on showing these to him last, but he’s pissed me off and his attitude is making me impulsive.

  Most likely a mistake on my part, but screw it. The man drives me nuts.

  “What are these?” His gaze flares with interest as I hand him the panties. He holds them up, then flips them around, smiling faintly when he notices the backside. “Very cheeky.”

  Oh. Did he just make a joke? I didn’t know he had it in him. “Extremely.”

  He drops them onto the table and spreads them out, his gaze remaining on the panties as he asks, “What size do you wear, Miss Harrison?”

  Um.

  Say what?

  “What size are these panties?”

  Right. Must’ve misheard him.

  “They’re an extra small,” I tell him, trying my best to keep my voice even. I feel jumpy. Anxious. His nearness sets me on edge. I can smell him. I swear his body heat is radiating toward me, making me warm. Like, I swear I can feel sweat forming along my hairline. Is it suddenly hot in here?

  “And what size do you wear?” His gaze meets mine across the table, unwavering. “Miss Harrison.”

  Oh shit. It’s definitely hot in here.

  I swallow hard. No way should I answer. He’s crossed a line. A line I shouldn’t cross with him because he’s a client, and a rude one at that.

  Yet it’s like I can’t help myself.

  “I’m a small.”

  “You don’t look very small.” His gaze drops to my chest and lingers there, and I know he’s talking about my breasts. I should be offended. What a sexist idiot. My friend Caroline would have a field day with this guy. She hates misogynist attitudes and Mr. Gaines is all about the misogynist attitude.

  Yet for some reason, the way he’s looking at me isn’t creepy, when it should be. It really, really should be. But no, more like my skin prickles with awareness and my nipples are hard, straining against the thin fabric of my melon and mint green colored bra that costs approximately two hundred dollars retail—but we got a special discount on it thanks to Marlo, so go me.

  He clears his throat, his gaze never leaving my breasts as he asks, “What size bra do you wear?”

  “Um…” Oh, this is awkward. Isn’t it? I should hate him. I hate everything he represents. He’s the last man on earth I would ever be interested in.

  So why are my breaths coming faster? And why do I suddenly feel lightheaded?

  “The woman I’m buying this for—she’s similar in size to you,” he further explains, leaning back in his chair. He studies me with disinterest, like he’s discussing the weather and I try to compose myself. We’re talking business. And our business happens to focus on lingerie. No big deal.

  Right?

  “I’m a thirty-four C,” I tell him, sitting up straight and squaring my shoulders. I can’t let this man unnerve me like this. No other client does this to me. Of course, no other client of mine is remotely like Mr. Gaines.

  Thank God.

  “Really.” His gaze is on my chest again and I’m tempted to unbutton the black silk shirt I’m wearing and let him see for himself. “Do these panties have a matching bra?” He dangles the cherry panties from his index finger, the scrap of fabric swinging to and fro.

  Hearing him say panties in that melting, deep voice of his is making other things melt. Like me. Between my thighs. I clench them together, ignoring the sudden ache I feel there. It’s been too long since I’ve had a boyfriend. That’s my problem, I swear. “Yes, they come in a matched set.”

  “I’ll take it.” He rises to his feet and I stand along with him, noting how tall he is, even with my heels on. Though I’m a shrimp so everyone is taller than me. “I’ll meet you at the register.”

  He exits the room without another word and I watch him go, taking a deep, shuddery breath when he’s gone. I remind myself it’s no big deal. Jared Gaines asked for my bra and panty size. He claims his new side piece—oh my God, I sound just like my brother—is about the same size as me. No problem. Nothing strange about our conversation. I’m here to help him. That’s it.

  That. Is. It.

  Want to read more? Preorder FAKE DATE!

  Coming September 17th!

  Fake Date

  Acknowledgments

  Some backstory: I wanted to write a book about a woman who works at a store in Carmel-by-the-Sea and how she has a client who makes her crazy. As in, he’s sexy, he’s demanding, she sort of hates him, yet she secretly lusts for him. I’ve had this idea for over a year, maybe even two. I wrote the first few chapters of it. Then put it on the back burner because my lovely, what would I do without her publicist and friend Nina gave me the idea for SAVE THE DATE instead.

  And that’s how STD (yes my book’s initials can also stand for sexually transmitted disease, and no, I didn’t mean to do that) was born. The original idea, with the demanding sexy client and the salesperson who despises him (yet secretly wants him really, really bad) is coming next, in my book FAKE DATE, out September 17th.

  So a big, huge thank you to Nina, for the idea for SAVE THE DATE. I appreciate all that you do for me, and I especially appreciate your friendship.

  Sometimes, life forces us writers to do things out of order, and in this situation, it worked out perfectly. I loved the idea for STD. I started working on it, and in my typical pantster writing way (I don’t plot, I write by the seat of my pants), I came to a sudden halt, unsure of how to proceed.

  Then I went to Paris with my daughter for the RARE signing, and along with a big group of women, went to some of the best designer stores, the finest restaurants, the Louvre, had brunch at the Ritz, shopped at Chanel and had a rude woman “help” me at Dior. Basically, most of the experiences that happened to me while I was in Paris, also happened to Caroline when she was in Paris with Alex. I documented our trip via this story, and made it my character’s story too.

  Thankfully, I didn’t have to deal with a drunk Manon at the Plaza Athenee, but I will say, they did make me feel like a princess when I had lunch there.

  I want to thank Liz Berry, M.J. Rose and Jillian Stein for organizing the trip to Paris. I had soooo much fun, and so did my daughter. I want to thank Kristen Proby and her husband John, Carrie Ann Ryan, J. Kenner, Kristen Ashley, Chelle Olson, Lara Adrian, Rebecca Zanetti, Lexi Blake and Kimberly Guidroz for being such fantastic company during our Parisian adventures. We created such awesome memories together that I will never, ever forget.

  As always, I want to thank the readers, the bloggers and the reviewers. I can’t do this job without you. Actually, I do this job for you. Thank you for your support throughout the years.

  I hope you enjoyed reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. This is so much more than a romance to me. It’s Caroline’s story, and all the things that happen to her, including falling in love with Alex. I love her.

  Hopefully, you love her too.

  About the Author

  Monica Murphy is a New York Times, USA Today and international bestselling author. Her books have been translated in almost a dozen languages and has sold over two million copies worldwide. Both a traditionally published and independently published author, she writes young adult and new adult romance, as well as contemporary romance and women’s fiction. She’s also known as USA Today bestselling author Karen Erickson.

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  Copyright © 2019 by Monica Murphy

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  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design: Hang Le

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  Editor: Mackenzie Walton

 

 

  Monica Murphy, Save the Date

 

 

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