down. “Please keep me posted.”
Shana: “I’M FREE FOR THE ENTIRE WEEKEND. PLEASE TELL ME YOU CAN TAKE MY MIND OFF SAKS UNTIL MONDAY MORNING.”
Me: “OH, MY LADY, I HAVE A CONCERT PLANNED.”
Shana: “A CONCERT? WHAT BAND?”
Me: “IT’S A PRIVATE SHOW. VERY INTIMATE.”
Shana: “WHAT CLOTHES SHOULD I PACK?”
Me: “NOT NECESSARY. NUDE VENUE.” (Smile emoji)
Shana: “THEN I’M PACKED!” (Blushing smile emoji)
Chapter Twenty-Three
Shana
Back in my hotel room, as I prepare for my escape weekend with Trevor, I contemplate what to throw into my carry-on suitcase. There might have been a time when I would have felt guilty about leaving two hotel rooms in the Financial District of Manhattan unoccupied for two nights on Saks’s dime, but as I take a deep breath to expel the negativity from the last week working with Witch Vicky, I’m filled with nothing but anticipation.
Even though Trevor told me the concert venue is nude, I throw a few tops, a pair of jeans, and even a skirt and blouse onto the bed. It’s then that I see the black Saks Fifth Avenue bag with the small black and white bow that brings a much-needed smile to my face.
The negligee inside isn’t exactly like the one I wore on the runway. That one is for next season’s sales. This one caught my eye as I was leaving the offices on the tenth floor this evening—the mannequin near the elevators was wearing it. Reaching nearly to the floor, the sleek satin fell loosely from its shoulders, held in place by delicate spaghetti straps. What caught my attention were the lace accents strategically arranged for optimum viewing.
It was Stephen who encouraged me, telling me to go for it. “This is our weekend,” he said. “Last Saturday, you wore lingerie for Saks. This weekend, do it for you.”
When I shrugged, he whispered, “This time, you’ll not imagine those sexy green eyes. All he’ll see is you.”
“Do you think it’s a little forward?”
For the first time since leaving the offices, Stephen smiled. “Girl, bunny-rabbit sex is forward. That right there...” He tilted his head toward the mannequin. “...is wrapping. It’s anticipation...it’s—”
I placed my hand on his arm. “Stop. I’m going to need nipple tape if you say any more.”
“Go get it.” The door to the elevator opened. “Bye, boss lady. I need to get straight to the train station.”
It was as the doors were closing that I realized he wasn’t packed for a weekend with his parents. “Where are your things?”
Stephen winked. “Not to worry. A friend is bringing them.”
“A friend...?” The doors closed.
Now, as I’m packing, I remember that at lunch he told me he had a secret.
Damn, I’m a bad friend. Instead of thinking about work or daydreaming about Trevor, I should have asked. Lifting my phone, I send a quick text.
Me: “I KNOW YOU’RE ON THE TRAIN. TELL YOUR MOM AND DAD I SAID HI. ALSO, WHEN DO I GET TO KNOW YOUR SECRET? IT ISN’T NICE TO MAKE ME WAIT.”
I hit send, fully expecting to not hear a word back from him until Sunday or at least tomorrow.
As I’m about to finish packing, my phone rings.
KIMBRA is on the screen.
“Hi,” I say.
“Are you really leaving next Friday?”
Letting out a long sigh, I sit on the edge of the big bed. “Stephen and I have return airplane reservations for next Friday night leaving out of JFK. We’re headed back to London, no matter what happens with the position. Either we need to pack and get juniors squared away or we are simply moving back home to our places in Shepherd’s Bush, just a tube ride away from our jobs.”
“Am I a bad friend if I don’t want London to be your home?”
“No,” I say with a grin. “I think that makes you a good friend.”
“So what are your plans for your last weekend in the Big Apple—until you move back here?”
I recall Trevor’s comments last night as we dined at yet another fabulous restaurant in the sky. “Well, I’ve been told that I have and can make no plans.”
“Oh! I like that. And how are you supposed to pack for this no-plan weekend?”
I giggle. “I was told the venue is a strict no-clothes zone.”
“Well, hot damn. Quiet Trevor needs a new nickname.”
I laugh, thinking I could give him a few. Of course, none are ones I’m willing to share.
“Shana?” Kimbra says when I get lost in my own erotic thoughts.
“Sorry. Yes, he’s definitely not quiet or shy or any of the other adjectives you’ve mentioned.”
“Babe, I’m so happy for you