to do tonight.’ Brad’s voice boomed out. He had a microphone?
The black cloths that had been covering the windows behind him dropped, revealing two giant screens. The spotlight went off Brad while on screen an old-style countdown reel played. The guests joined in counting down. As they got to one the entire bar went pitch-black.
In the pregnant pause, Mya leaned in to Lauren. ‘When did he set this up?’
‘You’re asking me?’ Lauren giggled. ‘He didn’t let me in on this bit. I just had to get you here.’
‘You know we’re here to celebrate Mya’s birthday tonight. But the thing that you and I all know, but that Mya doesn’t quite believe yet, is that not only is she an amazing academic and gifted cocktail creator, she’s also an artist. And so for tonight, we’re turning this place into an art gallery and seeing what other marvellous things Mya has done.’
‘He’s what?’ Mya asked, clapping her hand over her mouth to hold back the shriek.
Now she understood what the stage really was—a runway. And walking along the runway now were models. Slim, gorgeous girls in black bikinis and boots, modelling her hats, her accessories, her dresses that she’d created in her teen years and in the first couple of years at university. Where the hell had he got them all from?
She turned to Lauren, who held her hands up in the classic ‘don’t shoot’ pose and shook her head at the same time.
She glanced at Brad and couldn’t contain the crow of delighted laughter. Naturally he’d found a way to get bikini-clad women on the scene. The crowd cheered and clapped, and she couldn’t blame them as the leggy beauties strutted the length and Brad gave a running commentary on each item.
‘There was a time in Mya’s life when we all looked forward to seeing what it was she was wearing—the accessories, the clothes, sometimes the shoes.’
Everybody laughed as a picture of silver-marker-decorated gumboots flashed up on the screens.
‘She moved into this world of recycled clothing, making new from the old, turning someone else’s rubbish into art for herself. Maximalist, statement clothing. More than clothing. It was wearable art.’
Mya gazed at both stage and screen, her heart swelling. He’d created a multimedia display—a live modelling show interspersed with images from the past flashing up on those giant screens and a soundtrack made up of her fave teen beats. She pressed her freezing palm to her hot forehead. All those DJ picks he’d texted her. The really cheesy ones she’d sent back. He’d made a music mashup and photo montage, and it was all so embarrassing and wonderful at the same time.
‘Of course, she designed for men as well,’ Brad said as the tempo of music changed.
Oh, my. Mya’s jaw dropped and she gripped Lauren’s hand, giggling now. Because she’d never designed anything for a guy. But there was an extremely buff guy up there now in nothing but black boxers and some sort of butchered baseball cap. She hadn’t designed it for a man, though one could wear it, of course, but it had just been for the fun of it. And the tie that was now being displayed by another guy with very little else on, that had been her school tie that she’d redecorated in a rebellious fit one day. But that mega-buff guy in nothing but black boxers really knew how to show it off.
‘So come on, everyone, give it up for Multifaceted Mya.’
Oh, no, someone had switched the lights on her. Literally shone the light on her, and some gorgeous thing came down to where she sat with Lauren. It was the buff guy with the cap. Nothing but the boxers and the cap. Mya looked over at Brad and saw his mouth twitching with amusement as he spoke.
‘While Mya makes her way to the runway, here are a couple of stills from the collection where we can see her talent at her best.’
Mya froze on her seat. He couldn’t be serious—she had to walk up there? And OMG there were huge photos of her up on those screens?
The black-clad male model extended his hand to her. She had no choice but to take her turn down the damn runway with the hot stuff at her side.
‘Let’s face it,’ Brad concluded. ‘The lady has an abundance of talent.’
Everyone in the place was on their feet and cheering.
Mya looked at Brad and saw his smile. Tender, a little mocking—self-mocking perhaps—but genuine. It pierced straight through the last thin