The Prelude (A Musical Interlude Novel) - By Kasonndra Leigh Page 0,8
of those things at once.
Me along with the Martuccio brothers have all put tons of money into getting Black Butterfly Designs up and running. My dad left me a sizable trust fund. The money covered my three years of design school, and there was enough left over to pool my resources with one of F.I.T. Florence’s top instructors to start our own design house. The Martuccio’s even let me choose the name, Black Butterfly, something I drew for my sister a long time ago.
My mind drifts back to thinking about the assistant. What will he think once he sees that it’s me in the costume? Will he think we’re hopeless because we’ve screwed up, yet again? I certainly hope not. And I wonder what design he has on the tattoo I’m dying to see, the one that was partially hidden by his tee shirt.
I’m caught up in thoughts of sexy assistants when music that’s being played in the distance drifts through my room. Violins, tubas, cellos, and synthesizers are tuning up. In order to do so, they keep playing little snippets of melodies that they’re about to play this evening.
Right away, I think of Jada. “Fuck!” I curse my trembling fingers as I fight off the attack on my nerves. “Screw this up Erin Angelo, and I’m making you eat clam chowder for the next two months. Reaching behind me, I fumble with the laces on the bodice I designed. Yeah, the ties usually go in the front, but I wanted something different. So I put the damn things in the back instead.
“Carla! I need you.” Where did she get away to? The vest isn’t going to work. I toss it on the chair beside me and grab a flimsy robe off the hanger beside me. It barely covers my ass, but I have no idea where Carla put my street clothes. “I cannot believe I let Luca talk me into doing this.”
Opening the dressing room’s door, I tiptoe out into the hallway. Carla just walked out of the room, so I know she couldn’t have gone too far. The red carpeted hallways are long. Walking to the supply room might get me caught. I have to risk it because Carla knows how I feel about being late to anything and especially this gig. I trudge down the hallway, thanking the heavens that it’s empty.
Rounding the corner, I collide with a wall. I stumble backward and land flat on my ass, my legs sprawled in the air. The flimsy robe thingie I’m wearing catches on a hook of some type and rips away from my body leaving my breasts fully exposed.
I glance up at whatever thing I ran into. Holy moly! My wall is actually the assistant, and my robe that was covering my naked torso now hangs from his belt buckle. I make this little squeak sound and my insides clench up. Horrified doesn’t even exist in my vocabulary right now.
The look on his face rotates between primal and shock and just a touch of amusement. And even though I’ve probably turned about ten shades of purple at the moment, I still feel that tightening in my nipples and a heated tingle working its way through my body.
How long has it been since I felt that kind of throb down there? And what the fuck are you thinking? This is the director’s assistant, a man who has already saved your ass once. Now look at you, screwing things up again.
I manage to shuffle to my feet. At least I’m still wearing underwear. He hasn’t made one move to hand over my robe. Yeah, well, the damage is done now. So I might as well just roll with it. Besides, Europeans see boobs and ass in ads every day. My American mentality cripples me sometimes. We hold each other’s gaze s for a long moment. Normally a man would be wearing my hand print after I slap him for being rude. But something about this guy hits me in a thousand different ways.
And I like every single punch I’m receiving.
I cross my arms over my boobs, squishing them together. “Would you kindly remove your pants, please?”
Oh no, no, no, you didn’t just say that. I close my eyes and wince. He laughs this time. My cheeks heat to a scorch. “I meant to say could you remove my robe, please. I wanted to say...never mind.” I glance at the floor.
There’s this muted brown diamond pattern inside the carpet, and it’s