His Princess - Stacy Gail Page 0,9
shots above waist level so no one will know it’s you, okay? It’d save me a ton of time and hassle,” she wheedled when Alice wavered. “And I could turn my work in way under deadline, so that’d leave us plenty of time to hang out afterwards.”
Alice gave her a look that told her she wasn’t fooled. “Still trying to impress the higher-ups with how efficiently your get your assignments turned in?”
“What can I say, I’m ambitious.” Jo shrugged, not bothering to hide it. “Maybe even someday I’ll start my own digital fashion mag. You can be the cover girl.”
“I’d rather set my hair on fire. But I will wear the jeans, though I refuse to call them distressed. They look like something a shipwreck survivor would be found wearing a year after they’d disappeared.”
That was Alice all over—pragmatic to a fault.
After an hour-long photoshoot that had both video and stills, Alice headed out, plunging Joelle’s townhome into silence. She did her best to combat it by cranking up some upbeat music while she focused on editing her “Distressed Test” article, but time and again she found herself glancing at the clock.
Had she actually thought she was going to get any real work done while waiting for four o’clock to roll around?
Eventually, however, time managed to drag itself to a point where she could hang up work for the day. Sending off a nearly finished draft to her boss with one or two questions about sharpening the article’s focus, she went to her closet and deliberately avoided anything remotely smacking of a princessy vibe. Black skinny jeans, black leather ankle boots, a trio of belts and a cropped cable-knit, off-the-shoulder sweater the color of mauve was just the right tone of cute but casual, she thought, zipping into the bathroom. If he thought he was going to get a princess wrapped in chiffon and bedazzled with Swarovski crystals, he was in for a disappointment.
Less than an hour later, she parked her car and headed up the walkway toward Lincoln Park Conservatory, drinking in the warmth of the early autumn afternoon sun. Not a cloud was in the sky, creating a perfect backdrop for the Victorian-era glasshouse that was an iconic part of Chicago’s magnificent architectural history. A nice, calming atmosphere, she thought, scanning the people milling around. Just what the doctor ordered for finding out if Augustus Bloch was a solid guy, or a whacked-out, kinky-minded princess fetishist.
“Looking for me?”
The way she jumped out of her skin probably looked hilarious. She even added a yelp for that extra cherry on top before whirling around to give a grinning Gus her best death glare. “What the hell, Gus. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.” He snaked a hand out to hook around her nape. Before she knew what he was going to do, he reeled her in for a brief touching of lips. It wasn’t even a real kiss, but it still had her heart acting like a runaway elevator—dropping and rocketing up into the stratosphere before he pulled away and smiled down at her. “Damn, you smell good. What is that?”
“Jean Patou.” Then she inwardly winced, wondering if expensive perfume was a princessy thing. “If you like it so much, I’ll send you a bottle. I’m sure it’d smell great on you.”
“I’m good with getting it on me through close contact with you, though I appreciate the generosity,” he drawled, moving with her up the path and into the elegant glasshouse built at the turn of last century. “Kinda doubt any flower in here smells as good as you.”
“I… Thank you.” Damn it, he was throwing her off her game by tripping her up with shocking mental images of just how exactly she could get the scent of her perfume rubbed onto his naked skin. Obviously the best and most effective way would be for them to both be naked and have full-body contact… “So, um. Flowers. Since we’re on the subject of scent, last year there was an exhibit here of the so-called corpse flower, which apparently smells like a dead body when it blooms.” Oh God, why was she talking about freaking dead bodies on a date? Of course she wanted to prove she wasn’t a princess, but holy crap, there had to be a limit. “I had to cover the exhibit for Buzzword and did a live broadcast right in front of the stinking thing. To this day, one of