“I’m sure they will, but it’s not the foot traffic I’m the most concerned about. It’s brand protection. There’s a reason Louis Vuitton can’t be purchased at Walmart.” Chantel softened her voice in that apologetic way that gave Harper heartburn. “Look, Lulu Allure is grateful for everything Clovis has done for us over the years, but we are expanding, taking our brand in a new direction with our fall line, and your clientele is not our target.”
Harper felt her stomach tighten. “But our online customers are your exact target. Young, edgy movers and shakers of wine country and the greater Bay Area. During the tourist season we are flooded with dot-commers, Hollywood expats, and of course the Silicon Valley elite.”
Chantel took in a deep breath and met Harper’s gaze. Harper wasn’t sure what the woman was looking for, but she gave her best smile, and then, remembering that sexy is a state of mind, pictured herself how she’d felt the other night—her hair down, her lips swollen, and Adam whispering her name—and lifted that lingerie set back up.
“Another show and I didn’t get a call? I gotta say, sunshine, I’m hurt.”
Harper spun around and found Adam standing in the doorway to the room, dressed in his fitted SHFD blues, displaying his tanned skin and lethal dimples, looking like the cover of a sexy fireman calendar.
Which he actually was.
He was also sipping on a to-go coffee cup while watching Harper model the bra-and-panty set. The spark in his baby blues said he liked what he saw—and suddenly Harper saw the power of sexy is a state of mind in action.
One grin from him and Harper felt her inner goddess strap on stilettos and lace, and strut right over her well-devised plans—which were imperative in saving this meeting, and her grandma’s shop.
What are you doing here?” Harper asked in a welcoming tone that was in direct contrast with the go screw yourself glare she was shooting him.
“Good morning to you too,” Adam said, ignoring her daggers and walking close enough to finger the lace edging of the panties. “Parisian peek-a-boos? My favorite.”
Harper felt something strange shift in her stomach. The cause was unclear. Was it some kind of post-traumatic flutters caused from the memory of Adam’s hands on her peek-a-boos, or a growing irritation at how his mere presence could cause complete havoc in her world?
Perhaps it was both.
“You’re familiar with our When in Paris line?” Chantel asked, surprise and excitement radiating from her tone.
Adam looked over Harper’s shoulder and raised a questioning brow at the sight of company. It was good to know he hadn’t interrupted them due to rudeness. Just ignorance, she thought. He was having way too much fun at her expense, and the gleam in his eyes told her it was about to go from fun to entertaining—for him.
God! How could he push her buttons and push her buttons with equal measure?
It was baffling.
“Go away,” she whispered.
“And ignore the pretty lady’s question?” he whispered back and shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to ruin my gentlemanly reputation.”
Harper snorted and he frowned. An honest to goodness frown, as if her reaction irritated him.
“I know the line intimately,” he said, stepping completely into the room and grazing Harper’s hip with his hand as he did it, before addressing Chantel like a gentleman. What a load of BS. “Although I’m partial to the brighter, party colors.”
“Party colors?” Chantel asked, and Adam flashed one of his trademark grins she’d seen him use many a time on many a woman—including her. Last Friday.
It was clear Chantel, with her big-city sex appeal and I-do-yoga body, was Adam’s type. If Harper didn’t intervene, Adam would likely charm Chantel right out of this meeting and into his bed. Not that she cared who he took to his bed, as long as it didn’t impact her plan.
“He is referring to the Moulin Rouge set,” Harper said, poking him in the back—hard. “Adam, this is Chantel Larue from Lulu Allure.” Harper gave Adam her most intimidating look, the one she used on her students when they needed to keep their hands to themselves, then plastered a smile on her face and turned to Chantel. “Chantel, this is Adam.”
“Would you like some wine?” Chantel offered, pointing to the flight Harper had bought specifically to impress her. Not Adam.
“Nah, I’ve got my coffee,” he said, and instead of behaving, he helped himself to a seat—her seat—leaning back as if he were right at home. Which, surrounded by women’s panties and female fantasies, he probably was. “And I’d go with the Parisian peek-a-boos. In fact, I was thinking of picking some up and I wanted to see if Harper could show me her favorites.”
The only favorite Harper was going to show him was her favorite finger. But since this was a meeting, and being professional was of utmost importance, she decided letting her bird fly would have to wait. “I’m a little busy with Chantel right now, but if you’d be so sweet as to wait outside—”
“Ah, but sweet is my specialty.”
Didn’t she know it. And like sugar, he had addictive qualities that were unexplainable.
“You shop here?” Chantel asked, and the genuine surprise that a man like Adam would buy presents for his girlfriend here had Harper snapping back to what was important: her grandma’s shop.
“All the time.”