Gloria's Secret (4 page)

I considered myself pretty low maintenance and prided myself on how fast I could transform from a high-powered executive to a glamorous night owl. Tonight, however, I was taking my time. I needed to unwind. I poured myself a glass of wine from the mini-bar and then drew myself a hot bath, pouring a capful of fragrant lavender bath salt from our Bed and Bath Collection into the rapidly rising water. Stripped naked, I dimmed the bathroom lights and lit a fragrant Gloria’s Secret candle, something I always traveled with on business trips.

Pinning up my braid with a few loose bobby pins I found on the sink counter, I stepped into the deep tub and sunk into the steamy water. On contact, I let out a loud sigh and felt my tension melt away. I leaned my head against the marble and stretched my legs out long. Reaching for the large sponge, I circled my firm, heavy breasts, brushing over the quarter-sized scar I wore above my heart. I closed my eyes to block out the memory—the secret—that scar harbored. It never worked. I always relived it. I always shuddered. As I swept my hand over my sensitive pink nipples, my mind, unannounced, switched channels from the memory of that horrible night to another unsettling reality show—Jaime Zander!

He was back in my head. I had to admit he was gorgeous. And sexy as sin. The way he looked at me with those intense denim blues was unnerving enough. But when shot me that cocky smile, I became completely undone. And he knew he affected me. Damn him!

It had to stop. Control was something that I clung to and needed to survive. The thought of losing control petrified me. I had spent hours in therapy dealing with my control issue and the roots of it. Dr. Pepperdine, my shrink, believed it stemmed from my mother… that I feared to become her, a pathetic addict who craved sex as much as she did crack, relying on men to feed her sick habits. In part, she was right. But what she didn’t know was that my need for control was attached far more to the scar. The secret. Boris Borofsky was out there somewhere and could take everything that was precious to me away from me. Including my life.

Enough. It was time to step out of the tub and focus on getting ready for the party. With the towel draped around me, I stood before the mirror and did my makeup. My routine was simple, even for a glam night out—mascara, eyeliner, a little blush, and some Gloria’s Secret lip-gloss. Refreshed and polished, I padded back to my bed where I’d carefully laid out what I was going to wear. Shedding the towel, I began with my lingerie—an underwire, front-closing black lace bra, matching bikinis, and complementary garter belt—all part of our bestselling “Sexy Nights” collection. I then lowered myself to the bed and languidly inched the sheer lace-trimmed silk stockings up my long smooth, waxed legs. Real silk stockings from Paris were my one non-Gloria’s Secret indulgence—a habit I’d inherited from my mentor, Madame Paulette, who I was visiting tomorrow.

I slipped into my dress. Okay, confession. It, too, was not from the Gloria’s Secret catalogue. It was a splurgy little black number by Alexander Wang—a designer whose line I admired and wanted to work with down the road. I was thinking of asking him to design a reasonably priced line of dresses for Gloria’s Secret the way Target and H&M were approaching top designers. His cutting-edge sexiness was a good fit. There was definitely money to be made.

After pulling up the side zipper of the dress, I stepped into my black satin, red-soled Louboutins, another designer I wanted to approach for a collaboration. Lastly, I grabbed my black pashmina shawl and clutch. Both finds were from Loehmann’s Back Room—one of impeccably dressed Madame Paulette’s passed-on secrets. I quickly re-braided my long blond hair and glanced at myself in the floor length mirror opposite the closet. I was pleased. I looked polished and confident. Ready to work the Gloria’s Secret after-party.

As I was about to scoot out of my suite, my cell phone rang. I expected it to be from Kevin, who was already likely manning the after-party. Not. Instead, it was from my driver Nigel.

“Miss Long,” he said hesitantly, “my daughter’s water has prematurely broken.”

It took me no time to put two and two together. His beloved only daughter, who was married to a Brooklyn-based writer, was giving birth. I knew what he was going to ask me before he could utter another word.

“Nigel, you must be with her. Get to the hospital right now. I’ll just take a cab.”

“Are you sure, Miss Long?”

I smiled. We’d been together for a long time. Although he knew nothing about my past, he genuinely cared about me and protected me. I loved him like a godfather.

“Of course. Call me the minute the baby is born.”

“Thank you, Miss Long.”

“No, thank you, Nigel. Congratulations!”

I sighed as I hung up the phone. At thirty-three years old with no long-term relationship in sight, a baby and a family were likely not going to be mine for the having.

* * * *

I’d forgotten how hard it was to get a cab during rush hour in New York City. Make that impossible. It made me appreciate Nigel even more.

Forget who I was. I was lined up behind at least twenty other guests at the hotel’s entrance where a valet was desperately trying to hail cabs with the help of an ear-piercing whistle. Occupied cabs kept whooshing by. Shit! At this rate, I’d probably be in line for at least a half hour. I needed to be at the Gloria’s Secret party. Now!

“Can I give you a ride?”

The familiar male voice, deep and sexy, purred in my ear as I tightened my fingers around my clutch. I spun around and gawked. It was him! Jaime Zander! What was he doing at the hotel…again? Was he really stalking me? Or was it just a coincidence?

My eyes drank him in. He was wearing another sexy black biker jacket, black tight-ass jeans, a V-neck white tee, and alligator loafers with no socks. Damn! I loved the way he was dressed. My skin prickled and my pulse quickened.
Take a deep breath, Gloria. Breathe!

“Is that a yes or no, Ms. Long?” He shot me a crooked smile that was daring me to take him up on his offer.

I silently debated if I should. The long cab line hadn’t budged an inch. I had little choice. “Fine.” I stabbed the word at him like a dart just as his shiny black Range Rover pulled up to the curb. He shuffled me toward the car as his driver opened the back passenger door. I tingled at his warm touch.

“After you.” Jaime followed behind me as I gracefully slid into the plush SUV. I sat as far away from him as I could, but he sidled up right next to me. I could feel his warm breath on my neck and smell his heavenly cologne—again our spicy made-for-him fragrance. I suddenly felt lightheaded. Maybe it was the way it mixed with the scent of his skin and the leather of his jacket.

“What were you doing at the fashion show?” I spluttered.

“Research.”

“How did you get invited?”

“I have connections.”

Vivien?

His denim blue eyes gave me a long once-over. “You look hot.”

All at once, I felt hot—make that near the melting point. I crossed one leg over the other, trying to calm the sudden pulsing sensation between them.

“You got a big date tonight?” He brushed the tip of my braid under my chin, coaxing a response.

I squirmed. “I’m going to a Gloria’s Secret party at Touch.”

That cocky grin curled on his lips. “Then we’ll arrive together.”

I flinched. “What do you mean?”

“I’m on the A-List.”

I mentally grimaced. I bet Vivien had invited him. The little vixen wants to get into his pants. I was going to have to watch her like a hawk tonight. I took a deep calming breath and shot my companion a challenging look.

“Shouldn’t you be home or at your office working on the Gloria’s Secret pitch? You know, I expect to see it on Friday with my team. That’s less than forty-eight hours away.”

He let out a deep, sexy laugh. “Oh, I’ve nailed that already.”

“Really?” My voice registered genuine surprise.

“Yeah, you inspire me.”

“What else do I do to you?”

“You make me hard.”

His words made me jolt. I glanced down at his crotch and my eyes widened. Holy shit! He wasn’t kidding. There was a substantial bulge between his legs that was straining against his jeans.

I was still in shock when he grabbed my right hand and placed it on the bump. A hot, rock-hard mound met my palm. Before I could move a finger, he cupped his warm hand over mine, pressing it against his arousal. My pulse was in overdrive, and I was bristling all over.

“Gloria, look at me.”

Hesitantly, I turned his way. I met his penetrating gaze.

“I’m not a bullshitter. I want your account. What do I have to do to win it?”

“First, let go of my hand.” I spit out the words.

He slowly lifted his hand. My fingers flew off his cock.

He shot me a saucy smile. “What else?”

“Come up with something I love.”

“I’ve got something you’ll love, and it’s right here in this car.”

For a New York minute, I froze, positive he was going to zip down his fly. I didn’t know whether to sigh in relief or cry out in frustration when he swung open the door of a built-in cabinet and pulled out a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket along with two flutes. After uncorking the bubbly, he poured us each a glass and proposed a toast.

“To our relationship.” He clinked his glass against mine. Normally, I drank very little, but I was in mighty need of a drink. This man was getting under my skin. And I more than liked it.

Chapter 4

There was already a major scene outside when we pulled up to Touch on West Fifty-Second Street. Wannabes were clamoring to get past the bouncers and the red velvet rope, and paparazzi were stepping over each other to get shots of the arriving celebrities and supermodels. Jaime clasped my hand as we elbowed our way through the crowd. His grip was firm, warm, and powerful.

“Gloria!” shouted out several paparazzi, blinding me with their flashes as they snapped my photo. I plastered a big fake smile on my face. God, did I hate this part of the job. Only Kevin knew I was actually rather shy. And that I harbored deep insecurities—leftovers from my past—beneath my powerhouse façade.

Jaime protectively ushered me through the mayhem. He wrapped his strong, manly arm around me, shielding me as I bowed my head. I hoped a photo of the two of us together wouldn’t appear tomorrow on Page Six of the
New York
Post.
I took a calming breath. There were way more intriguing people than me to feature. Like Kim Kardashian, who I’m sure would be here with her entourage or Justin Bieber who was also on the VIP list. Not to mention all the Gloria’s Secret supermodels.

Inside the vast, three-story nightclub, loud, pulsating music blasted while candy-colored lights bounced off a giant disco ball. On the flat screen TV above the U-shaped bar, the Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show was playing; it looked even more dazzling on television. I felt confident the ratings would be sensational.

The place was packed. Beautiful body after body was draped everywhere. Over lounges. Over the bar. Over each other. The smell of marijuana was thick in the air. Kevin found me quickly and ushered me away from Jaime to meet some of the VIPs. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jaime mingling in the crowd. He was turning heads, and before long, a dozen gorgeous supermodel types were fawning all over him. I recognized several of them from our fashion show. Former Jaime Zander fucks?

“Glorious, you look faa-bu-lous!” crooned Kevin, diverting my attention and unfounded jealousy away from Jaime.

“You look great too.” True to himself, he was back to being outrageous. He was wearing an open white peasant shirt over Gloria’s Secret leopard-patterned leggings and combat boots. Kev could one-up Marc Jacobs any day.

“No one can stop talking about the show. And we’re killing it in the ratings!”

“Thanks to you.” My eyes lit up, though I was feeling a little claustrophobic in this dark, frenetic environment.

He gave me a signature peck on both cheeks. “No, it’s all you. Your dream. Your vision. I just make it happen.”

Kev and I were a great team. He always made things happen—even the one thing we both wanted to forget. We had been through thick and thin. If we could survive our abusive childhoods and the unthinkable crime we’d committed together, we could survive anything.

He took me by the hand and swept me away “Come on, I want you to meet some of the VIPs. Actually, they want to meet you.”

I stole a glance backward and my stomach twisted. Jaime was now chatting with Vivien. They seemed to be having a very intimate conversation. Jaime was hanging on her every word though his expression was impassive. There was no doubt in my mind that Vivien was coming on to him, with her pouts, hair flicks, and hip thrusts. She placed her hands on Jaime’s shoulders and whispered into his ear. Jaime’s eyes grew wide and then a faint smile played on his face. Before either of them could catch my gaze, I turned away and let Kevin lead me deeper into the crowd.

He introducing me to several VIPs that included top models, recording artists, and everyone’s favorite reality TV stars, Snookie included. While I was cordially smiley-faced with all of them, my mind was focused on Jaime and Vivien. What was with them? My eyes searched the pulsing crowd, but I could no longer find them. Had Jaime left with her? My mental ramblings came to a halt when Kevin told me that he had to split and get the charity auction for Rihanna’s diamond-studded bra and thong started. I was not standing alone for long.

“Gloria, lovely to see you.” The cold, affected drawl was unmistakable. Victor Holden, Vivien’s father. My multi-billionaire biggest shareholder and Chairman of the Board.

He cupped his hands on my bare shoulders. His fingers, as usual, were as icy as his voice. With a shiver that shimmied down my spine, I spun around to face him.

Victor was in his mid fifties though his fit body and handsome face made him look at least ten years younger. He was a tall, lean, debonair man with slicked back salt and pepper hair, a permanent tan, and elegant features that included piercing steel gray eyes and an aquiline nose. Wearing an expensive tweed jacket, open-button dress shirt, and well-cut gabardine trousers, he exuded old money. A shrewd businessman, he was known for making vulnerable companies his prey. Many on Wall Street called him “The Vulture.”