Read Online Heat Wave by Kate J. Squires - Free Book Online Page B

homeless little waif. Follow me!’
    We rode the staff elevator up and stepped out on a guest floor above sea level. Greg banged on a door marked Wardrobe and a voice trilled from inside.
    â€˜Hellooo! Come in if you’re good looking.’
    We entered, greeted by the sounds of Kylie Minogue playing from an iPhone docking speaker. The guest room wasn’t as large as Tanner’s, but it had been completely emptied of furniture—instead of beds and chairs, the suite contained dozens of clothing racks. Outfits of were grouped in colours, fluttering and twinkling all around us.
    A man with vivid blue Mohawk poked his head around the corner. ‘Greggie! You delicious piece of man meat.’
    â€˜Hey, Ricky.’ They hugged as I lurked back by the doorway, running my fingers over the delicate fabrics surrounding me.
    Ricky batted his eyes, rimmed in peacock colours. ‘Are you still with that wife of yours? You know, my invite for you to join Blake and I in bed some night still stands, player.’
    â€˜Still straight, Ricky. And yes, still married—five years next month.’
    â€˜Boo, whore!’ Ricky sighed theatrically. ‘Fine! Now, what do you want? I’ve got ten hos to keep clothed, and I don’t have time to wine and dine you right … Sweet lady Mariah, who is that?’
    Ricky had spotted me. I stepped forward. ‘Hey, I’m Maddie.’
    â€˜No. No, you’re not.’ The little man walked around me in a tight circle, staring up at me in wonder. ‘Woman, you are a unicorn with a cock for a horn, wearing diamond-encrusted Stuart Weitzman’s while pooping out rainbow-flavoured macaroons.’
    â€˜Excuse me?’
    He clasped his hands together reverently. ‘You’re a gay designer’s dream. Your legs … I just can’t …’
    â€˜Ricky, don’t weird her out, please,’ said Greg. ‘Maddie’s my new production assistant and she needs something to wear tonight. Can you help?’
    â€˜Oh, oh! Dress her? Really?’ He fanned at his face, waving back delighted tears.
    â€˜I just need something basic; jeans and a shirt or something?’
    â€˜Girlfriend! I can do better than that.’
    Ricky sprang into action, a fashion-forward elf. He buzzed between the racks, pulling items down, analysing then discarding them while muttering to himself, ‘Where are they? These? No, the black ones … Wait, I know!’
    He piled my arms with expensive garments, beaming like a kid on a sugar high. ‘Put them on! Put them on!’
    I did as I was told, ducking behind a rack of full-length gowns. ‘Um, guys? I’m not sure about this …’
    â€˜Maddie, we need to be upstairs in about two minutes,’ Greg called back. ‘No time to get fussy about Ricky’s colour choices.’
    â€˜Hey, bitch! My taste is exquisite. You’re the one who seems to think plaid shirts are a fashion revelation.’
    I stepped out and both men fell silent.
    The leather pants were so tight against my skin it looked as though I was wearing nothing, like my legs had been dipped in black paint. The silk top was like gossamer, swinging from my bare shoulders in the palest of blues, the same hue as my eyes, while on my feet I wore a pair of heeled boots that would have made Captain Jack jealous.
    â€˜How do I look?’ I asked nervously.
    Ricky dropped to his knees. ‘Marry me.’
    â€˜I think your boyfriend might have an issue with that,’ snorted Greg. ‘Thanks, Ricky. We have to go.’
    â€˜Wait!’ My couture guru scrambled up. ‘Let me take a photo!’
    â€˜Sorry, Ricky, no time. Thank you,’ I said as Greg towed me out.
    We raced up six flights of stairs to the top deck, officially running late. By the time we made it to the pre-production meeting, the first AD was already talking. ‘… So, we’ll need everyone everywhere tonight. You