***

It’s a cloudy, colder than normal, winter day in California. But the blah day isn’t bothering me. Even though the sun stays hidden behind the clouds, I have a ray of sunshine sitting beside me. I know he can barely contain his excitement that I’m finally sitting in his car. Today I’m getting a chauffeured ride, not only to work, but also home.

He drives fast, really fast, and I really like it. I can see why he chose this car—it handles a lot like him. He parts his full lips to ask me a question as we discuss his career and his time in Paris, when thoughts of kissing them overtake me. He stops at a light and that’s just what I do. Honking behind us warns us the light has turned and I pull away, touching my fingers to my lips to still feel his.

A sneaky grin crosses his mouth.

“So do you have a runway walk?”

He lowers the sunglasses he doesn’t need to be wearing and looks over to me. Raising an eyebrow he asks, “Do I look like I walk with runway swagger?”

I giggle. Okay the giggling needs to get checked.

“I’ll tell you the funniest advice I ever got about male runway walks,” he says. “I was doing a show and Vera Wang’s assistant showed up. She was a friendly older woman and she treated us like we were eighth-grade boys and girls. She gathered us all together and introduced us to modeling 101.” He smirks at the thought. “If that was my first show, I’d have gotten a hard-on that Vera Wang’s assistant was giving me pointers, but I’d been doing shows for two years by then.” His voice goes low and my guess is that he’s doing his best impersonation of the woman as he says, “ ‘Look at where the cameras are while you walk. Don’t cut the walls. Come out center. And please don’t forget to make a clean turn.’ ” He pauses. “We were all restless and when us guys practiced walking, it was with a normal, nothing walk. But the girls, they brought it. Their elbows were up, they leaned back, and clomped down the runway. She brought us back together after and said,” his voice goes low again, “ ‘Now men, stop walking like you were caught thinking about the vanilla sex you had last night.’ ”

Jagger’s depiction of the woman and the story itself has me in stitches as he pulls up to my office building. I think to myself there’s nothing vanilla about him as I lean over and grab his face to kiss him goodbye. I don’t even care that my lipstick is smearing. I want him to think about me today the way I know I’ll be thinking about him.

“Stay there,” he says taking my umbrella from my hand.

Getting out of the car, he pops my umbrella, and proceeds to walk me to the door.

“You can’t just leave your car there.”

“I think it will be fine,” he winks. “And besides, I’m right here, what’s going to happen?”

The look on his face melts me and what else can I do but get up on my toes and wrap my arms around him. I want to give him another unforgettable kiss. But when his hands clutch my h*ps and his body aligns with mine, I get lost in his hypnotic stare. But he doesn’t falter like me. His lips touch mine and a thrill runs down my spine. He uses his tongue to part my lips and I open my mouth with greed. Our tongues dance and when he pulls back—we are both breathless.

“Wow,” I say lost in the moment, left completely dazed.

He give me a breathtaking smile and turns back toward the car and I remember I wanted to be the one to leave him with a kiss to remember all day. With my heart pounding, I step inside and pause a moment near the glass to watch him as he heads back to the car. I’m looking for any sign of runway swagger. The thought of him getting paid in “trade” for his runway gigs intrigues me. A free sweater, sneakers, jeans, credit at a trendy store—payments that have all lent to his amazing wardrobe. I told him how much I would love that. He laughed and said the clothes were cool, but it was hard to pay the rent with a wool coat. Then I told him that I really liked that coat and he just grinned at me.

I hit the elevator button just as he nears his illegally parked car, and notice a woman using her purse as a shield over her head is approaching him. He stiffens, as they seem to have an animated conversation. I wonder if she’s yelling at him for parking there. A few moments later, she scurries through the rain and in the door. The elevator arrives and just as I hit my floor, the same tall, slender woman who looks about my age yells, “Hold the elevator, please.”

I catch a glimpse of her through the closing door. Her hair is an understated red—a cross between a copper and a strawberry blonde. It’s curled in loose waves, she has high cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes. I quickly press the open button. As the doors begin to reopen, I see my reflection in them. I’m off my game today, but I don’t care. My makeup is in my bag and so are my heels, I didn’t want the calfskin to get wet from the rain. I straighten my gray pencil skirt as the woman enters.

I look at her, intrigued. She has one of those haunting faces that look like it should be gracing magazine covers. She’s wearing black lace-up pants, a completely sheer blouse, and a killer raspberry leather jacket with raindrops dripping from it. The raspberry color of her coat accentuates the red highlights in her blonde hair. I feel like I’ve seen her before, but can’t place where. A pang of jealousy hits as I glance down at my corporate attire. She exits the elevator on the ninth floor and I stay put riding to the tenth.

As I exit the elevator, Shelly rushes up behind me. “Ms. Daniels, Mr. Wolf is waiting for you in the conference room.”

I look at my watch—8:05. Crap, I completely forgot about the summons he left me yesterday afternoon. I hand off my things to Shelly. “Will you put these in my office?”

She nods and as she walks away I call, “Shelly, wait. My shoes are in there.” I put my hand on her shoulder and remove my flats, replacing them with my wedges. Shelly looks at me with admiration. “Ms. Daniels, you have the coolest wardrobe.”

I beam at her. “Thank you.” A compliment is just what I needed.

Shelly’s an intern working for us full-time while Megan, my assistant, is out on maternity leave. She’s doing a fabulous job and I hope to hire her full-time when she graduates this summer.

The conference room is on the eleventh floor and by the time I enter it, it’s almost 8:15. Damon is sitting in there looking through some ads I know I have already approved for this month. He glances up, and in a deep voice he says, “Ms. Daniels, you’re late.”

I see that Kimberly Hudson hasn’t arrived yet but rather than be on the defensive, I apologize. He sips his coffee and I cross the room toward the credenza and place a teabag in a porcelain cup. As I pour the hot water I say, “Damon, please call me Aerie. Ms. Daniels isn’t necessary.”

“Of course, Aerie.”

The door opens and a woman carefully carrying a tray of coffees enters. “Oh, Damon, I’m so sorry I’m late,” she says placing the tray on the table. “My sister unexpectedly stopped by. She’s meeting with a director to discuss a role she’s dying to play and wanted to make sure she looked the part. She moved to LA with me and we’re both loving it.” She hands him a coffee cup. “With sugar,” she says smiling. “And then I decided to take the stairs up the two flights. Not a smart move with a tray of hot liquids in hand.”

He waves his hand in the air. “Relax, K, it’s fine. Ms. Daniels only just arrived herself. And if I can help your sister in any way, you let me know.”

Now I have to wonder if he will call me A or if he doesn’t remember her name. I want so much to assist him but I’ll let “K” have that privilege. Her outfit—black lace dress, leather biker jacket, and heavy dark eye makeup—seems very cosmopolitan.

“Aerie, I assume,” she says extending her hand. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.”

The word finally bites, but I choose not to assume she’s insulting me. She is stunning—her hair is shoulder length, pin straight, and dirty blonde.

“Kimberly.” I stress the word. “The pleasure is all mine. I’m so happy to have you aboard and look forward to growing the magazine circulation with you.”

She passes a coffee my way. “Oh, call me Kay. Kimberly is so formal and I think a pen name is in order. Although I’d love to ride my previous successes from the New York Times, I explained to Damon I think I’ll be more successful without the bar set so high.” She looks at him. “And he agreed.”

He nods.

I smile, and put a hand out to the coffee. “I’m fine with tea, but thank you anyway.”

She shrugs. “I’ll get to know all of your habits. Next time I’ll bring you tea.”

“Well, ladies, I don’t want to take too much of your time this morning, but I thought it would be worth discussing a training schedule. As you know, Aerie, Sound Entertainment won’t launch until the summer, but I’d like you to get Kay up to speed in the meantime. In fact I’d like you,” he says to Kay, “to interview my fiancé, Ivy Taylor. She’s preparing a new album that won’t release until next year, but I’d like to see your brilliance applied toward growing her career.”

I don’t let this ruffle my feathers. I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities for me to meet with Ivy once her album releases. The meeting seems to go on for hours, and my mind wanders back to Jagger at every opportunity. I get lost in the memory of our night together.

Damon’s deep voice rattles me from my thoughts. “Ms. Daniels, you’re in agreement then?”

When I don’t answer at first, Kay jumps in. “Aerie and I will be the perfect workmates.”

I glance her way, silently thanking her for cluing me in. I guess she’ll be sharing my office. “Yes, of course, Damon. Anything she needs,” I answer, turning to meet his glare.

“Great then. Kay the construction will begin on the ninth floor immediately and by summer’s start we should have a state of the art newsroom and studio.” I swear I could practically see him rubbing his hands together as he speaks.

Damon rises and I say my goodbyes, scurrying to my office and wondering when Kay will be moving in. Once I sit in my chair, I grab for my purse and remove my BlackBerry. No messages. I go about the rest of my day, trying to make up for lost time and when I look at my BlackBerry again it’s four o’clock. Still no messages. I had told him I’d leave work at six today so I guess there was need to call me. I just thought . . . I’m not sure what I thought.

Time passes slowly after that. I twirl in my chair and pop my legs up on my desk. I’ve always prided myself on never being one of those needy girls, well not never—once and only once. But I learned my lesson quickly, and not since Levi have I sat around and waited for a guy to call me. So why is it I’m thinking it would have been nice if Jagger called me today? In fact, why isn’t he calling me? Oh God, what if he doesn’t pick me up? Was he really just using me?

My phone rings and I jump.

Reaching to pick up the receiver on my desk, I hug it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Aerieee, I’ve been waiting for you to call me all day.” It’s Dahlia.

“Dahlia girl, how am I supposed to know you’ve been waiting for a call? I did just see you yesterday.”

“Fess up now. Don’t make me squeeze it out of you.”

I laugh. “Jagger spent the night.”

“I know that. I figured that out when he didn’t come home. So . . .”

“So we had sex,” I say it as fast as I can.

“And?”

I bite my lip just thinking about it and the ache between my legs is back. “And, I think I had my first orgasm.”

A scream explodes through the line. “You think?”

“No, I did. I know I did. More than one by the way.” I can’t believe I’m having this conversation at work.