Wardrobe Malfunction
Page 9

“This is the main wardrobe and props area…and this is our section for storage.”
I follow her over to the rails of clothes and storage units.
“Everything is labeled, so we know which is ours. But we have a trailer over by the studio they’re filming in, so we can do fittings there. All of Vaughn’s stuff is already over there. I had Logan move it over for you yesterday.”
“Brilliant. Thanks.”
“Here’s Vaughn’s sheet, listing what he’ll need on which days.”
“Great, thanks.” I take the file from her. “What about the other actors?”
“Logan has Natasha. The rest of the cast, I’ve split between the two of you, and we’ll work out the schedule as we go.”
“And you just sit back and give us orders?” I grin.
She sticks her tongue out at me. “Because we’re a small team, I’ll be on set for any alterations, and I get the awesome tasks of inventory and keeping your ass in check.”
“I am a handful,” I tell her with a serious face.
“No kidding.” She laughs, swatting me on the ass.
“Hey! Sexual harassment!” I call out with a laugh.
She shakes her head, laughing. “Come on, I’ll show you the trailer and introduce you to Logan.”
We walk over to the trailer. I follow her inside. It looks just like all other wardrobes I’ve worked in, nothing different.
Except for the hottie over by the table, who’s sewing a button on a Marc Jacobs blazer.
“Logan, I’d like you to meet Charly.”
He snaps off the thread and puts the blazer down. “Hey, Charly. Good to meet you.”
He stands up to shake my hand. I’d say he’s about five-eleven, and he has a lovely face, dark eyes, and jet-black hair. Best of all, he’s dressed in a snappy suit. I love a man in a suit.
“I love your top,” he says.
I glance down at it. I’m wearing my black You Can’t Sit With Us cropped tank. It’s my favorite. I love it. I teamed it with my ripped Gucci jeans that I got at a seventy percent off sale and my Zara wedges. My hair is down, and my makeup is light. I’m rocking the basics, if I do say so myself.
“Thanks. Love your suit. Tom Ford, this season, right?”
“Right.” He smiles.
I hear a phone beep, and then Ava’s saying, “Shit. I’ve got to go pick up Natasha’s dresses. I forgot they’d be ready this morning. Charly, will you be okay if I disappear for a bit?”
“Sure”—I wave her off—“I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t forget that Vaughn is coming in at ten thirty.”
“Ten thirty. Got it.”
I watch her disappear out the door we just came in through.
“I need to get this jacket to Marcus—supporting cast actor,” Logan explains, “and see if it’s right this time. I might be a while. He can be…tricky.”
“Gotcha. No worries. I’ll just familiarize myself with this place.”
Then, Logan’s gone, and I’m alone.
I have a look around, finding where everything is. I locate Vaughn’s clothes on the rail, so I get them off and set them up on the table. I get my sewing kit all ready.
And then I’m good to go, with time to kill.
Honestly, I’m feeling a little nervous.
Of course I’ve worked with actors before, but this is Vaughn West.
He’s a huge star.
And gorgeous.
I decide to do some work on my latest design. I pull out my sketchpad from my handbag, set my cell on the table, and start my playlist. I open my pad at the drawing I’ve been working on this past week.
It’s a wedding dress. Strapless bodice encrusted with crystals and a lace ribbon stitched under the breast with the ends of the ribbon set with crystals as well. I just can’t decide on the skirt. It’s been bugging me all week.
Madonna’s “Dress You Up” starts to play on my phone.
I love this song! It’s my anthem.
Putting my pad down, I turn the volume up.
Then, I’m singing along and getting to my feet. Picking up a lint roller to use as my mock microphone, I’m singing my heart out, dancing around, twerking my ass off to Madge, and—
“Shit! Fuck!” I yell mid turn, the lint roller dropping out of my hand and to the floor.
Because Vaughn West is standing in the doorway—arms folded, his shoulder leaning on the doorframe—watching me.
Oh my God.
I dart over and silence the music, closing my sketchpad. “God, you scared me.” I’m breathing quickly. I press my hand to my chest, my heart pounding. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
His voice…dear God. Deep and raspy and sexy.
I take a good look at him, and he’s even better in real life than he looks on-screen.
He’s beautiful. And tall. I know he’s six foot two and a half. And, no, I’m not a stalker. I read it in a magazine once.
He’s dressed in blue jeans and a simple black tee that highlights the golden tone of his skin. His hair is tousled, like he’s been running his hands through it. And his lips, so full and kissable…and his eyes…they’re like melted chocolate with caramel in the center…
Then, I realize he’s laughing at me. Well, not laughing, laughing, but there’s definitely mirth in those gorgeous eyes of his.