CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
GRANT
“ W ow,” I whistle under my breath, leaning over Lina’s shoulder to get a better look at her laptop. “Savannah is a genius.”
Lina looks up at me from where she sits in her desk chair. “I can’t believe how good these turned out,” she says, looking back toward the picture.
My hands press further into her shoulders, and she lets out a small sigh when I begin massaging a small knot near her neck with my thumb. “I’m not the least bit surprised.”
Yesterday, the girls spent the day in the city and the evening on a yacht off of Montauk taking photos for Savannah’s upcoming Ralph Lauren campaign. Just looking at the unedited photos of Lina, I’m kicking myself for not tagging along to see this up close and personal.
Then again, I never thought she’d do something like this. She obviously has the looks to model, and her confidence is not lacking, but I know she thinks she’d be stepping on toes by doing this.
Thank God Savannah convinced her otherwise.
She scrolls to the next photo, zooming and analyzing the view of her in a knit zip-up, laughing mid-spin while her hair blows in all different directions.
It’s happy and free—the perfect look on her.
“How does it feel seeing these pictures?” I ask her when Savannah walks over, putting the mock Ralph Lauren POLO font across the front of it.
She bites her lip, like she doesn’t know how to describe the feeling, but the smile stretching across her face tells me everything I need to know.
“ Ooo, have you seen the pictures of Kara and Bennett Hemingway? I got them to fricking kiss, Grant. Kiss!” Savannah asks me, sliding to sit on the arm of Lina’s chair so casually. “Or what about the pictures of Lina on the yacht?”
“Oh gosh.” Lina tilts her head back, laughing. “Don’t show him those. He doesn’t need any more spank bank material.”
I roll my eyes, pinching her shoulder while Savannah scrolls through the files. “I’ve only seen the studio ones.”
“Here.” She points the laptop toward me when she finds it, effectively stunning me into silence.
The first thing my eyes see are her pert nipples, the small peaks barely showing through the material of the bikini she’s wearing. When I finally scan the rest of the picture, I can't help but revel in how mouthwateringly gorgeous my girlfriend is.
This tiny red bikini, with a circular piece of jewelry adjoining the two cups, sits perfectly between her breasts.
Jesus. My cock stirs at the sight.
“Jeez, close your mouth. You’re not a dog.” Lina presses her hand to the underside of my jaw, pretending to push it closed.
“You look like a teenager finding a porno magazine for the first time,” Savannah teases. “You do know you’ve seen her naked before, right?”
I palm the side of Savannah’s skull, pushing her back toward Lina’s bed. “This is completely different.”
Lina’s head tilts up, studying my expression. “Seriously?”
“Hell yeah.” I keep my eyes on the screen while I kiss the side of her head.
“Okay.” She stands, shutting the computer like she’s just finished a work meeting. “We have to leave soon.”
Lina and Savannah are already in the dresses they’re wearing to the fashion show tonight. Although Savannah has already admitted she'll probably change once she gets there and fully comes to terms with the fact that she has to walk down the runway.
She is the designer, after all. The entire fashion show is made up of pieces from Savvy by Savannah .
“Are you sure you don’t want to walk the runway?” Savannah asks, also standing.
“I’m sure.” Lina walks into the bathroom, giving Savannah a look through the mirror. “I’ve had my moment. I’ll leave it to the professionals from this point forward.”
Savannah snorts. “Please. You didn’t even blink walking across that yacht in wet wood and stilettos.”
“I’ve watched a lot of physics documentaries,” Lina says, even though I vividly remember the voice memo she sent me yesterday panicking about her heel getting wedged in a deck plank and nearly launching her overboard.
I still have it saved. I replayed it at least ten times because her giggle at the end made my chest physically ache.
She was purposefully being dramatic, of course. I think Savannah is rubbing off on her. As if they weren’t already similar enough.
Lina is like a hurricane in comparison to Savannah. I watch as she pulls nearly a dozen different things out of her bathroom drawers—a hairbrush, her toothbrush, all different makeup products—and then sets them all over the counter.
Meanwhile, Savannah is reorganizing her purse and folding the pile of laundry on Lina’s dresser. She even pulls out a lint roller and rolls it over Lina’s desk chair—like it’s a reflex.
“You excited?” I ask Savannah, eyeing her suspiciously. Everyone knows she’s been nervous about this—stressing and wanting everything to be perfect.
“Yeah, yeah,” she repeats, placing the lint roller back in her bag with surgical precision. “I’m sure I’ll be fine once I’m there. Right now I’m just jittery.”
“It’ll be good.” I give her a reassuring nod before slipping into the bathroom with Lina.
“Your shirt’s wrinkled,” she tells me, examining my outfit through the mirror.
I shrug. “I’ll have a suit jacket on over it. You’ll barely even notice.”
My tie has been hanging around my neck since I got to her apartment. Originally, I was just stopping over to make sure it matched the dress she’s wearing, but when I found out she and Savannah were looking through the pictures from yesterday, I got distracted.
She turns to face me, her hands reaching for both ends of the tie. Her lips purse in concentration, which makes my brows hike in surprise.
“You know how to tie a tie?” I ask, not being able to hide my amusement.
“No,” she admits, already grinning. “But I’ve watched people do it before. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”
“Right.” I nod, humoring her.
Even though I could tie the thing in ten seconds flat, I’m enjoying watching her try. With her tongue between her teeth and eyes narrowing in on my chest, it’s a sight I want to remember.
I bite my lip to keep from laughing, watching her hands move with surprising confidence until she pauses, one side longer than the other, the knot starting to look a little like a tangled shoelace.
She stares at it for a long moment. “Be honest. Would everyone at your fancy prep school be laughing in my face right now?”
“You didn’t go to prep school?”
“Private,” she explains. “But the girls’ uniforms only had the polo. No tie.”
She tries again, but before she accidentally strangles me with her attempted knot, I let out a low chuckle, brushing her hands aside gently. “Okay, let me.”
As I fix it, she leans against the counter and watches me with that quiet smirk she saves for when she knows she’s been caught in a moment that feels too soft to name.
“You look good.” She nods once I’m done.
My arm reaches around her waist, my hand grazing the bare skin of her back. “You look better.”
The black silk dress she has on makes it hard for me to form full sentences. Coupled with the loose curls she put in her hair, she’s glowing in a euphoric, hard-won kind of way.
Savannah steps in the bathroom at the same time, gripping her phone in her hand. She’s still looking at her phone when she asks, “Grant, you’re still riding with B, aren’t you?”
I nod. We can’t all ride together because there are different entrances for backstage and general admission. To make the models feel more comfortable, no men are allowed through the backstage entrance.
Savannah obviously has to be backstage to get mic’d and get everything set up before the show, and she wants Lina to go with her.
Hence why Braxton and I are driving separately.
“Well, he’s waiting downstairs. He has to stop and get gas, so you guys have to leave like…now.”
“Of course he does,” I mutter.
I grab my suit jacket off the dresser and look at Lina, who’s now sitting on the bed, putting on her heels like we’re not in a time crunch. They have to leave soon too. “I’ll see you there?”
She looks up at me with a soft smile, the kind that instantly slows everything down. “I’ll be backstage, giving all my emotional support.” Her face skews, like she’s aware she’s the worst person for the job.
It makes me smile, and I quickly kiss her on the cheek so as not to disturb her too much.
“Go.” She shoves my shoulder once she’s done buckling her heel. “You’re going to be late.”
“I’ll save you a seat,” I tell her as I leave the room.
* * *
“Let’s go, Project Runway!” Braxton yells through his rolled-down passenger window. “We’re going to be late!”
I roll my eyes, getting in the car and putting my seatbelt on as he speeds off the curb. “You’re the dumbass who forgot to get gas.”
“I know, I know. It slipped my mind,” he groans, lifting one hand off the steering wheel and running it over his face. “Do you know how much shit I would be in if I were late to this thing?”
“Man, your parents don’t give a fuck what you do. They’d probably still shit on Savannah more.”
He winces because he knows it’s true.
Savannah and Braxton’s parents may have had them at the same time, but they raised them like they were born in different centuries. Braxton was given free rein—pretty much allowed to do whatever he wanted. Savannah, though, was held on a tight leash.
“Still. This is Savannah’s thing. I want to be there.”
“I get it. We still have twenty minutes before the doors open, so we should have time.”
Once we stop at the nearest gas station, where Braxton fills his tank faster than he probably ever has before, we’re back on the road.
We barely make it two blocks from the gas station when my phone starts buzzing in my hand, Lina’s name flashing across the screen.
I answer immediately. “Hey, what’s?—”
“Grant.” Her voice is tense and panicked, which of course has me automatically assuming the worst. “You need to find Meredith the second you get there. You and Braxton. You guys need to find her.”