Chapter 7
DASH
Iheard my phone from somewhere in the distance. It took me several seconds to realize it wasn’t that far away. It was me that was far away in my dream. And some asshole just disturbed what had been cranking up to be a really good one.
I reached my hand out, slapping at the nightstand where I knew I had left the damn thing.
It just kept making noise. I found it, snatched it, and used one eye to look at the screen.
There were six missed calls from an unknown number.
I was not interested. I put the phone on silent and dropped it back on the nightstand.
Then I rolled over and willed my brain to drop me back into my lovely dream.
But before I could even settle, there was a pounding at the door.
“Dammit!” I growled and pulled a pillow over my head.
The pounding continued, getting louder and far too aggressive. The fucking building better be on fire. I snatched my phone to check the time. It was just after ten. Before noon. Did I order room service before I passed out? I didn’t think I did, but no one else would dare.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a second, letting my brain catch up with the rest of me. My head wasn’t pounding, but it wasn’t thrilled about the morning either.
And then the pounding started again.
“Alright,” I muttered, mostly to myself.
I got up in my boxers and crossed the room, running a hand through my hair before rubbing the stubble on my jaw. I checked the peephole out of habit.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I opened the door, not giving a shit I was close to naked. Let her look. I knew she had been checking me out last night. And she liked what she saw whether she’d admit it or not. I liked seeing her off-balance, and if my nearly naked body did it, I had no problem showing it.
She stood in the hallway looking pissed. She was in her cargo pants—different pair, same energy—and a fitted white T-shirt that showed off her perfect breasts. Her hair was pulled back, phone in hand, jaw set and eyes flashing with anger.
She glanced down at my boxers and the semi I was sporting. When her eyes met mine, her pupils were just a little bigger than they had been when I first opened the door.
“Good morning,” I said.
“It’s not,” she said. “It’s really not. I’ve called you six times.”
“That was you?”
“That was me. Adrian called you. The wardrobe team has been calling since six.” She held up her phone like it was evidence. “Today is the campaign launch event. There are pieces missing. Critical pieces. And we have less than four hours before the first reveal.”
I sighed. I understood this was her first rodeo, but it wasn’t mine. Nothing went smoothly. Nothing happened without a few hiccups. It was certainly not worthy of a freakout.
“We do not have the tops to several bathing suits.”
“Huh.”
“Huh,” she repeated. She threw her hands up. “Huh? That’s how you solve things? I can see why they put you in charge of logistics.”
“Give me a minute.”
“We don’t have a minute.”
“Should I go like this?” I asked dryly. “Five fucking minutes.”
“If you hadn’t had your head firmly wedged between two pairs of tits last night, you might have seen the emails in your inbox. You would already be dressed and hunting down these missing pieces.”
“I heard you.” I stepped back from the door. I left it open and walked back to the bedroom of my suite to find clothes.
“The car is already downstairs.” Her voice filled the space, which told me she’d followed me into the room. I had a feeling she would dress me if I didn’t move fast enough.
Instead of arguing, I grabbed some clothes and went into the bathroom.
“I’ll wait in the hall. Hurry the hell up!”
I ran water over my face in the bathroom and looked at my reflection. I wasn’t going to bother shaving. No time. Thank God I showered before I fell into bed last night. Or maybe that had been this morning. I brushed my teeth, rolled on some deodorant, and then added a layer of my favorite cologne.
Unlike my military babysitter, I dressed in casual khakis and a short sleeve shirt.
“Hurry up!” Krista shouted into the room.
“Do you think I’m going to personally find the missing pieces?” I called out.
“Someone has to.”
I opened the bathroom door. “That’s called staff. There are people hired to keep track of the wardrobe. They’ll do it.”
I heard what sounded like a growling noise. It almost made me laugh.
I stepped into the room and found her standing in the doorway to the hall, arms crossed and a scowl on her face. It was almost funny she’d decided not to wait in the room. Maybe she was worried she couldn’t keep her hands to herself. I grinned at the thought.
“Are you ready or would you like to primp some more?” she asked.
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” I shot back at her. My gaze moved over her attire. Same cargo pants and another shirt, but this time it was tucked in, really showing off her breasts. Did she know that her outfit actually accentuated her curves?
“You didn’t hire me for my fashion sense,” she said, narrowing her eyes at me.
“I didn’t hire you at all,” I said. “If you don’t like my attitude, take it up with those chuckleheads.”
I grabbed my wallet and sunglasses and only then remembered my phone. I went back into the room and grabbed it. That’s when I actually took the time to check the missed calls and text messages. Oops. Apparently, they had been calling. I slept right through it.
I stepped back into the hallway.
Krista was standing exactly where I’d left her, glaring at me.
“Ready,” I said.
“About damn time.” She walked to the elevator.
I strolled behind her. “Relax,” I said. “It’ll all work out. Always does.”
She scoffed, sounding borderline disgusted with me.
I stepped into the elevator behind her. “Something to say?” I asked.
“Things only work out for you because of your last name,” she said.
“And because other people pick up the slack. I’m not saying that to be cruel.
I’m saying it because I need you to understand that today, the last name doesn’t help us.
Today, we actually have to find the missing pieces.
If they were simply in a box, no one would have wasted their time calling you. ”
I put my sunglasses and stared straight ahead, chewing on her words. Was she right?
We strolled through the lobby. Well, I strolled and she marched. The car was waiting as she said. She got in without a word, staring out the window without even acknowledging my presence.
I’d been to enough of these launches to know what chaos looked like.
This was chaos on steroids. The second the car pulled up to the waterfront venue, I could see people running across the white sand.
Tents flapped in the breeze. Someone was shouting into a walkie-talkie.
Another person was on their phone, pacing back and forth near the water’s edge.
The Athens Riviera stretched out before us. The turquoise water and dramatic cliffs were stunning. Under different circumstances, it would’ve been beautiful. Right now, it looked like a disaster zone with a scenic backdrop.
I stepped out of the car and immediately spotted Annika, our lead wardrobe coordinator, speed-walking toward me with an expression that made my stomach drop. Behind her was Mary Jo from hair and makeup, looking equally frantic.
“Dash, thank God,” Annika said. “We have a situation.”
“Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“It’s worse than we thought. It’s not just the tops. We’re missing accessories. The jewelry pieces that were supposed to complement the collection. And three pairs of the custom sandals.”
“And the models are freaking out because half of them don’t know what they’re supposed to be wearing now,” Mary Jo said. “We’ve got photographers setting up, influencers arriving in thirty minutes, and the media is already asking questions.”
I could practically feel the judgment radiating off Krista. I was proving why my family decided I needed help to handle this campaign.
“Where did you last see the missing pieces?” I asked.
“That’s the thing,” Annika said. “They were packed. I personally supervised the packing in New York. They should have been in the shipment that arrived yesterday.”
“Should have been?”
“The customs paperwork shows they cleared. But when we opened the containers this morning, entire boxes were missing.”
A producer I recognized materialized next to us. “Dash, we need a solution. Now.”
Another person, from media relations, rushed over with a tight smile on her face. “Mr. Blackwell, the media is asking when they can start setting up. What do I tell them?”
“Tell them we’re running a little behind schedule.”
“How far behind?”
“Very.”
She paled. “They’re going to want specifics.”
“Then give them champagne and tell them to enjoy the view. That’s what they’re here for anyway.”
Krista’s phone was already out, her fingers flying across the screen. She was texting someone, probably Adrian. Probably tattling on me.
I looked around at the chaos. Media swarming. Models who were supposed to be in front of cameras in a few hours wearing swimwear that didn’t exist.
“We could go topless,” I said.
Annika’s eyes went wide. “Are you out of your mind?”
I shrugged. “I’m just saying, it would definitely make a statement. Very European. Very avant-garde.”
“Your mother would murder you,” Annika said. “And then I would.”
Annika had worked for Blackwell Couture for as long as I could remember, and at this point she was nearly family.
Which was why she had no problem being honest with me.
Over the years, I had learned to trust Annika’s opinion and advice.
If she said something was a bad idea, then it almost certainly was.
“Yeah, okay, we’ll put a pin in the topless plan for now.” I rubbed the back of my neck. The sun was already brutal and it wasn’t even noon yet. I felt my phone buzz with a text message.
Adrian: Status update?
I typed back: Handled.
Another buzz immediately: That’s not a status update.
I shoved the phone back in my pocket without responding. I didn’t have time for Adrian’s micromanaging right now. I was about to tell Krista to help instead of running to my brother, but she was on the phone about ten feet away. She was pacing back and forth.
“Hey, Captain K!”
She looked in my direction. She had on aviators but I could just imagine the glare coming from behind them. “I’m working,” she said.
“Yeah, I know. Your work is texting me. Tell him to chill out. I have it under control.”
She ignored me.
“Mr. Blackwell!”
I turned to see one of the set designers jogging over, sweat already pouring down his face. “The backdrop for the main shoot area collapsed. Wind’s too strong. We need to anchor it differently but we don’t have the right equipment.”
“What do you need?”
“Sandbags. A lot of them. And maybe some concrete blocks.”
“How many is a lot?”
“Fifty? Sixty?”
Fuck me. “If I don’t find bathing suits, there won’t be a shoot,” I said.
“What?” He looked horrified.
“Just put some rocks on the stuff for now. I’ll make some calls.”
He nodded but looked very skeptical. I didn’t blame him.
I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through my contacts. I needed someone who could get me sandbags and concrete blocks in the next hour. There was a guy in Athens, a fixer who’d helped me out of a jam last year during a different shoot. What was his name? Dimitri? Demetrius?
“Dash.” Annika was standing in front of me.
“I know,” I said. “I know. Look, just have everyone go through the boxes again. Slowly. Bikini tops are small. Maybe they’re stuck in a pocket.”
“A pocket?” Annika repeated. “You’re joking.”
“No, I’m not joking. You said you packed them and that they made it through customs. So that means they’re here somewhere. Unless someone stole them, which is highly unlikely, they’re here. We just need to find them.”
“You don’t think I searched?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m not saying that. I’m sure you moved heaven and earth looking for them. I’ll help you look. Where’s wardrobe?”
She pointed to the biggest tent. I spotted someone with a headset walking by. They looked like an assistant. Not my assistant but I was paying everyone here. Everyone was my assistant.
“You,” I called out.
The kid stopped and looked around. “Me?”
“Yes. Find craft services and bring me a coffee. And a Red Bull or something equivalent. And water.”
The kid looked like he was going to argue. Tell me it wasn’t his job or some shit.
“Now,” I added.
“Yes, sir.”
Annika scowled at me. “That was a producer.”
“Good, maybe he can produce some caffeine.”