TITLE: THE HEAD TRIP
GENRE: Romance / Women's Fiction
Eight in the morning wasn’t what Lettie Gold considered the ideal hour for a sexy Skype call with her fiancé, not even close. But it would raise more than a few perfectly-tweezed eyebrows if she wasn’t behind her desk at Last Word by 9:30. There was nothing celebrity publicists did better than spread gossip—about their clients and each other. Anyway, it wasn’t like she and David had a better option. By the time she got home from work it would be the middle of the night in Berlin.
Lettie turned her profile to the bathroom mirror and marveled at her half-clothed reflection one last time. Victoria’s Secret was either run by engineering geniuses or practitioners of dark Wiccan magic, there was simply no other plausible explanation for the gravity-defying effects of this bra. The pale pink wisp of fabric performed not just a push up on her minimal cleavage, but a whole Presidential Fitness Award’s worth of athletic achievements.
Actually, Lettie didn’t really think her body really needed a lift, pagan ritual-induced or otherwise. She’d always liked her smaller size chest, or at least the lifelong freedom from underwire it had afforded her. But she could take a hint. And, as far as hints went, the pale pink demi-cup with the built-in padding David had given for her birthday may as well have been skywriting.
She brushed her dark hair forward so its ends curled softly just below her sternum.
Lettie hurried into the bedroom where she’d already drawn the curtains closed and positioned the laptop on the bed for the most flattering lighting. Arranging herself in front of it in a slightly uncomfortable—but, she hoped, smolderingly alluring—position resting on her left hip, she clicked the icon MusicMan86. The inelegant buzz-buzz of the Skype ringtone droned loudly.
MusicMan86 did not pick up.
Again? Adrenaline clamped its angry fingers tight around Lettie’s chest. She felt a fresh wave of loathing for the stupid Volkswagen execs who had hired him on this job. It was just a dumb advertising jingle, for crying out loud. They kept him chained to his keyboard like he was cracking the code on world peace.
She killed time for a few minutes on social media, then tried Skype again. On the fourth ring, the black rectangle on her laptop screen finally lit up with David’s scruff-covered face.
Relief flushed away the last trace of her annoyance. God, he was gorgeous. Even after three years together (four, if you counted that year of friends with benefits back when they were just undergrads at NYU…) David’s slightly disheveled good looks still took her breath away. The faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the shaggy blonde-brown that looked like he’d hacked into it with a pair of scissors, himself. He’d had that same rough-around-the-edges appeal ever since she’d known him. As if he’d stepped off the pages of Rolling Stone just so he could slide into the empty seat beside her in Music Theory III.