The "Stylist" | Book I in a Series of Mistaken Identities

JUST THE ONE

Charles

"It's stuck," Valerie mutters while holding safety pins in her lips, "Max, I'm afraid you'll just have to wear this forever." Valerie looks up at Max the male model. She follows his eye-line and looks directly at me. The moment she sees me shoots up to her feet, "What are you doing in here? You can't be back here you pervert, there's naked girls."

I can't help but smirk, she can call me a pervert all she wants, I'm just happy to see her again. I look at the male model, "Could you give us a moment."

I leave no room for argument in my tone and the male model walks off. Really? Did he give up on her that easily? What an idiot.

I slide my hands into my pockets. As I stalk over to her, I put on my best tough guy mask; she's in trouble for not calling me and by the way her eyes widen I think she knows, "To answer your question, Valerie, I came to see the show, now you answer one of mine."

"Uh-oh," I don't think she even realized that she started backing up away from me.

"Uh-oh is right," I take a step closer and I can feel the heat radiating from her, her neck turning a delightful shade of pink.

"So, you did find my card."

"Yes." I knew it, good on her for not lying. Valerie keeps walking backward until she reaches another clothing rack and has nowhere else to run.

"And?" I stop and wait for her response. Valerie just blinks those beautiful golden eyes and a smirk creeps up onto her lips.

"Not used to this, huh?" She sniggers, "Someone not throwing themselves at you? Must be rough, I'm sure you'll tell your therapist all about it later. Now shield your eyes and get out."

"And if I don't, what will you do?" Valerie crosses her arms. I'm sure she knows just how amazing her boobs look pushed up like that, but I keep my eyes zeroed in on her.

"I'll call security. You might have an all-access pass, but I'm sure if it gets out that Charles Knight was backstage ogling models it might not bode well for your reputation."

"Didn't you hear, I'm a Playboy."

"We'll add peeping tom to your public profile," her tone hints there's something more to this.

I narrow my eyes at Valerie. As she looks away, I can tell there's something about the idea of my being a potential man whore that's turning her off me. "How many women would I have to have taken into my bed to officially be typecast as a Playboy?" Valerie shrugs, still avoiding eye contact, "There's only ever been one, Valerie." Her brows knit and when she finally looks at me, I lean in closer so only she can hear, "I'm very, very particular with who I choose to spend my time with. Have dinner with me tonight, what time do you finish?"

"Charlie," Valerie and I both look at Jessica who watches us with a big smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, "Anna would like to meet you."

"Oh wow, Anna? That's a big deal dude!" Valerie pats my arm like a sports buddy might in a locker room and scurries away.

I get the feeling Jessica is trying to mark her territory in a not-so-subtle way. Since Valerie is at work maybe I should just back off, I imagine Jessica holds more influence in this world than my little pocket square fairy.

I make sure to give Jessica all the attention she needs for the next hour. Turns out I was right about the woman in the sunglasses; she wants to do a story on me in her magazine. After an hour of doing my utmost best to be social, I'm all tapped out and get the hell out of there.

As I wait for my car to pull up I can't seem to figure out what to do next. I've only ever been in one relationship, and I don't exactly go seeking attention from women. After I caught Deborah cheating on me, I went through a self-destructive period and blamed myself for pushing her away.

It took much longer than it should have for me to come to terms with the fact that she was the one responsible for her actions. I didn't push her into cheating like she kept saying.

Deborah was disloyal and that was that. I did everything right; I gave her my time, my love, my money, and protection. I held her hand through chemo, I was there for the worst of it, I was there to help her rebuild herself after all the shit. If she chose to throw it all away, that was on her.

I know the world sees me as a playboy, but nothing could be further from the truth. Yes, I get photographed with a lot of beautiful women, but growing up in Tokyo is very different than the States. I might only be half Japanese, and I might not look Japanese, but that was my home for the first 20 years of my life; I am Japanese, and in Japan, we're not so open with our sexuality. Hell, I didn't have my first kiss till I was 19, by US standards that's quite late. And Deborah? She was the first and last woman I had a sexual relationship with. I met her in my early 20s just as I decided to expand my business into the States. We started with New York because, well, because it's New York, enough said.

So now what? I sit in the town car and pull up Valerie's photo again. The second I look at it I know there's no way in hell I'm giving up on this woman.

I call Laurie, and she answers almost instantly, "I'm off the clock, what do you want?"

"I need you to forward me the call sheet from the Forbes shoot last week," I say as casually as possible.

I hear her smiling on the other end, "Why?"

"Excuse me?" I can feel my eyebrows rising on my forehead.

"Yes boss, right away boss," Laurie hangs up on me, laughing. Unbelievable.

A minute later I have an email from Laurie. A winking emoji in the subject line mocks me. I open the email and there's no call sheet, just one line; a name, Valerie Banks, and a phone number.