Stiletto Sisterhood

Original Edition: Cait| Whatever, SpongeBob

Speeding down the busy Parisian streets, Caitriona moved through the tightly packed vehicular bodies like smoke. Whipping in and out as the engine roared between her legs. She loved the exhilarating rush of riding a motorcycle and took any available chance to turn her wheels to the motorways where she could really push for speed and fly.

More than a few horns blared or the occasional French curse shot out behind her but Caitriona was having too much fun to care. Added to that, she was a touch past what would be considered fashionably late considering she whom she was meeting with for dinner and drinks.

Friday night traffic was thick, both inbound and outbound, as people came into the city for the night or the weekend and local Parisians headed out of town in droves.

Taking a sharp corner down a sliver thin side street, her foot touching down to anchor her turn, Caitriona it closed the final stretch and slowed her speed to enter the underground parking facility.

The valet gave a shake of his head as she rolled past, his eyes equally appraising of her Ducati and her legs—bared as high as she could go in a lacquered pair of black shorts and long leather frongs that belted around her exposed waist like a grass skirt. Finding an available spot on the first level, Caitriona steered her bike into place and killed the engine.

The hard, sexy rumble faded into silence as she sat back and lifted off her helmet.

The only downside to wearing one of these was what it did to her short cap of hair which she'd freshly dyed at the salon this morning into a deep sapphire that faded into silver-purple tips. Fingering the strands into a haphazard mohawk, Caitriona slid off the seat and secured her helmet in the top box.

Whisking up in the elevator up to the rooftop patio of the Shangri-La, a gorgeous hotel with all the opulence of Versailles, Caitriona touched up her burnt plum lipstick and gave her tousled coif one last finger comb for the desired messy-chic result.

As the doors parted, Caitriona flounced onto the opened rooftop patio with poised confidence though insider her belly fluttered and her knees weakened with exhilaration and nerves. The gorgeous space densely packed with high fashion society elite. And that sensation shot up her spine and into her head as she approached the table where Evan and Thea sat.

Springing out of his seat, unbuttoning the sapphire velvet blazer, Evan pressed a kiss to her cheek. "You look wonderful. So glad you could join us."

"Sorry I'm late," she said to the entire table as Evan pulled out a chair to his left. Placing her between him and Iona. At the opposite end of the table, Thea sat, flawless in a white sleeveless cashmere vest, closed at the chest and fell to her knees over ripped dark pants. Her dark hair loose in messy waves.

Her eyes danced around the length of the table, her pulse quickening throughout the journey. Iona, the face to launch the Femmenizer campaign along with the head honchos of Vogue magazine whom Caitriona knew all by name.

But it was Karl Yoren, the photographer for the coming shoot, who had her truly speechless.

His photography was tastefully erotic, but always high fashion. Whether shooting celebrities or models, individually or in groups, he somehow kept it serious and playful at the same time. Colorful, confrontational, and full of narrative through facial expressions, billowing dresses, calm seas, or simple studio set-ups.

A master of storytelling.

She sat down, directly from—#fangirlscream—Karl, and accepted a menu from the server, Caitriona settled on an Ahi Tuna salad as everyone else was already tucking in to their entrees.