Sex, Love & Lingerie (Secrets and Lies Book 3) Read online

  Wearing my standard, no-nonsense uniform of black leggings (okay, our new prototype tummy-pleasing maternity ones), ballet flats, and one of Jaime’s oversized shirts that minimized my substantial baby bump, I ambled over to the Green Room. My pulse sped up with every step. Confession: As powerful a woman as I was, I was actually intimidated to meet the reigning queen of pop. I totally loved her music and felt like an infatuated fan girl meeting her idol backstage.

  As soon as Kevin saw me walk into the Green Room, he sprinted up to me. True to fashion, Mr. Outrageous was clad in designer shorts, red high tops, and a vintage varsity sweater. His magenta-streaked ebony hair was fashionably spiked, and he was sporting a new accessory—horn-rimmed eyeglasses—though I don’t think he really needed them. Everything Kevin wore was for show, except the diamond stud in his left ear. A birthday present from me.

  After hugging me, he breathed, “Come, Glorious. I want to introduce you to Beyoncé.”

  My gaze shifted to the pillow-filled couch where she was seated, very lady-like with one long shapely leg crossed over the other. She was dressed casually in tight jeans, a low-cut tank top, and mile-high stilettos. Catching sight of me, she stood up as I headed over to her to shake her hand.

  Up close and in person, she was even more stunning than imaginable. Her highlighted caramel hair hung in loose waves over her shoulders and her lightly made-up face with its flawless honey-brown complexion glowed with warmth and confidence. She broke into a wide smile that revealed her perfect set of pearly white teeth. Although we were probably the same height, she towered over me in her strappy six-inch heels.

  “I’m so thrilled to finally meet you,” she began before I could get my mouth to move. “I’ve read so much about you and so admire your success story and the way you’ve given back to underprivileged girls through your Girls Like Us mentoring program. I’m a big supporter. Thank you for asking me to perform at your show this year. It’s a privilege and honor.” She clasped my hands in hers.

  My mouth was paralyzed; I couldn’t get my brain to communicate with my voice box. I was at once humbled and honored. I should be the one thanking her, not the other way around. After several long seconds, I finally managed a small thank you.

  She smiled again, her wide-set, almond-shaped eyes twinkling at the sight of my extended belly. My babies. “When are you due?”

  “Next month.”

  “Boy or girl?”

  “Twins.” I beamed. “One of each.”

  “I’m their godfather,” Kevin chimed in.

  Beyoncé gave me a huge, unexpected hug. “Congratulations, girl! That’s wonderful. I can’t wait to have another. Twins would be awesome.”

  It was no secret in the media that Beyoncé loved being a mother to Blue Ivy, the daughter she’d borne with her rapper husband, Jay-Z. From what I’d read, she was a caring, hands-on one too. And she took her everywhere she traveled. Despite her stardom, she seemed as down-to-earth as they come.

  “Either before you give birth or right afterward, you and your husband must come over to our house and spend some time with us. My Jay-Z would love to meet your Jay-Z. He’s been working on a big project he wants to talk to him about.”

  Jaime’s advertising agency, ZAP!, which stood for Zander and People, had quickly risen to being one of the most prominent and sought-after agencies in Southern California. Actually, make that the world. I couldn’t wait to tell him about our invitation. Like me, he was a big fan of both superstars.

  I smiled back at her brightly. “We’d love to.” And after that, I excused myself to attend to a million details. With a hug, I wished Beyoncé luck with the performance and waltzed out of the Green Room on a star-struck high. There was no doubt in my mind. This show was going to rock!

  “In five, four, three, two, one… it’s showtime!”

  The live show was about to begin. Encouraged by the earlier run-through, I stood backstage, my heart pounding with anticipation. Even though we’d done almost a dozen of these extravaganzas before, adrenaline was shooting through my veins. Kevin, equally excited but calm compared to anxious me, gripped my hand as colorful, oversized mechanical storks swept down from the soaring ceiling and delivered our gorgeous, skimpily clad supermodel angels in white sacks to the stage. Under Kevin’s supervision, our art director had created a Disney-like Gloria’s Secretland.

  “This is already fan-fucking-tastic,” crooned Kevin.

  Indeed it was. The celebrity-studded crowd along with the press was oohing and aahing as the models paraded down the runway to the beat of a remixed disco version of The Supremes sixties hit, “Baby Love.”

  As I watched, a warm breath curled on the nape of my neck.

  “I got here as soon as I could.”

  I swiveled my head. Jaime! My sexy-as-sin god, clad in a pair of faded jeans, a soft white cotton tee, and a black cashmere blazer cut perfectly for his sculpted body. A megawatt smile spread across my face. “Hi, baby!”

  My devastating husband smacked my lips with a hot kiss and then, still standing behind me, he massaged my tensed up shoulders. Aah! It felt so good. He felt so good.

  “This looks amazing,” he breathed into my ear.

  “It’s all thanks to Kev,” I said proudly, cupping one of my man’s soft, deft hands.

  Kevin rolled his eyes. “That’s what you always say, Glorious. It’s your vision and you know it.”

  “Yadda, yadda, yadda.” I laughed, continuing to take in the spectacular show. We just happened to be a damn great team.

  A few minutes later, Claudia came backstage, bringing Blake Burns with her. Dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit and a dashing tie, he slapped a kiss on my lips.

  “Hey, Blakester, watch it. She’s mine,” Jaime chastised playfully. The two of them loved to taunt each other. They were almost like brothers and, in fact, could be mistaken as siblings with their athletic, over six-foot-tall builds, blue eyes, and gorgeous chiseled features.

  Laughing, Blake winked. “Man, don’t worry. I just wanted to tell Gloria the show rocks. Our ratings are going through the roof.”

  I smiled. “Thanks, Blake. I think it’s one of our best shows ever.”

  “Abso-fucking-lutely,” agreed beaming Kevin, who each year made the show bigger, better, and glitzier.

  I turned to Claudia. “How are we doing online?” The show was also being streamed on our website.

  “Amazing! Last time, I checked we had over two million hits.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Can I get you guys anything?” she asked.

  Claudia was the best assistant ever. Always so thorough and thoughtful. If I had it my way, she was going to go far.

  “I think we’re good,” I responded. Jaime and Kev echoed the sentiment. On my next breath, my energetic assistant took off with Blake, who was eager to get back to his front-row seat.

  The halfway point came quickly and the crowd roared—even rose to their feet—as Beyoncé, dressed in a pink infant-like onesie and sucking a sparkling pacifier, descended from the ceiling in an oversized crib. When the crib hit the stage, Beyoncé broke out of it, tossed the pacifier into the eager-to-catch-it crowd, and snapped off her onesie—revealing a white leather diamond-studded bra and a thong with large diamond safety pins holding it together at the sides. The audience shrieked as the beaming, long-legged star strutted across the stage in her thigh-high matching white boots and broke into “At Last.” Jaime, Kevin, and I were positively speechless. Totally mesmerized. She was amazing! Wow! Did she know how to bring it on!

  She followed with one more song and then took a breather to introduce someone who owned her heart. The best thing she ever had, to paraphrase one of her hits. Her little daughter, Blue Ivy. And then holding the adorable toddler in her arms, she sang an original song for all the moms and moms-to-be. A lullaby. The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop. The lyrics, “Baby, you’re my love, you’re my everything,” tore at my heartstrings, especially when she kissed Blue at t
he end. I already felt that maternal connection. In fact, I had from the minute I saw the first ultrasound. Standing behind me, Jaime wrapped his arms around me, his large hands gently rubbing my tummy. And then as I gazed down, he formed a heart with his index fingers and thumbs. His love for these babies was as great as his love for me. Teary-eyed, I leaned into his hard body and smiled. Soon. Very soon, my love.

  Lifting Blue high above her head so she was facing the audience, a radiant Beyoncé took a bow. A raucous standing ovation. A dazzling smile flashed on both her face and Blue’s. I was sure Beyoncé’s lookalike little one was going to grow up to be a megastar just like her mother.

  Tired of being on my feet, I took a seat on the cushy couch; Jaime sat next to me draping his arm around my shoulders. We were still able to easily see the stage and runway. The fashion show continued with a final wave of supermodel angels parading down the runway with their babies and toddlers…followed by the last wave of very pregnant models proudly revealing for the first time our sexy new line of maternity lingerie. Our grand finale. Again, the crowd went wild. I was positive the show was going to get high ratings on the network broadcast tonight and that tomorrow, Valentine’s Day, would be a stellar day for sales in our stores all over the world.

  My mind was calculating sales figures when my signature song—Laura Branigan’s “Gloria”—began to blast through the vast space. It was time for me to do my customary walk down the runway and take my bow. Jaime helped me up.

  “I love you, my brilliant angel.” His lips pressed against mine with a proud, passionate kiss before I waddled down the long stretch. I was met with loud cheers, whistles, and a standing ovation as I joined the group of beaming supermodels who applauded me.

  Standing at the edge of the elevated runway, I was dizzy with happiness. An explosion boomed in my ears, and confetti cascaded down from the ceiling, covering everything—and everyone, including me. As I held my hands out to catch the colorful paper flakes, a sudden razor-sharp pain ripped through my gut. I clutched my rounded belly, doubling over with pain.

  “Gloria!” I heard a panicked voice call out. Everything was a haze. Stars mixed with the falling bits of paper. And then another sharp pain stabbed me. Hunching over, I gasped. And then yet another.

  The pain was unbearable. I felt myself collapsing. Going down in slow motion. Just as my knees were about to hit the ground, two strong arms lifted me up and cradled me like a baby. I weakly gazed at my savior’s face. Jaime!

  “Angel, what’s the matter?” The look in his eyes was one of pure terror.

  “Mon amour,” I whispered, my voice a mere rasp, “I’ve gone into labor. I’m having our babies!”

  “Holy fuck!” were the last words I heard as he whisked me out of the studio.

  CHAPTER 4

  Jaime

  Gloria absolutely refused to take an ambulance to the hospital. Fuck. She could be so damn stubborn.

  “All pregnant women about to have a baby have contractions,” she winced as I carried her out of the studio. I was almost running.

  “But you’re not all pregnant women. You’re four weeks early and you’re having twins. Our twins.”

  She spasmed in my arms again. “Tyrone’s right outside the building. He’ll take us to Cedars,” she managed under a harsh breath.

  Tyrone Turrell was Gloria’s trusted driver. A handsome, strapping black man in his early twenties, he’d been rescued from the drug-infested streets of South Central LA by Gloria, and he was forever beholden to her. Like all her employees, he worshipped her, and he’d even been a best man at our wedding.

  As soon as Tyrone saw us approaching the black Range Rover, he jumped out of the SUV. He sprinted toward us, meeting us halfway. His eyes were wide with alarm.

  “Is Mrs. Z. okay?”

  “I’m having our babies,” Gloria responded weakly, a faint smile on her face.

  The whites of his eyes popped. “Oh my!”

  “Help me get her into the car, Ty.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ty immediately swung open the back door, and then as the big man took Gloria from me, I hopped into the car and flung down the seat divider in case Gloria needed to lie down. With a frightened look, Ty gently placed Gloria just where I wanted her. On my lap. With my heart beating a mile a minute and my stomach in knots, I held her close to me. Still clenching her tummy, she wrapped an arm around my shoulder and rested her pained face on my chest. In the blink of an eye, Ty was behind the wheel.

  “Floor it, Ty. We’re going to Cedars.”

  “Yes, sir.” Gloria’s driver stepped hard on the gas, and the Rover peeled away from the curb with a screech. Thank fucking God, the hospital wasn’t far away. I prayed we wouldn’t hit too much traffic. Fortunately, it wasn’t yet rush hour, but Los Angeles traffic could be unpredictably nasty any time of the day.

  “Lie down, angel.” I urged, smoothing her hair.

  Another contraction. Her face scrunched up in pain. I’d always loved when Gloria scrunched her face, but not this way. She gasped and gripped her belly. I felt her pain and I felt fucking helpless.

  CHAPTER 5

  Gloria

  Another contraction stabbed me. And then another. They were coming at me harder and more frequently. Biting down on my bottom lip, I tried to stifle a wince, but it was impossible.

  “Angel, is there anything I can do?” asked Jaime, his voice thick with a mix of desperation and concern.

  “Just hold me, baby.”

  Planting a chaste kiss on my scalp, he did as I asked.

  Worry circled my mind like a whirling dervish. Control-freak me was not prepared to go into labor. And of all days for this to happen. There was so much to do following our annual fashion show and at the after-party tonight. I was supposed to be meeting with the press and our store managers, checking sales and Internet hits, and hob-nobbing with the Hollywood elite tonight for possible endorsements. And having fun. I began throwing rapid-fire questions at Jaime.

  Me: “Does Kev know what’s going on?”

  Jaime: “Yes.”

  Me: “Does Dr. Bernstein know what’s going on?”

  Jaime: “Yes.”

  Gloria: “Is she on her way to the hospital?”

  Jaime: “Yes.”

  Me: “Did you take my purse with my wallet?”

  Jaime: “Yes.”

  Me: “Did you call Tilda and tell her to pack a bag for me?” (Tilda was my dear, longtime housekeeper)

  Jaime: “Yes.”

  Me: “What about the party tonight at Greystone?”

  Jaime: “Chill, baby. Kevin has it all under control.”

  The only thing not under control was me. I was in labor. Losing control was bad enough for me. But not having control over the birth of my twins was something else.

  CHAPTER 6

  Jaime

  “Are you sure you took my red lipstick?”

  Jesus. My angel was in a labor, about to have our babies, and she was worried about not having her lipstick. My best bud Blake had once shared one of his father’s favorite quotes with me. Something the late great comedian George Carlin had said about men being stupid and women being crazy. Maybe Gloria was delirious.

  “Yes,” I said, stupid me not knowing if I had. In my freaked out state, one-word answers were the most I could muster. Another loud wince did nothing to assuage the thud in my heart, lump in my throat, or flutters in my stomach. I was a fucking train wreck.

  “C’mon. Lie down,” I urged.

  “No, baby,” she gritted. “I need my cell phone. I need to make some calls.”

  “Angel, just relax. I’ll handle everything once we get you checked in.”

  She jerked. “Oh, Jaime!”

  These two words were not the cries of a woman having a mega orgasm but rather those of one in mega pain.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” Desperation pierced my voice.

  “Just hold me,” she repeated.

  She was still seated on my lap, her knees
bent upward on the backseat. I tightened my grip around her as she sunk deeper into me, resting her head against my chest and holding my hand. Her long platinum braid cascaded over her shoulders and curled over her tummy. With my free hand, I stroked her scalp, relishing as always the pure-silk of her lustrous hair.

  Ty expertly maneuvered the car, making great time and running every red light. Now at Wilshire and Roberston, we weren’t far from Cedars. Tense silence prevailed, interrupted only by Gloria’s gasps and winces. They seemed to be coming more frequently. With each contraction, she squeezed my hand harder.

  The silence was fucking killing me. A terrifying avalanche of worries bombarded my brain. What if we didn’t get to the hospital soon enough? Was there going to be something wrong with the babies? Was something bad going to happen to Gloria? Why was this happening? Guilt lanced through me. Maybe it was all my fault…I mean, fucking her this morning. I told her I didn’t want to fuck her anymore with the babies’ arrival so close, but she’d insisted, telling me that her doctor said it was perfectly fine to have sex right up to the last minute. Damn it! Why didn’t I trust my instincts? If something happened to Gloria or the babies—or both!—I’d never forgive myself. Never!