Hustle Sweet Love by Davis Maggie;

Author:Davis, Maggie;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 1985-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

When the elevator doors rolled back at 8:00 p.m. that evening at Michael Echevarria’s apartment on Sutton Place, Lacy was wearing Fishman Brothers’ fabulous Disco Flame Queen best seller in acrylic mega-blue satin. The effect, Lacy could see instantly in the black panther’s eyes, was totally paralyzing.

Lacy’s tall, five-foot nine-inch figure was once again a perfect foil for the outrageous blue satin disco dress with the pensive head of Michael Jackson emblazoned across the chest in glittering multicolored glass beads. Although labeled a size 8, the dress actually looked a full size smaller because of its skimpy cut. The hem ended an inch above Lacy’s knees, and the side slits were slashed to midthigh. Puffy cantaloupe sleeves in blue satin reached to Lacy’s elbows and would have given a top-heavy look except for the exposed expanse of Lacy’s truly glorious legs—legs with strappy Roman sandals laced to above the calf and with four-inch heels, all in black patent leather. A little disco hat, covered with midnight sequins, was cocked over Lacy’s right eye. Her long blond hair had been teased into a thousand ringlets that stood out from her face in a six-inch-deep cloud. Lacy’s delicately carved eyelids glittered with iridescent purple eye shadow. Her wide mouth was a sensuously pouting deep-red gash. Overall, Lacy Kingston was a triumph of tacky-max raised to high art. In contrast, the president and chairman of the board was magnificent in white tie and tails.

They stared at each other.

“Good grief,” Lacy murmured.

“My God,” he exclaimed.

In that instant it appeared they had checkmated each other.

Lacy knew she’d gotten under his skin this time with the gaudy Disco Flame Queen extravaganza. It took her a minute to recover from his absolute perfection in white tie and tails.

“Where are you going?” Lacy cried, aghast.

“Where have you been,” he snarled, “dressed like that?”

Lacy gave a smothered yelp as he dragged her from the elevator and into his apartment foyer.

“Have you been sitting in bars again?” he grated, propelling her through the Sutton Place contemporary living room with its black leather and chrome and the lighted étagères that held his collectibles. “I’ll strangle you if you go back to doing that!”

“What’s the matter with you?” Lacy cried, trying to drag her hand out of his grip. “You sound like I’ve got some sort of hang-up. You’re the one with the bar-sitting fetish, not me!”

“Lacy,” he said, breathing hard.

“It’s Fishman Brothers’ Tacky-Max,” she yelled, still struggling. “You ought to recognize it—you’ve been reading all my stuff, checking up on my work so you’d have an excuse to fire me, right? Oh, don’t deny, Michael Echevarria, that you’ve been reading everything I’ve written at Fad magazine, that you’ve had it sent to your office so you could catch me in something!”

“I’ve read your work, yes,” he admitted stonily.

“Of course you have! Don’t bother to deny, either, that you tried to get me promoted so I could fall on my face!” In a frenzy of hurt and frustration, Lacy grabbed the little

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