“Minnie, wake up. We have a problem.” I moaned and opened one eye. “It’d better be a really bad problem.” “It is.” She shoved a newspaper in my hand, and my sleepy, gritty eyes widened, the hangover banging in rhythm to the beat of my heart. “Oh, shit,” I whined. Verity walked to my bathroom, talking all the way. “Yeah, that’s only the beginning. He’s all over the net too. Fashion blogs, Tumblr, everywhere.” I heard water running and she came back into the bedroom, handing me a glass and some painkiller. “Which is good, but mostly bad. You know what this means?” “Stop talking so loud,” I groused, tossing the pills in my mouth and gulping down the water. She lowered her voice and plopped down on the bed. “Great exposure for us, but if someone snaps him up for their campaign, we’re screwed.” The picture had been taken when he was standing on the end of the runway looking all exotic in that scrap of a bathing suit, and the headline read, Deke West Shakes Up Fashion Week.
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