When he pulled the outfit free of the others, Catie raised both eyebrows. Nearly all designers put her in clothes that showed off her legs. That was fine with her. She often requested exactly that. She’d worked fucking hard to get to the point where she could wear prostheses full time, and she was also proud of her skins.

They not only protected the mechanical parts of her prostheses, they gave her legs shape when she wanted to wear jeans or other long pants. But they were also as cool as fuck—she’d designed her favorite set herself so they looked like bionic legs from the future.

Jet, however, was holding up what looked to be a pantsuit in a moody blue-green shade she’d never have chosen for herself. She really didn’t think it’d suit her but set her coffee aside on the breakfast counter and did him the courtesy of trying it on. The pants fit well except for the waist.

“You have more muscle than my models,” Jet muttered with unexpected excitement as he began to pin and mark before stepping back.

The pants were now jerry-rigged to hang on her hips while she shrugged into the jacket. “What do I wear underneath this?”

“Nothing.” Jet jumped forward and buttoned it up for her. “Oh my.”

Danny whistled at the same moment.

Jerking her head up, she found him looking her up and down. “Gotta give it to the dude, princess, you look hot.”

She frowned at him. “Be serious, Danny.”

“Cross my heart. You have that whole— What’s that actress’s name? The one who wore that white suit you liked?”

“Zendaya?”

“Yeah, her. You’re giving off that vibe.”

Catie couldn’t feel it, but when she walked into her bedroom to look in the full-length mirror, she sucked in a breath. She did look hot. And in control. The color did amazing things to her skin. And the way the jacket buttoned between her breasts but cut away over her abs to display her muscle tone…

Sexy and athletic at the same time. “I love it.”

Jet, having come in behind her, began to fuss with the jacket. “It’s not quite the right fit, but I can make it right by four today. Will that work?”

Sensing a prickle on the back of her neck, she glanced over to the doorway to see Danny leaning in it, his mug of coffee in hand.

“We have to do the entrance thing at seven,” he told her.

“Then four will be fine,” she told Jet.

“What will you do for shoes?” the designer asked her.

“I do have feet designed for heels, but I didn’t bring them with me. I’ll go with glittery sneakers.”

“Perfect. Where are they? I need you in them to measure the pant legs.”