Forty minutes later, he’d covered a few blocks in the Fashion District, where her rehearsals were. Ricky had sent him the details, and Asher hauled to see her. His suit looked out of place, and his tie strangled his neck. At a red light, he stood next to a few hipsters and a man pushing a cart of dresses.

Dodging a wayward taxi inching through the horde of bodies, Asher breathed in the city and let excitement charge his blood. Energy revitalized him after the hours on the high-speed Amtrak train.

He found the building, was waved through security, hit the sixteenth floor, and pushed past a gaggle of models who all looked like Barbies. He stepped over a red-head kid in pigtails lying on the floor, reading a commercial script for apple juice.

This place is a madhouse. He rounded the corner toward the room number Ricky had texted him, pushed the door open, and—

Holy hell…

Dry mouthed, Asher slammed to a halt, nearly stumbling over his own feet. Jenny was busy talking to the seamstress at her knees, who sewed something shiny onto something that glittered. Under the glaring lights, Jenny sparkled.

But the glittering getup—the sky-high heels, corset, and fringe—had nothing on her flat stomach, perked breasts, and legs that every model in the hallway would commit homicide for. Asher stared, drinking her in, too shocked to move or even wave hello.

A man carrying a clipboard swaggered around Jenny, inspecting her. He pushed his glasses into his hair, put his knuckles to his chin, and studied. Asher contained a primal roar. The bastard might not live through the day. He fisted his hands into his pants pockets and needed to calm the urge to rip the guy’s eyeballs out.

Ricky bounced over, a feathery mess slung over his shoulder. “Costumes are going well. This is the last one to get fitted—”

“Who’s that?” Asher growled.

“Talking to Jenny? That’s the director, Colton. Cole for short.”

“Well, Cole’s too close to her.” Asher took a step forward, fists still in pockets, rage bubbling as the man adjusted a strap on Jenny’s leg.

With a flip of the feathers, Ricky tapped Asher on the chest. “Mr. Congressman, get it together.”

Asher stifled another urge to maim and growled again instead. “Richard—”

“Maybe you need a smoothie too. She’s in such a better mood since I gave her a snack.”

He eyed his buddy. “I’m impressed, by the way. Have me fooled.”

“Whatever.” He flicked his hands out with the feather rope then drew it back at Asher’s scowl. “What, you don’t like my boa?”

Jenny looked over, finally noticing him, and laughed. She did look in a good mood, much better than the last time he’d seen her when she’d been gnawing on her nails over Maxwell.

He nodded at her half-naked, jewel-costumed body. Jenny had stunned his thoughts silent.

“What do you think?” She gave a spin, ignoring the seamstress trying to keep up with her.