Where the hell did that suggestion come from?

“I don’t have any clothes,” Solange says on a laugh. “I wish I . . .” Her voice peters out as she considers me. “Oh, but you do, don’t you? Is that what you were suggesting? That you’d be the model, and I’d narrate?”

“Honestly, the thought just popped into my head, so I have no damn clue what I was suggesting. My mouth occasionally disobeys my brain and goes rogue. But yeah, we could do that if you want.”

“I want!” She jumps off my lap, wobbles a bit, then places a hand on the counter. “Whoa. Too fast.”

I’m at her side in seconds. “Come sit on the couch and relax. I’ll take care of everything.” She leans on me as I guide her across the room, accepting my help as if it were an ordinary occurrence.

Once Solange has taken Tylenol and is safely ensconced in a comforter, a glass of water within reach, I shuffle back to my bedroom and lay a few outfits on my bed. Hopefully my antics will lighten Solange’s mood. Regardless, I’ll get to experience what it’s like to be a part of her inner circle.

After I settle on the runway order, I reenter the living area, move the coffee table out of the way, then reposition the floor lamp to act as a spotlight.

“You’re taking this seriously,” Solange says, grinning.

“I’m a professional through and through.” I leave without another word. Then, after my first outfit is squared away, I stroll down the hall. “Ready or not, here I come.”

“Wait,” Solange shouts back. “I need a mic!”

“Use the remote!”

“That works. Okay, ready.”

I glide down the hall, slowing my pace when I get to the living area’s entryway.

Smiling wide, Solange tucks her legs under her butt and raises the remote in front of her mouth. “Next, we have our most popular model of the evening, Dean Chapman. He’s wearing an expensive suit made by a designer I can’t name—”

“Tom Ford,” I say.

“Okay, then,” she continues. “He’s wearing a Tom Ford suit that probably costs at least a few months’ rent, but since I’ve seen him wear it twice in the time that I’ve known him, I won’t make any snide comments about his excess. Yet.”

“Focus, woman,” I say, rolling my eyes. “We won’t ever get to the good stuff at this pace.”

“Fine, fine. It’s a navy blue three-piece suit that highlights Dean’s classic style.”

With a wink, I spin around and lift my jacket.

“Scratch that,” Solange adds. “The suit shows off his very fine ass.”

“That’s more like it,” I say before striding back to my bedroom.