Free Waiting for Prince Harry by Aven Ellis Page A

to be Laurel’s Twitter bitch tonight. Maybe if I’m really lucky, she’ll have me update Facebook and Connectivity too!
    But I don’t care. I’m about to see Harrison, and that’s all that matters.
    I slip back to the dressing rooms, which have been sectioned off from the rest of the store. I quickly start looking for Harrison, but the entire area is a blur of makeup artists, hair stylists, wardrobe racks. I see Ashlea Kelly, who is one of our biggest clients and part of Dallas’ elite society. She is young, my age, but well known as a powerful social media publicist.
    “I’m not sure about the fit of this dress,” she says, twirling in front of Laurel and Bradley. “Are you sure it doesn’t make my hips look horrendously big?”
    Oh dear God. Ashlea is a size zero. And her body is perfection in an elegant Nina Ricci black halter gown. Her long, wavy blond hair is being fluffed, and an artist moves around her painting her pouty lower lip a glossy nude color.
    I bite my lip. Actually, it’s the kind of dress I would’ve loved to have worn tonight. However, since I’m working and on headset, I am in skinny jeans, a pair of metallic strappy heels, and a black, fold-over spaghetti strapped top by The Row. I have pulled my hair up into a sleek ponytail, and did a smoky eye for more drama, but I feel like I don’t even compare to how stunning Ashlea Kelly looks right now.
    “Ashlea, you look amazing in this dress,” Laurel says soothingly. “You’re going to look fantastic on Harrison’s arm.”
    Suddenly I feel my stomach roll over. Oh God. Ashlea gets to walk with Harrison?
    A door pops open and Harrison steps out. “Did someone call me?”
    I seriously can’t breathe as I look at him. He’s got his suit pants on and a crisp white dress shirt, which is fucking unbuttoned. I see nothing but ripped abs. My gaze wanders up to his chest, which is absolutely chiseled, and my mouth drops open. Christ, I have never, ever, ever seen a body so strong and muscular in my entire life.
    “Harrison, can I have Kylie get a picture of you as you are now and tweet it to our followers?” Laurel asks.
    Suddenly I lift my eyes to his face, and I realize he’s staring at me. I feel my face instantly grow hot in response.
    “Sure,” Harrison says, his eyes never leaving mine.
    Laurel hands me her iPhone, and I move toward him, feeling embarrassed and excited and, good Lord, how do I not pass out seeing him in a crisp white dress shirt that’s just hanging across that sculpted body?
    “I was wondering where you were,” Harrison says, flashing me a huge grin as I approach him.
    “You’ll see my handiwork when you walk down the catwalk,” I say, smiling at him. “The displays and décor are all mine.”
    “I’m sure it’s perfect then.” His eyes lock in on my face. “You look gorgeous,” Harrison says softly.
    A wave of shock washes over me. He thinks I’m gorgeous. In a room where Ashlea Kelly is perfection in Nina Ricci, Harrison Flynn is telling me I’m the gorgeous one.
    I run my fingers over the ends of my ponytail. “Thank you,” I say happily, feeling nothing but pure elation zipping through every inch of my body.
    “Kylie. Picture. Now!” Laurel snaps into my headset.
    I drop my voice. “Laurel is commanding I take your picture into my headset.”
    Harrison lifts an eyebrow. “Well, since I don’t want you to get into trouble, let’s do it. Here, I’ll adjust my cuffs but look straight ahead.”
    Just like the Esquire photo , I think.
    Harrison pulls on one of his cuffs and looks straight at me. “Good?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow.
    Good? How about drop dead fucking hot?
    I nod and take his picture.
    “Is that all you need?”
    “Yes. Thank you for doing that,” I say honestly. “I know you probably get asked that a lot, so I’m sorry to be someone else asking you to do something.”
    Harrison smiles at me. “That was easy. And it was for you .”
    I can’t breathe. I really