First Time Charm: Sexy Billionaire Romance

1 BRIANNA WORTHINGTON After zipping up the side of my lipstick red pencil skirt, I stepped into my black red-bottomed heels. I pulled a black cashmere sweater from a shelf in my walk-in closet and pulled it on over my white silk button down blouse. I turned this way and that in front of the full-length mirror propped on the floor of one end of my closet. At five seven, I was the tallest of my four sisters. Two older sisters and one younger sister in my immediate family and one much older half-sister who already had kids of her own. In fact, the half-sister, Danielle, was the only one of us who had any children and she lived in California. My oldest sister Madison was married and my next oldest sister, Ainsley, was engaged. Ainsley lived here in Houston, but Madison had moved to Denver for a university professor job. Madison took after Momma. Both of them were psychologists. Ainsley took after Daddy. They were both airplane pilots for Daddy’s company Skye Travels. Then there was me. I was an odd combination of both Daddy and Momma. I had Daddy’s passion, but I preferred to keep both feet literally on the ground. Daddy lived and breathed aviation. Me. I didn’t fly simply because I had no reason to. I was quite content driving around Houston in my 2022 fire-engine red Maserati Quattroporte. Yes. Daddy bought it for me. And anyone who had a problem with that could take it up with somebody who cared. Because I didn’t. I didn’t have time in my life for judgmental people. Besides, I had a thick skin. I’d been dissed by the best of them. Perfect strangers felt compelled to give me their opinions of everything from my lifestyle to my career choice to the color of my lipstick. So I went with what made me happy. I had Momma’s fashion sense and breezy personality. Momma could walk into a room and charm anyone. She was a d**g representative turned psychologist. From what I’d heard Daddy say, never in a critical way, the psychology training had taken some of the natural shine off that innate charm. What he actually said was that she was a lot more serious now than she had been before. But after giving birth to five children, all after the age of thirty, she’d earned the right to be as serious as she wanted. I walked through my living room, stylishly furnished in neutral tones and turned on all the lights as I went. I straightened the blue vase filled with pale pink roses and dark pink daisies on the table in my foyer. Stepping into my home office, I pulled my MacBook from the desk draw, powered it on, and logged in. I quickly opened my template, typed in the date and a working title. Then I hit record and sat on a little stool in front of my desk. “Hello lovelies,” I said into the camera. “Welcome back to my channel. If this is your first time here, my name is Brianna Worthington and I’m going to talk to you today about creating your very own capsule wardrobe. It’s not hard. And there are two important things I want you to take away from today’s video. One is that a capsule wardrobe does not have to be boring.” I stepped away from the camera to show off my red pencil skirt and high heels. “Seriously?” I asked with an impish grin. “Does this look boring?” I turned this way and that so the camera could capture my full outfit. “And second, a capsule wardrobe doesn’t have to last forever. The guideline is that it lasts for about three months. For those of us who love shopping, that’s awesome news.” “But…” I held up a finger and sat back down on my stool so I could look directly into my camera. “You can start anywhere and your capsule wardrobe can last as long as you want it to. In fact, when I started my capsule wardrobe, I started simple. I started with this shirt I’m wearing. And guess where I bought it?” I paused for effect. “No. Not Nordstrom’s. I bought this blouse from Target. And two years later I’m still wearing it. I wear it all the time. With everything. “And it’s so basic, no one even notices. Then I built around it.” I swept a hand down my skirt. “A year later I bought this skirt at Nordstrom’s. It was on sale. I admit. But it’s good quality. I’ll put the link below so you can look it up if you want to. And, yes, it’s so basic and not trendy that they still sell it after almost a year.” I leaned forward into the camera. “But… and this is very important. If you’re going to buy new pieces for your wardrobe, buy things that fit you perfectly on the day you walk out of the store with them. Do not buy something that you hope will fit in a few months when you lose ten pounds. And another thing.” I paused again for effect. “Buy things that you feel comfortable wearing. Something that is you. Not something that your fantasy you would wear. You know. The one where you’re outgoing and carefree. Trendy. “If the thought of wearing a tight red skirt sets your nerves on edge and you know you’d never put it on and walk out your front door, pick something more basic and add something like a scarf for color.” My phone chimed and a text message popped up on my screen. I hit pause on my recording. Editing was part of the process and was to be expected. I didn’t even mind editing. But I rarely shot a video more than one time. If I got interrupted. Like right now. I’d just edit out the interruption and keep going. MOMMA: Good morning. It was funny because not even having five children had gotten Momma out of the habit of thinking she had to communicate a normal conversation through text messaging. She didn’t seem to understand that greetings weren’t required. You could simply pick up a conversation you’d been having days ago as though no time at all had passed. But I’d given up on trying to change that about her. I was just happy she texted at all at the ripe old age of fifty-five. ME: Hi. MOMMA: Don’t forget. Dinner on Sunday. ME: I know. It’s in my phone. MOMMA: You should keep a paper calendar, too. It’s easier to maintain. And keep up with. ME: Okay. Another thing I’d given up on. Making Momma go digital was a lost cause. Not worth the fight. But even though I left her alone about her paper calendars, there was no way I was going to start writing my appointments down on paper and Momma knew it. There was no sense in reminding her, though, of the many ways the two of us were different. There were far too many ways that we were alike. And those things were what mattered. I didn’t have to be a psychologist like her and my oldest sister to know these things. Thinking that Momma was finished with the current conversation, I played back the last of my recording to orient myself back to what I’d been talking about. MOMMA: Did you remember that you’re picking your sister up from the airport today? Damn. Damn. Damn. I unlocked my phone and checked my calendar. I’d forgotten to set an alert and it had completely gotten overlooked. ME: Of course not. I’m on my way out the door now. Damn it. I hated it when Momma was right about her paper calendars. I logged out and closed my computer. Tucked it back into the drawer and slid the stool back under the desk. In my defense, picking my sister up from the airport was a most unusual request. She was flying in on one of Daddy’s planes. By one of Daddy’s pilots. Probably Madison’s husband if he was available. And I couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t be. The two of them were stuck like glue. Most people would just get an Uber or in my family’s case, they’d schedule a car to pick them up. But this was Madison’s first time home since her wedding to her college sweetheart Kade. You’d think she was freaking royalty the way everyone was acting. Madison and Kade had been college sweethearts only to break up for several years before they finally got back together, apparently by accident, and finally got married. Anyway, apparently, I was the only person available to pick up my sister from the airport. They would go down the list. Daddy had a flight. Ainsley had a flight. Momma had a patient. Quinn had a meeting. My younger sister was in class or whatever she did. So that left me. The one who worked at home. Somehow the worked part of the phrase worked at home was silent. Like the P in psychology. And, like always, I told myself it was okay. Because I was happy to see my sister and we could have lunch together before she was swept up in everyone else’s activities. I grabbed my charcoal wool coat, shrugged into it, and dragged my hair out of the collar. I’d pull it back, but there wasn’t time. I was seriously late. Next time, maybe, my sister would schedule a driver to pick her up. A real driver.