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Summary
“Anthony put on the shoes.” Kate yelled over the crowd screaming behind him, thrusting the leather boots at him.
“No, I like mine.” He was standing there arguing with her on the side of the stage, while the band riffed behind them, buying time. His legs were bare, muscles rippling under his unbuttoned shirt, ink criss crossing over his chest and arms, he grinned cockily down at her, his hair dangling in his eyes, tongue darting over his lips while he looked at her.
“We don’t have time to argue!” Kate snapped, taking a step back from him. “Those shoes are fucking ugly, and I would rather die than own that I dressed you in them.”OR
Kate knew what she’d signed up for when she’d agreed to be Anthony Bridgerton’s on tour stylist. She knew from the second he arrived to their fitting half an hour late his manager apologising profusely for a man who didn’t seem the least bit bothered.And it would be fine. If it was just the fact that they sparred every chance they got, and flirted outrageously. It would be fine if she didn’t long to give in. But she does.
OR
Anthony is (arguably Kate thinks) the world's biggest musician and Kate is his stylist