Naked Angel Read Online Free

husband had been stealing glances at Gemma since the moment they’d sat down. If so, it didn’t seem to bother her. But then, she’d heard about the Baxters’ famous “open” relationship. She doubted it was true. What woman really could live with a husband who was actively cheating on her? But now that she’d seen Martha, it was starting to make a little more sense. Justin was so handsome, and she was so . . . not. Martha Pike probably let her husband do whatever he wanted just to keep him from leaving. It didn’t sound like a very satisfying relationship model to her, but then, no relationship sounded worthwhile to her. Not unless it could further her career. She supposed, in a way, Justin was doing that for her. He signed Mallory’s paycheck, and Mallory had hired Agnes to design all of the costumes for The Painted Lady. And luckily for Gemma, Agnes was grooming her to take over the business. Which she would happily do—until she found a way to launch her fashion line, GemmaK.
    But after tonight’s setbacks, she wondered if that would ever happen.
    Gemma was still reeling from the letdown of Nadia’s performance. The pretty, slight brunette had been coltishly graceful as she’d emerged to the opening notes of “The Entertainer.” Gemma had felt a thrill of satisfaction to see her dress with the hand-sewn silver fringe draped on Nadia’s body. And she’d been eager to hear the audience’s reaction to the pièce de résistance underneath—the silver-spangled pasties and matching thong.
    But midway through the song, Gemma had sensed there was a problem. It was time for Nadia to unzip the easy-off dress and shimmy it to the floor. The silver material would slide off of her like mercury, and, if performed right, this was Gemma’s favorite striptease of the entire show. But the song kept going, and Nadia seemed no closer to shedding her clothes. Instead, she pointlessly repeated the earliest steps of the dance. What the hell was she doing?
    And that’s when Gemma had realized her pride-and-joy silver pasties would never see the light of day—or, rather, light of stage. Nadia was clearly not going to get naked.
    Disaster.
    Gemma was grateful for the distraction when Justin leaned over to ask her, “You’re coming to the after-party at my apartment, right?”
    “I think so,” Gemma said, in the understatement of the year. She’d spent a month working on her own costume for the party, which was continuing the evening’s theme of 1920s decadence. Even only having lived in New York for a year, she’d heard about the notorious Baxter parties. Some of what she knew she’d read in Page Six or some gossip blogs—items about celebrities getting wasted on absinthe; other things she’d heard whispers of—sex shows, orgies. But the real draw for her was the access to money people—big money people, if everything she’d heard about the Baxter crowd was true.
    “You won’t want to miss it. Trust me,” Justin said.
    Gemma thought—but did not say—that once you set foot in the doorway of 40 Bond Street, trusting Justin Baxter was the last thing any sensible woman should do. And Gemma was nothing if not a sensible woman.
    Nadia shoved her costume into her bag. All around her, the other girls chattered and laughed and basically went on as if the world hadn’t just ended. Which, of course, it had.
    How could she have failed like that? After years of dancing under pressure and through injury, turning out stellar performances that were far more challenging physically and, in some ways emotionally, than burlesque, how could she freeze up the way she had tonight? It was ironic: All her friends were telling her that she shouldn’t do burlesque, that it was beneath her, and here she was, unable to keep up with the other performers in this dressing room.
    The worst part about it was that she had let Mallory down. Of course, Mallory had assured her she shouldn’t worry about it—that it wasn’t a big deal and