Chapter Text
“Anthony put on the shoes.” Kate yelled over the crowd screaming behind him, thrusting the leather boots at him. Ones that she’d searched every flea market in London for, detailing them meticulously, and here she was, convincing a petulant child to wear them. Only Anthony Bridgerton most definitely wasn’t a child.
“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, the smell of sweat clinging to his body in the close distance between them as 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.”
Anthony grinned back at her for a long moment, the crowd screaming behind them, something rippling in his eyes, in the air between them before-
“Well, I’d hate for you to be embarrassed!” He took off running, still half dressed off towards the stage, slipping through the hand that had darted out to catch him.
“Anthony, No!”
He tossed a look back over his shoulder at her as the music swelled. “Sorry, Stitches, that’s my cue.”
With a wink he slid onto the stage on his socked feet, snatching up his guitar as the entire stadium screamed, his fingers already moving like lightening over the strings, voice bellowing over the noise. “I know! It’s a real look isn’t it, Ladies and Gents! And Non Binary folks too! You’ve a place here!” That stadium roared as a horrified gasp rang in Kate’s ear.
“What on earth is he doing?!” Violet Bridgerton gasped staring at her son who’d just caught a pair of Calvin Klein underwear as they were tossed at him from the front row.
“Hey! We’re almost the same size!” Anthony called back delighted. “Your partners must be very satisfied with you then, hey sir?”
Kate sighed, “I did try to stop him, In my defence and Sophie couldn’t catch him either!”
“I gave up a while ago though, to be fair, Violet.” Anthony long suffering assistant said dryly from behind them
“And before, we start this next song, let’s all give it up for the woman responsible for my lovely style on this tour: Kate Shaarrrrmaaaaa!” Anthony had turned towards her, his eyes shining, winking at her from under his black eyeliner, a smirk on his lips as he caught the rude hand gesture she’d tossed his way as though it were a kiss she’d blown him. And fucking christ she’d never wanted to strangle a client more.
Truly the worst part was, she’d known it would be like this from the very beginning. Known it since she’d walked into her office muttering absentmindedly to Lucy.
“Lucy tell Hugo Boss Michael Stirling wouldn’t be caught dead in one of their basic bitch suits. If I wanted him to be dressed in black I’d pick him out a suit at Primark.”
Lucy had chuckled, “Mind if I rephrase that for you?”
“Probably for the best.”
She’d settled behind her desk, spinning around on her chair for a moment before she sighed. “You’ve an odd look on your face.”
Lucy had rolled her eyes, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Have you conserved this is just my face?”
“It isn’t.” Kate had narrowed her eyes, staring back at her assistant for a long moment before Lucy had sighed.
“I’ve made you a lunch meeting today, potential new client.”
Kate had felt her eyebrow raise slowly at Lucy’s tone, something apprehensive setting her teeth on edge. “And why… would that be bad? Or…? Oh my god, did I get really rich over night?”
Lucy tutted, “You are so snarky today, what gives?”
“I’m just ready to get violent I suppose.” Kate had mused, a smirk tugging at her lips.
“Probably for the best.” Lucy had snipped, watching her carefully for a moment before she’d sighed, “You’re having lunch with Anthony Bridgerton’s people today.”
She’d felt her mouth fall open, disbelief colouring her feeling as she reached out, tossing the newspaper at Lucy. “This Anthony Bridgerton?”
The headline had stared back at them both, Bridgerton’s Bum Making Headlines… Again, the picture even more damning, Anthony Bridgerton, grinning proudly completely naked but for his hands covering the… essentials, stood outside Buckingham palace.
“Mmm, that’s the one I’m afraid.” Lucy sighed, smirking at the picture. “And to be fair to him, like: It was for charity.”
“Even so, doesn’t look the kind of man who needs help with his clothes.”
“You’re taking the meeting, Kate.” Lucy had said dismissively. “Unless…? Oh my god, did you get really rich over night?”
“You aren’t funny!” Kate had called at her retreating back, but it hadn’t helped any, one o’clock had found Kate seated at a table in a ludicrously expensive restaurant, waiting for team his team to arrive.
She’d been surprised, honestly when two women had approached her, one a kindly middle aged woman, the other likely Kate’s age herself, both smiling kindly at her as they took their seats.
“Miss Sharma, Violet Bridgerton, lovely to meet you.” The elder woman had said, holding her hand out for Kate to shake. “This is Sophie, Anthony’s assistant, and I’m his manager.”
His mother as well, Kate had realised as she’d shaken her hand. “Kate’s fine, will Mr Bridgerton not be joining us today?”
Violet and Sophie had exchanged a look before Sophie had cleared her throat, “Anthony finds himself a little… indisposed.”
Kate had fought hard against the roll of her eyes before she’d cleared her throat, “Of course, I’d imagine being one of the biggest acts in the world keeps someone quite busy.”
“Of course.” Violet had agreed a little exasperatedly. “As I’m sure you’re also very busy I’ll cut to the chase, Michael Stirling’s people gave us your information, he speaks very highly of you.”
A genuine smile had spread across Kate’s face, as she’d rested her chin on her hand. “Mickey and I have been friends for a long time, we went to school together.”
“He was your first client.” Violet nodded, “I’ve been paying attention”
And hadn’t that been the truth, she’d been dressing Michael long before he’d been winning awards for his acting. The very first suit she’d ever altered had been his, on the sewing machine Mary had bought her for her sixteenth birthday.
“He was my first client, yes.”
“We’re looking to make Anthony upcoming tour a little more… iconic, I suppose.”
“Respectfully, I don’t think your son needs my help to make a spectacle of himself.”
Sophie had chuckled into her water. “No, he doesn’t.”
“Perhaps not.” Violet had agreed with an exasperated sigh. “But all the same, we’re touring for nine months, and we’d need you to travel with us.”
Her brow had furrowed. “That’s not what I usually… We agree on the looks, I alter them, send you off with them that’s usually-”
“We’d like different looks for each city, sourced from within the city.”
“That’s… ambitious.”
There had been a tiny smile on Violet’s face as she’d leaned back in her chair, “I had heard you were an ambitious woman.”
She’d had Kate there, had her fingernails drumming on the table. “That’s… generally true, yes. The idea’s very interesting, I’ll admit.”
“We’d expect your full attention for the duration and you’d be paid accordingly.” Violet had taken a contract from her bag, sliding it across the table to Kate.
And even though everything inside Kate had told her this was probably a terrible idea, when she’d seen the figure at the top of the page, she hadn’t been able to say No.
From the very second she’d met him, something had been burning between them, hatred, she supposed it should be. She’d waited at her office, waited more than thirty minutes for him to come with a measuring tape held tight in her hand as she’d swung the door open wildly,
“Lucy, get Sophie Beckett or Violet Bridgerton on the phone right fucking-”
“So sorry we’re late!” Violet’s voice had breezed through the door seconds before she had, she and Sophie half dragging a man behind them. And there he was.
The smell of cigarette smoke had been hanging in the air around him, and women’s perfume, and something spicy and musky as he’d stepped forward, sliding his dark sunglasses off as his dark eyes had flicked over her, his hand ruffling his beard as a smirk appeared on his handsome face. He’d stepped towards her, confidence rolling off him in waves, his jaw clenching as he held his hand out for hers.
"Anthony Bridgerton. Lovely to meet you.” His voice had been like rough velvet, shivering down her spine as he’d winked at her like so many men used to getting what they wanted.
"Kate Sharma." She'd snapped, pulling her hand away as quickly as she’d been able to at the uncomfortable feeling that made her stomach swoop at the touch of his skin against hers.
“Sorry, my fault.” He’d grinned at her, completely unperturbed, taking another step, his lip caught between his teeth. “I’m a little busy.”
Kate had scoffed. ”And the next time you're 30 minutes late to a wardrobe fitting, you're going on naked. I don't care who the fuck you are."
Anthony had chuckled, his eyebrows lifting a little incredulously before he'd stepped back, tugging his shirt over his head, flexing his muscles demonstratively, ink covering his chest and arms distractingly, a little groan in his voice when he’d spoken. “I don't think my fans would complain overmuch. Would you?”
“Doesn’t really matter, I won’t be paying for a ticket.”
His mother had clipped him around the ear, tossing his shirt back at him. "Will you behave?! Christ!”
“Shirt back on please, cocked.” Sophie had clipped, her thumbs moving over her phone quickly. “Kate’s very busy, and she doesn’t have time for you to strut around like a peacock.”
“I wasn’t strutting!” He’d said, pouting a little indignantly as he’d made to replace his shirt and Kate hadn’t been able to help the chuckle that rose in her throat.
“Actually, you can leave it off, I need to take some measurements then we’ll discuss my vision.”
“Sweetheart, your vision should have me with as little clothes as possible.”
She’d rolled her eyes, snapping the measuring tape across his chest. “Down boy, that won’t do you any good here.”
He’d stared directly at her, their eyes meeting, a challenge rippling between them before he’d bent, right there in front of Lucy’s desk, peeling off his trousers until he was stood in only his tight boxer briefs, smirking back at her with his eyebrow raised.
“Tighty-whities are an interesting choice.”
“Why not? I’ve nothing to be embarrassed by.” He’d looked so comfortable, so sure of himself that she hadn’t been able to help it.
“Really? Because one of your tattoos is misspelled.”
And the 30 minutes it had taken for him to calm down enough to realise she’d been teasing him really was worth it.
“Ah! Stitches, there you are!” Anthony’s voice called out to her as she passed his dressing room, already a little weary on her feet one concert in. They’d barely started.
“Stitches?” Kate sighed dryly, turning towards him. “Why does that nickname even make sense?”
Anthony was laying on the floor of his dressing room, amid a pile of underwear that had been thrown at him a lazy grin on his face as he snapped a picture. His hair was tousled ridiculously as he stood, his muscles flexing over his bare chest, sweatpants hung low on his hips. “You’re always putting stitches in things. Little stitch here, little stitch there, makes my muscles really pop.”
Kate rolled her eyes as Anthony stepped closer, leaning against the door frame, his smirk growing. “You need all the help you can get.”
Anthony chuckled, his eyes shining at her in the fluorescent lighting. The smell of sweat was clinging to him, his hair still damp where it fell over his forehead, thick and dark. There was something so masculine about him, in the set of his shoulders and the smirk on his lips. Confident and sure of who he was. Something that made her stomach swoop.
Don’t. Don’t, he’s vile.
“I don’t think you believe that at all.”
Kate swallowed, “I best be off. Wouldn’t want to keep you from your company.”
He had quite the reputation, they both knew he did, absolutely everyone did. Even Mary had known when she’d flopped down on the couch in the house she’d grown up in.
"Anthony Bridgerton's manager has asked me to be his on tour stylist.” She’d sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Mary had lifted her eyebrow, "Is he the one who-?"
"Apparently has four models in his dressing room at all times? Yes." Edwina had said a little dryly, barely looking up from her phone.
Mary had sighed, "I was going to say grinds on his guitar."
"Yes to both then." Kate had sighed, something gnawing at her stomach, "I'm going to do it, it's good exposure and they want a new wardrobe for every city, part of some spectacle I guess... it's a huge opportunity, really. It won't be so bad.”
“Look out, Kate.” Edwina had smirked. “He’s supposed to be very charming.”
“He’s a sea slug.”
“I’m not sure how many people would agree with you.”
“I’m not sure how many people have met him. I have, he’s awful.” She’d groaned ignoring Mary’s tut of admonishment.
“Even sea slugs have their uses, darling.”
“This one doesn’t.”
“As you can see, I’m quite alone.” Anthony sighed forlornly, his eyes dancing. “Just me and my many underpants. Unless… are you feeling frisky?”
“Go fuck yourself, Anthony.” Kate rolled her eyes, stepping back but she couldn’t look away from him, something holding her in place as she cast around wildly. “And do you know how unhygienic that is?!”
“Relax!” He rolled his eyes, “They’re clean. Are you always this uptight?”
“Where people throwing their underwear are concerned? Yes, absolutely.”
“I don’t think any women, or men, whipped off their skirts and pulled their knickers down right there for me, Kate. Not generally what people do in public space.” His smile was predatory, his eyes even more so as they raked down her body. “Unless…? Did you throw your underwear for me?!” He gasped delightedly, casting around for a pair.
“Goodnight Anthony.”
“Is it this thong?!” He called after her, “I bet you look fucking lovely in green.”
She spun back to face him, something sizzling and crackling in the corridor between them as he stood there, a pair of underwear hanging from one finger, and again, she just couldn’t help herself. “Not skimpy enough for me, Anthony. And mine are fucking red.”