Chapter 3
The last three weeks have been beyond busy. Meeting each woman, taking pictures and measurements. Getting to know their personalities and tastes for style so that I can plan their wardrobes to make them look beautiful and feel confident. I’ve had so many fittings my head is spinning, and all the shopping I’ve done! I’ve collected so many clothes I feel like I’ve bought out every boutique in LA.
I’ve never had so much fun in my life. What could be better than having thirty beautiful women to dress up like they’re my personal Barbie dolls? This is already the best job I’ve ever had, and the show hasn’t even started filming yet.
A knock on the open door to my room at the studio has me finding my way out of the sea of clothing racks. James is standing in the doorway with a big smile on his face. He’s a little short, only about five-eight, and has a bit of a baby face. The man is in his mid-thirties, but could probably pass for my age. He has wavy brown hair, friendly brown eyes, and he almost always has a smile for everyone. So far, between him and Andrea, things have run smoothly. We’re right on schedule for filming next week.
“How’s it going?”
“Hey, James.”
I hang up the gown in my hands and meet him halfway as he enters the room. He’s with two men. One I’d know anywhere. I’ve been watching him host the show since its first season seventeen years ago. Aaron Wright is classically handsome, but has this too polished look to him. His suits are impeccable, and since that’s all he ever wears on the show, that’s all I’ve ever seen him in. His dark blond hair is gelled back, his teeth are blindingly white, his skin is tanned with just a hint of orange, making it look not quite natural, and there’s not a single wrinkle anywhere on his face. There’s no way he doesn’t Botox. He was in his twenties when the show started, so he’s 43 now. He looks like a man determined not to age.
Beside him is a man I’ve only seen in pictures. Sebastian Monroe. This season’s shining star. The nation went crazy when he was announced as the next bachelor. A good-looking billionaire trying to find his bride on a TV dating show will do that.
Sebastian Monroe is 31 and all man. He’s six-one and fills out his suit just enough to look lean, while it’s also clear he’s packing some muscle beneath his shirt. Not too skinny and not too big. Just how I like ’em. And not just because his body type is the easiest to dress. His hair is dark blond. It’s thick and stylishly cut. The sides are short, and the top is a little longer. Not a strand is out of place, as if his hair would never dream of defying him. His eyes are a steely gray. They’re stormy and so intense that when we make eye contact, my heart picks up its pace.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit he’s one of the sexiest men I’ve ever seen in my life. But he’s so intimidating he’s scary. In his perfectly tailored power suit, with his perfect posture and perfectly coiffed hair, he screams alpha male without even trying. Yes, this man is definitely a billionaire CEO of a Fortune 500 company. He also looks like he wants to burn this building and all its occupants to the ground.
James clasps Aaron’s shoulder. “Vivian, have you met Aaron?”
Before I can respond, Aaron gives me a too-wide smile and says, “Unfortunately she’s not had that pleasure yet.”
He sounds serious. Like he pities me that I haven’t ever had the pleasure of his company. I almost snort. Conceited much?
I hold out a hand for Aaron to shake, but he uses it to pull me close and kiss my cheek. “Aren’t you lovely,” he says. “Maybe I’ll take you to dinner sometime.” He pulls back and winks at me. “If you’re lucky.”
I placate him with a smile and don’t agree or disagree. No need to reject him and ruffle feathers before the season even starts. “Are you here for a fitting?”
His answering laugh is condescending. “Oh, sweetheart, aren’t you cute. As much as I’m sure you would love to plan my wardrobe, I’ve got a hundred suits in my closet that are show-approved. A pretty thing like you should probably stick to dressing the women anyway.”
Conceited and sexist. What a charmer. I keep the smile plastered on my face, but clench my teeth to stop from spouting a snarky reply.
James gives a forced laugh. “Aaron, Vivian is a fantastic stylist. She’s perfectly capable of dressing men as well as women. In fact, that’s why Sebastian is here today. She’ll be helping him put together his wardrobe for the show.”
He grins at me, then turns toward Sebastian. “Vivian, I’d like you to meet our bachelor, Sebastian Monroe. Sebastian, this is Vivian Euling. She’s our lead wardrobe specialist and your personal stylist for the season.”
I hold my hand out to Sebastian. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He crosses his arms and looks down his nose at me. “I don’t need a stylist.”
Okay, then. Looks like we’re two for two on the arrogance today.
James laughs nervously again. “Sebastian, I assure you, Vivian knows what she’s doing. She’s dressed a number of high-profile people, including Brian Oliver. You’re in good hands with her.”
Sebastian turns his frown on James. “I don’t care if she’s picked out clothes for the pope. I am perfectly capable of dressing myself.”
Oh, the alpha male. Arrogant and independent and a total control freak. Finally, something my pathetic dating history is good for. I know how to deal with alphaholes. “You can dress yourself,” I agree, pulling my shoulders back and matching his confident stance. “But should you?”
His eyes sharpen on me. He’s still folding his arms tight across his chest, and he cocks a brow. One brow. Into an enviable challenging arc. I get the impression he’s not used to receiving pushback from strangers. It’s a good thing I’m confident. I don’t mind going head-to-head with this man. Professionally, of course.
“You clearly have taste.” I gesture to the designer suit he’s wearing. “I’m sure you have no problem dressing for the office every day. But this is television. Cameras, lighting, and makeup all factor into your look. And you’re not just dressing for the boardroom. You’re dressing for the nation.”
He scoffs. “I don’t care about the nation.”
I’m sure he doesn’t. “You should,” I say bluntly.
I get another scoff.
“Your company is public, yes?”
He raises both brows this time, either surprised by the turn of this conversation or my knowledge of his company. (Which I totally googled after I found out he was going to be our bachelor. Before that, I’d never heard of Sebastian Monroe or Monroe Financial.)
“My family owns the majority shares and the controlling vote, but yes, the company is public. So?”
I smother a smirk. That so sounded almost petulant. “And you’re the CEO, right? The face of the company?”
His jaw clenches, and he grounds out, “Your point?”
“Well, if my very limited understanding of economics serves me correctly, your image reflects strongly on your company as a whole, which in turn could affect the company’s stock value.”
When he glares at me again, I guess I’m not too far from the mark. Still, the stubborn man can’t admit defeat. “My clothes aren’t going to destroy my reputation. My fashion sense isn’t that bad.”
I grin at him. I don’t know why. There’s just something about this man that makes me want to poke the bear. “You sure about that? Are you willing to risk the judgement of fifteen million viewers?”
“My suits are designer labels and tailored to fit.”
“And your casual wear? Athletic wear? Your swimwear? Is all of that up with current trends? Selected to complement your complexion and body type? Do you know what the contestants will be wearing? You don’t want to clash with, or accidentally match your date, after all.”
He blinks at me as if he’s never considered the possibility.
“Fifteen million viewers,” I repeat. “On average. Fifteen million critics. Your wardrobe won’t be the only thing about you they’ll judge, but it’s no secret the better looking, better dressed men get better reviews. Never doubt this nation’s ability to be shallow.”
He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose and scrubs his hands over his face. “This is ridiculous,” he grumbles.
I can tell I’m breaking him down, but he’s still fighting the urge to give in. “How about a compromise?” I offer, trying to soften the blow to his pride. “You don’t want me to pick out clothes for you, then take me to your closet and show me what you have. You pick what you want to wear for each occasion, and I’ll make suggestions. You can take my advice or leave it, but at least you’ll be going in informed.”
He pulls his hands away from his eyes and blinks at me with raised brows. I’m not sure what’s surprised him so much, but his glower loses some of its hostility. He stares at me long and hard. “Fine,” he grumbles, and now it’s my turn to be surprised. I really didn’t think he’d give in. “But you come with me now,” he says. “I only cleared my schedule for this afternoon. I have too much to do before I have to take a leave of absence for this ludicrous show.”
Bossy. Bossy. I can’t help snapping to attention and saluting him. “Yes, sir. You’re busy, and important, and don’t want to be here. Got it.”
So much for my professionalism.
His eyes flare.
“Don’t really understand that last one”—I keep going—“but I won’t ask.”
“Good. Don’t.”
Someone’s touchy.
A loud clap startles us from our banter. Or was it an argument?
James laughs a little too hard. “Great. I’m glad we’ve worked everything out. Vivian, do you need me to clear the rest of your day?”
I can’t believe I’m going to have to spend the rest of my day with this grump. But at least he’s hot, and I get to play dress-up. Men aren’t quite as much fun to dress, but I do appreciate the end result. “Nope,” I tell James. “These two were my only appointments today. All the women are already all set. If Aaron doesn’t need me, then Sebastian can have my undivided attention.”
Sebastian’s eyes snap to mine again and narrow the tiniest bit. A hint of something flashes in them. Smugness? Pleasure? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he likes the idea of having me all to himself for the afternoon. Not for the enjoyment of my company, of course. More like I’ve submitted to him, and he likes the idea of having me at his mercy.
I smile. It’s a saccharine smile, but still. He doesn’t return it. He turns to James. “If there’s nothing else?”
James shakes his head. His smile is much more sincere than mine was. “You’re all set. We’ll see you next week for filming.”
With that, Sebastian turns on his heel and heads for the door. No good-bye. Nothing. James looks startled. I slant him a wry glance. “Nice guy.”
“Come on, little girl,” Sebastian snaps from the doorway. “I don’t have all day.”
Little girl? It takes everything in me not to snark back. “Right behind you, boss.”
I scramble for my purse and quickly follow the arrogant ass out of the building.
* * *
I follow Sebastian to a luxury high-rise apartment building in the Mid-Wilshire district in Los Angeles. It’s a stone’s throw from Museum Row and the famous La Brea tar pits. It’s a nice area not too far from downtown where Monroe Financial headquarters is located. I can see why he chose this place as his main residence even if he owns one of the largest mansions in Malibu. Again, thank Google for that info.
I park in a guest spot in the underground parking structure. My well-loved Prius sticks out like a sore thumb among the luxury vehicles. Sebastian’s car is the nicest one in the whole garage. I think. It looks fancy, anyway. I don’t actually recognize the logo. It’s probably some custom Italian car that is so expensive only the super-rich even know it exists.
Sebastian is waiting with a scowl on his face at the elevator. I give him a smile, which of course he doesn’t return. “If my home address is leaked to the public, I’ll ruin you.”
Anger rips through me. I hate having my integrity questioned. “First of all,” I snap, “I would never do that to anyone, no matter how much of an asshole they are.”
“Did you just call me an asshole?”
I ignore his outrage. “And secondly. If I do, you’ll have to get in line. The NDA the show makes the cast and crew sign is so airtight I’d probably choke to death if I so much as thought of sharing that information.”
He seethes a second longer while I stand proud, refusing to let him intimidate me. When he fails to make me cower, he scowls and calls the elevator. He steps inside without another word and scans his thumbprint before pressing the button for the top floor. I smile a little to myself. Of course he lives in a high-rise penthouse.
“Something amusing?”
His growly voice is impressive. Guess he’s still mad about the asshole comment. I shouldn’t have said it. This man could easily get me fired. But I lost my temper. I’ll have to be more careful.
I glance up to find him studying me. He’s probably been watching me like a hawk since I stepped out of my car. I doubt a man like him misses much, if anything. I shrug, deciding silence is better than explaining myself.
“What are you laughing at?” he demands.
I sigh. “Smiling. Not laughing. I was smiling at the fact that the billionaire bachelor lives in the top-floor penthouse of a luxury high-rise. Seems typical somehow.”
He bristles, and I shrug again. He asked.
“It’s a convenient location with good security.”
I bite back a smile at his defensive explanation. “I’m sure it is.”
The elevator opens directly into the apartment. It’s every bit as spacious and bright as you’d expect one of the nicest places in Los Angeles to be. Contemporary design. White walls. Wood floors. Light-gray furniture. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a magnificent view. It’s spotless and perfectly staged. Again, typical. “It’s beautiful,” I admit, impressed despite myself.
He says nothing, just drops his keys into a small dish on a console table beside the elevator. Surprisingly, he removes his shoes, so I do the same. He has a place on the bottom shelf of the table for his shoes, so I set mine neatly on the floor beside the table. When I stand up, he’s watching me again, studying me like I’m some complex puzzle. I raise my brows in question when he just stands there staring. He frowns. I think it’s his go-to look.
“I don’t invite strangers into my home.”
He says it like a warning, but there’s a hint of something beneath the surface. He’s uncomfortable. Maybe feeling vulnerable. I’ve invaded his safe place. I can understand that. I hold up my hands in surrender. “I don’t need a tour. Just point me to the clothes, I’ll do my thing, and then I can be gone.”
He pulls in a sharp breath, but his shoulders loosen a little. Without another word, he stalks through the apartment to the master suite. As he opens the bedroom door and allows me entrance into his most intimate space, he grinds his teeth so loudly I can hear it. I try not to gawk. He deserves as much privacy as I can afford him. He is allowing me to do this, after all. He could have refused.
He opens another door and waves me forward. “Closet.”
I walk into the closet and stumble to a stop. It’s basically my dream closet. Built-in drawers, racks, shoe cubbies, a full-length mirror, bright lighting, and I swear it’s bigger than my entire apartment. There’s even a bench in the middle for sitting. Letting out a low whistle, I whirl around to find him standing in the doorway watching me in that intense way of his. I grin at him. “If you ever want to win my heart, this closet is the way to do it,” I tease.
He cocks that infuriating brow again, but I swear the corner of his lip twitches. Did I just manage to break the ice? Yay me.
He walks over to the section of his closet dedicated to his suits and dress shirts. There must be over two dozen suits. I join him and start riffling through them. He wasn’t lying about the designer labels. I don’t even want to know what this collection cost him. More than I make in a year, for sure. “The good news is, your taste in formal wear is amazing, and if these all fit you like the one you’re wearing, I don’t need you to try any of them on for me. I trust your judgement. For the show, pick some of your favorites. You’ll need several for dinners, cocktail parties, and the rose ceremonies.”
“Rose ceremonies?”
I pause and look at him. His clueless expression is kind of cute. “Have you never seen the show?” His answering look of disgust makes me laugh. “Okay, you start with thirty women. There are several elimination rounds where you send the women you aren’t interested in home. They call these rose ceremonies because you hand out roses to the women you want to stay. Eventually, you end up with just one final rose to give out. Hopefully, it comes with an engagement ring.”
He blinks at me, absorbing this information. I go back to searching through his clothes. “You should pack at least one gray, one black, and one blue suit so we have options. And if you wouldn’t mind, bring several tie and pocket square combos for each. You know, for that whole matching your date issue. You want to complement her dress, but not match it. You’re not going to the prom.”
He grimaces in a way that piques my curiosity. “Did you not go to your prom?”
He’s surprised by the question, but quickly scowls at me. I back off. “No personal questions. Got it.”
I start sifting through the dress shirts. After a moment, he huffs in frustration. “Yes. I went to prom. It was a useless waste of time, and my date was awful. I’ve managed to get out of most dates since.”
I turn back to him, surprised. “You must go to a lot of functions.”
He lifts his chin stubbornly. “I don’t need a woman on my arm to attend them.”
I laugh. “True enough, I guess. So, you’re a reclusive billionaire and not the playboy type. I can respect that.”
He gives me this look that’s so unimpressed I laugh again.
“And you’re going on a dating show to find a wife because…?”
Nothing. Just a—you guessed it—glare. A hostile one. I can take a hint. That’s a no-go topic. I stop prodding him. “Okay, then. On to casual wear.”
He looks around his closet like it might bite him and grimaces when he admits, “I don’t have a lot of casual wear.”
“It’s not as bad as you think. What are your everyday clothes?”
A wrinkle forms in his brow, and his eyes flick to the suits.
“When you aren’t working.”
“Sweats. Plain T-shirts.”
That’s not a bad mental picture. I love a man in sweats. Still, he can’t only wear sweats. “What do you wear when you go out with friends? Or on day dates?”
He looks away from me. “I don’t go out with friends. I don’t do day dates.”
“To the grocery store, then.”
“I have my groceries delivered.”
“Now you’re just being difficult.”
He throws his arms out to his sides. “What do you want from me, woman? I work, and I visit my family, and they don’t care what I wear. That’s it.”
I’m not sure how to respond to this. Does he ever do anything besides work? No friends? No lovers? How lonely. I focus before he senses my pity. “Everyone owns a pair of jeans. Let’s start there.”
“I have jeans.”
He opens a drawer that has two pairs of jeans neatly folded in it and waves at them. My brows hit the ceiling. “Are these your only pants that aren’t suit pants or sweats? What about shorts?”
He tips his head to the ceiling and sighs. “I have several pairs of gym shorts that I work out in, and I have a pair of swim shorts.”
Two pairs of jeans, gym shorts, and a swimsuit. I rub my temples, because my head is starting to ache. “How am I supposed to dress you if you have no clothes and you won’t let me pick things out for you?”
“I have clothes,” he mutters defensively.
“Not nearly enough. You’re going to be going out a lot, doing lots of different activities. You need?—”
“All right, all right, fine.” He rakes his hand through his hair. “Get whatever you think I’ll need. Just don’t make me look stupid.”
Thank heavens. I don’t know what I was going to do if I didn’t get his permission to shop for him. “Actually, I’m going to need you to come shopping with me.”
His eyes bulge, then he shudders and slices his hand through the air. “No way. Shopping with you would be a nightmare.”
I smirk. I’ll love it, but I’m sure he’ll absolutely hate it. “We don’t have time for me to go on my own, then have you come in for fittings. If anything doesn’t work, I won’t have time to find something new. We can knock it out in one day if we go together. Plus, I’ll let you veto anything you absolutely hate.”
He grimaces like he’s in physical pain at the mere thought of having to go to the mall with me, but he gives in. “Sunday,” he grumbles. “It’s the only time I have open.”
I swallow my smile of victory. “Sunday works.”
He blows out a breath, looking like he just made a deal with the devil and already regrets it. His eyes come back to me and rest there for a long, awkward moment. “Are we done, then?” he asks.
I try not to wince. He’s going to hate this next thing. “Almost.” I pull a measuring tape from my purse and hold it up with a bright smile plastered to my face as if that will ease the sting of my next request. “I need you to strip. Down to your boxers and undershirt will be fine.”
He sputters. “Excuse me?”
“I need your measurements.” When he continues to stare at me without moving, I motion for him to get on with it. “Let’s go. You said you had things to do today.”
He balks, folding his arms tightly over his chest. “I’m not undressing for you.”
His glare’s not nearly as effective when his cheeks are turning pink. He’s a cocky jerk, but a shy one. The juxtaposition is amusing. And cute.
Don’t smile, Vivian. Don’t smile.
“Your suits are all tailored. You can’t tell me you stay fully clothed in those fittings.”
He rakes his gaze over me from head to toe in the most unexpected way. A way that has my insides responding. It’s quick, but it’s intense, and I feel it. “You’re not my tailor,” he mutters under his breath.
I have no idea how to respond. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s attracted to me. I shouldn’t like that, but a thrill whips through me. I decide to cut him some slack and stop teasing him. “I dress people for a living. It’s not personal. I’m not going to check you out. I just need to see what I’m working with so I know what types of clothes would be best for you, and I need accurate measurements. If you do this for me now, I can do a little pre-shopping, and things will go faster for you on Sunday.”
He stares at me like he’s trying to burn a hole through my head with laser eyes. I stare right back. He breaks first, peeling his jacket off and grumbling curses as he rips his tie over his head. When he goes for his belt, he glares at me again. “Are you just going to stand there and watch?”
As much as I would love a strip show, the poor guy seems to be reaching his limit. I turn my back and smile to myself at the sound of pants hitting the floor. I’ve spent years working with actors and models. I can’t remember the last time someone balked at undressing in front of me. It comes with the territory. Like a doctor.
“All right,” he grumbles. “Do what you have to do.”
I turn around and promptly forget about my professionalism. The man is cut. Not bulky, but his muscles could cut glass. He’s wearing a white tank top that is molded to his body and briefs. Not boxer briefs, but actual tighty-whities. Well, tighty-blackies. It leaves very little to the imagination. The definition this man has is a work of art. Hell, he’s the hottest man I’ve ever seen, and I work with actors and models.
“You said you weren’t going to check me out.”
Is it just me, or did that sound more husky than grumpy?
I flick my eyes back up to his face. “Yeah. Sorry. I wasn’t expecting…” I wave my hand at his torso. “All this.”
He turns his head like he can’t look me in the eye, and his cheeks are pink again, but he stands a little taller. “I swim.”
“A lot, I imagine,” I mutter.
“Hurry up,” he barks. “I don’t have all day.”
I salute him again. How can I not when he’s bossing me around like a drill sergeant? “Yes, sir.”