Chapter 6 Sloane
Sloane
"Hold still," Jenna scolds, adjusting the hem of the emerald silk dress that clings to my curves in ways both flattering and slightly terrifying. "I can't pin this if you keep fidgeting."
"Sorry," I mumble, trying to stand straighter. "Nervous energy."
In the reflection of the full-length mirror Jenna brought to my office, I barely recognize myself.
The dress Atticus chose, delivered in a suspiciously large box this afternoon, is unlike anything I've ever worn.
The color makes my hazel eyes look more green than brown.
It's both elegant and daring, with a neckline that dips just low enough to be interesting without crossing into inappropriate.
"Nervous about what?" Jenna asks around a mouthful of pins. "The charity auction isn't until next week."
I hesitate, unsure how much to share. Jenna's become a friend over the past few days, but she's also Atticus's employee. "Just a lot going on. Vivienne's arrival, the holiday events, the gala preparations..."
"Mmm-hmm." She doesn't sound convinced. "And does any of this nervousness have to do with the fact that Atticus came in wearing the same clothes as yesterday?"
Heat floods my cheeks. "I don't know what you mean."
"Please." She stands, hands on hips. "I've been coordinating Atticus's schedule for three years. I know when he doesn't go home at night."
I bite my lip, caught between embarrassment and a strange desire to confide in someone. "Is it that obvious?"
Her expression softens into a warm smile. "Only to those of us who've been watching you two dance around each other for years." She fusses with the dress's shoulder straps. "For what it's worth, I think it's about time."
"It's... new," I admit, relief flooding through me at acknowledging the change. "We're still figuring things out."
"Well, you look beautiful," Jenna declares, stepping back to assess her handiwork. "And he won't be able to take his eyes off you."
"That's the plan." I smooth my hands over the silk, admiring how it feels beneath my fingertips. "But what if I look like I'm trying too hard? This isn't exactly a hometown girl outfit."
"That's the point," comes a new voice as Marisol Bennett enters with a velvet jewelry box. "You're bridging worlds. The dress says, 'sophisticated enough for Blackwood galas' while your natural warmth says 'Hope Peak through and through’."
"When did you two become fashion philosophers?" I ask, laughing despite my nerves.
"When our favorite Operations Manager started dating the CEO," Marisol replies, opening the box to reveal a delicate silver necklace with a small emerald pendant. "Brynn's contribution to the ensemble. She said it's 'something borrowed' for good luck."
Emotion wells up unexpectedly. "You guys..."
"Don't cry!" Jenna warns. "Your makeup is flawless and we don't have time for touch-ups."
Marisol fastens the necklace around my throat, the pendant resting perfectly in the hollow of my collarbone. "There. Now you're ready for dinner with the formidable Vivienne Morgan."
"And her equally intimidating son," Jenna adds with a wink.
"Atticus doesn't intimidate me," I protest automatically.
"No, he just makes you blush every time he walks into a room," Marisol teases, adjusting a strand of my hair. "How long has this been going on, anyway? The chemistry between you two has been obvious since day one."
I think about last night, Atticus's hands on my skin, his lips trailing fire down my body, the way he'd whispered my name like a prayer as we moved together by the firelight. Heat blooms low in my belly at the memory.
"It's complicated," I hedge. "We've been best friends for years, but this... development... is recent."
"How recent?" Jenna presses, clearly invested.
"Very." I check my reflection one last time, amazed at the transformation. "But it feels like it's been building forever."
A gentle knock at the door interrupts our girl talk. Jenna opens it to reveal Marcus, looking slightly embarrassed to be intruding on what's clearly a private moment.
"Ms. Parker," he says formally, though his eyes widen slightly at my appearance. "Mr. Morgan asked me to inform you that he'll be meeting you in the lobby in ten minutes."
"Thank you, Marcus." I gather my courage along with the small clutch Marisol hands me. "I'll be right down."
After he leaves, Jenna and Marisol exchange significant looks. "You're going to knock him dead," Marisol assures me. "Both of them, actually."
"Just remember," Jenna adds, "Vivienne Morgan respects confidence. Don't let her intimidate you."
"And for God's sake, enjoy yourself," Marisol finishes. "You deserve some happiness, Sloane. Even if it comes with corporate complications."
Their support fills me with a warm confidence as I make my way toward the lobby. The HQ building is quiet now, most of the staff having left for the day. My heels, higher than I usually wear, click against the polished floors, echoing in the empty hallway.
I pause at the top of the staircase leading down to the lobby, gathering myself.
Through the glass walls, I can see Atticus waiting below, his back to me as he gazes out at the snow-covered landscape.
He's changed into a charcoal suit that fits his broad shoulders perfectly, the red tie I gave him providing the only splash of color.
Drawing a deep breath, I begin my descent.
He turns at the sound of my heels, and the expression that crosses his face as he sees me is worth every minute of nervous preparation. His eyes widen, lips parting slightly as his gaze travels slowly from my face down the length of the emerald dress and back up again.
"Sloane," he breathes, the single word conveying volumes.
I reach the bottom step, suddenly shy despite the desire evident in his eyes. "Too much?"
"Perfect," he corrects, closing the distance between us. "You look... incredible."
"You clean up pretty well yourself." I reach up to straighten his tie, an excuse to touch him. "I like this color on you."
"So I've been told." His fingers brush mine as I lower my hand. "A very wise woman suggested it brings out my eyes."
"Smart lady."
"The smartest." His gaze is tender in a way that makes my chest tight. "Ready to face the dragon?"
I laugh, tension breaking. "Is that what we're calling your mother now?"
"Only when she's in matchmaking mode." He offers his arm, every inch the gentleman. "Though I suspect she's already revised her strategy based on this morning's interrogation."
"Wonderful. Nothing like parental scrutiny to make a new relationship less awkward."
His eyebrow raises at the word 'relationship,' a small smile playing at his lips. "Is that what this is? A relationship?"
Heat rises to my cheeks. "I mean...”
"Because I like the sound of that," he interrupts softly, leading me toward the door. "A lot."
The simple admission sends warmth flooding through me. "Me too."
Outside, snow has begun falling again, soft flakes drifting lazily in the glow of the streetlights. Atticus helps me into his waiting SUV, his hand lingering on my waist a moment longer than strictly necessary.
The drive to The Evergreen Lodge is brief but comfortable, conversation flowing easily between us despite, or perhaps because of, the evening ahead. It strikes me how natural this feels, like we've crossed some invisible threshold into new territory without losing the foundation of our friendship.
"Penny for your thoughts," Atticus says as we approach the lodge, its stone exterior glowing with warm light against the dark, snowy landscape.
"Just thinking how strange and wonderful this is," I admit. "Yesterday, I was obsessing over one kiss. Today, I'm meeting your mother for dinner as your... girlfriend?" The label feels simultaneously inadequate and too formal.
"Partner sounds too corporate," he muses, pulling into the parking lot. "Lover is technically accurate but probably not appropriate for dinner conversation."
The word 'lover' sends a delicious shiver through me. "Let's stick with 'figuring it out' for now."
"Deal." He switches off the engine but doesn't immediately move to exit the car. Instead, he turns to face me, expression suddenly serious. "Whatever happens in there, Sloane... this matters to me. You matter."
The simple declaration touches something deep inside me. "You matter to me too, Atticus. More than I can say."
He leans across the console, one hand cupping my cheek as he kisses me, softly at first, then with increasing intensity as I respond, my fingers curling into the lapel of his suit jacket.
The kiss deepens, his tongue teasing mine in a way that has heat pooling low in my belly despite our surroundings.
We break apart when the need for oxygen becomes urgent, my breath coming in quick gasps that fog the windows.
"We should go in," I manage, though what I really want is to suggest skipping dinner entirely.
"We should," he agrees, not moving. His thumb traces my lower lip, pupils dilated with obvious desire. "You have no idea how tempted I am to drive straight back to your apartment right now."
"Vivienne would hunt us down," I point out, reluctantly practical. "And you know it."
"Worth it," he murmurs, stealing one more kiss before finally pulling away. "But you're right. Let's get this over with."
The Evergreen's lobby is a masterpiece of rustic elegance, vaulted timber ceilings, a massive stone fireplace, comfortable leather furniture arranged in intimate groupings. Despite its luxury, the space maintains an authentic mountain charm that even Vivienne Morgan can't turn her nose up at.
We find her seated near the fireplace, a glass of red wine in hand as she chats with the lodge's owner, a surprising sight given her usual corporate circle.
"Darling, there you are," she calls, spotting us immediately. Her gaze lingers approvingly on my dress before shifting to Atticus. "And looking appropriately non-corporate. I'm impressed."
"Mother." Atticus bends to kiss her cheek. "I see you've met Alistair."