18. Marlowe
CHAPTER 18
Marlowe
I haven’t seen Brendan since that night in the club.
Some parts of the evening are seared onto my brain, obviously, but I’ve been trying to conjure Brendan up in my mind on repeat since then, and it turns out my imagination was sub-par.
Because, as I turn around in my all-white outfit to greet him, the sheer physicality of him hits me anew like a brick in the face.
Holy crap, he’s big.
And hot.
And… everything.
How can a man have so much swagger just walking through a doorframe?
He grins at me, and it’s slow and dirty and seemingly dripping with every memory of everything we did together a couple of weeks ago.
He’s wearing just a pristine white shirt and navy trousers and he looks a million dollars.
No tie, no jacket. Men seem to find it so easy to leave the house with absolutely no personal belongings, although I guess if you have a driver, which I’m sure he does, it makes it easier.
‘Mr Sullivan, hiii ,’ Terri says breathily, injecting far more enthusiasm into her greeting than she’s shown to me in the past twenty minutes.
Brendan ignores her.
He ignores both of them, in fact, making a beeline for me.
‘Fucking hell. Look at you.’ He gives a low whistle.
‘Hi,’ I say. I sound so blooming shy I could slap myself, but come on.
He’s looking at me like that, and I haven’t seen him since we got naked, and there are two scary women judging my every move.
I’m hardly in the right frame of mind to channel my (non-existent) cool inner goddess.
I’m preparing for, I don’t know, a cheek kiss or something, but he slides an arm around my hip and pulls me to him.
His hand finds my very fancy Dior-covered bottom and gropes it as he dips his dark head and kisses me hello.
It is not a cheek kiss.
It’s a familiar, you left my bed a few short hours ago kiss on the lips, and it’s leisurely and entitled and contains the slightest glimpse of tongue, and I’m so taken aback by the shocking hotness of it that I freeze.
He releases my mouth and slaps me on the bottom.
‘This is a great colour on you. How’s it going?
Sorry I’m late, love.
’
I’m not the only woman who froze at the Brendan Sullivan Effect.
Fiona and Terri have been stuck to the spot, silently gaping since he barged in here and kissed me.
Perhaps all the blood in their brains has flooded south.
I know mine has.
Fiona finally speaks up.
‘You’re not…’ She clears her throat.
‘I’m sorry. I thought she was your employee.
’
‘It’s Ms Winters to you, and she’s my girlfriend and my newest employee.
’ He narrows his eyes at me.
‘You didn’t tell them, love?
’
‘I—um—it didn’t come up,’ I stammer.
‘No harm done. So, how are you getting on?’
‘This is the first dress, Mr Sullivan,’ Terri pipes up.
‘And we think she—ahh—Ms Winters looks fantastic in it.’
Fantastic .
Not an opinion either of them have volunteered before now.
‘Great.’ Brendan nods brusquely.
‘We’ll take it.’ He may want to dress his little fuck-doll up, but I can’t imagine the actual process of shopping is any fun for him at all.
Nor is it a good use of his time, I imagine.
He holds me by the forearms and pushes me towards the changing area before pulling the curtain shut around us.
‘I’ll help her get changed.
Give us the next one, please.
’
‘It’s three grand,’ I hiss as he turns me around so he can unzip the dress.
‘Don’t care. Worth every penny.
Just don’t come near me when I’m drinking coffee or eating chocolate.
I’m a clumsy bastard, and you’—he pulls the zip open with great relish and far too little concern for the dress itself—‘are ravishing.’
He pushes the dress off my shoulders, exposing me down to my waist, and our eyes meet in the mirror.
He licks his lips. ‘Nice to see you again,’ he whispers.
He brushes his fingertips lightly down my upper arms, and I shiver.
‘Welcome to Sullivan Construction, Ms Winters.’
Brendan threads his hands between my body and my arms, those same fingertips gliding over my ribs, his blue eyes holding my gaze in the mirror.
Fiona and Terri are right on the other side of the curtain, and this is really inappropriate, and I can’t look away from him.
Can’t look away from the sheer size of him behind me, from the way he’s checking me out so proprietarily.
He brings his hands up to cup my bra and stops.
‘What the fuck are these?’
Oh shit.
The fillets. ‘I, um—they said I needed them to fill out the dress. Something about the line?’ I whisper, my eyes darting nervously between the reflection of my boobs and that of the outrage on his face.
‘Like fuck you do.’ He sticks a hand down the front of my bra, his warm skin grazing my nipple, and yanks the silicone thingy out.
He does the same with the other, then rips the curtain aside enough to step out.
‘Don’t you fucking tell her she needs these to look good in a dress,’ he shouts at the sales assistants.
I hear one wet slap as a fillet presumably lands on the glass coffee table, then another.
‘Her figure is fucking perfect, and you know it. If you can’t stick to your job, which is picking out clothes and handing them to us, then you can get out and leave us to it.
Do I make myself clear?
’
Bloody hell, he’s got a temper.
I press my lips together to hold in my shocked laughter as they stammer out their apologies.
‘Give me that,’ he spits.
A moment later, he reappears in the changing area holding a dove-grey silk dress that looks even more high-maintenance than the white one and a matching grey lace lingerie set so exquisite I’d rather frame it than wear it.
He gives me a cheeky wink, and I allow myself a silent giggle.
‘Let me help you with this, madam,’ he murmurs, hanging the lingerie and dress on the hook before unzipping me the rest of the way.
The silk lining of the dress slithers sensually over my hips before falling to the floor and pooling around my heels, leaving me in just my underwear.
I may have been naked with the guy a couple of weeks ago, but it’s mid-morning on a Monday, and standing here like this for him while he openly checks me out feels as confronting as it does salacious.
‘Part one of your onboarding process,’ he whispers, his emphasis making the term sound filthy.
He finds the hooks of my cheap bra and slides it down my arms. My nipples have hardened—they’re no more immune to Brendan’s charms than the rest of me—and believe me, he’s noticed.
His gaze rakes over my bare breasts in the mirror, dark and filthy, before he takes the beautiful grey lace bra off its hanger and holds it by its straps in front of me.
I slide my arms through it and he pulls it up, fastening it behind my back.
‘That’s more like it,’ he murmurs.
He reaches around and cups my breasts through the lace, his thumbs strumming over my nipples.
My eyes stay locked on the sight of his big hands caressing me as I stand here in this exquisite lingerie he’s insisting on buying me.
It’s such a decadent, taboo concept—that he’s paying for my body and I’m selling it to him—that it has my heart thumping behind my rib cage.
Abruptly, he pulls away.
‘I’m very invested in getting this shopping trip over with quickly,’ he says.
He bends his head to nip me on the shoulder before reaching for the grey dress.
‘Come on, let’s give this one a whirl.
’
O ne hour, a dozen speedy outfit changes and tens of thousands of pounds later, we leave the palatial changing room and its toxic sales assistants and emerge through a side entrance of Selfridges to where Brendan’s driver is waiting.
At my new boss’s insistence, I’m wearing the off-white dress and heels while, behind us, three smartly dressed porters carry an array of distinctive yellow carrier bags and garment bags to complete my Pretty Woman moment.
Really, though, it’s the man striding along beside me who commands most of the attention.
I can’t miss the glances from my fellow shoppers, which range from curious to downright feral.
I can’t blame them. Even if they have no idea who he is, even if he’s only wearing half a custom-made suit, Brendan Sullivan cuts a dashing figure.
I’m as bad as them, shamelessly ogling his very nice arse as I scurry along in my heels, trying to keep up with him.
He’s bored now, and he wants out.
Yan, his driver, directs the porters as they load the fruits of our shopping spree into the boot of Brendan’s shiny black car while an excited Mark, paws up on the back of the seat, yaps at us through the open boot hatch.
I have an instant stab of guilt.
‘Has he been in there the whole time?’
‘Nah,’ Brendan says easily.
‘Gabe lives just behind here. Yan took him for a runaround in his garden.’
Oh, thank God for that.
Brendan opens the back door for us.
‘Let me get in first and secure this mutt. Hiya, mate. Who’s my best boy?
Did you have a nice walkies?
Did you dig up Uncle Gabe’s garden like a good boy?
’
I eye the back of the car warily—it seems I am now a woman who must inspect every surface before plonking her Dior on it—but the cream leather seats look immaculate.
Either Mark is a very clean doggy, or Yan tidied him up after his romp.
‘Hi, sweetie,’ I coo at Mark as I slide in behind Brendan.
The dog is now sitting nicely in the footwell, his enormous head resting on the empty middle seat between us.
I pet his smooth head and allow him to sniff and then lick my hand.
If I’m honest, my first day is off to an intense start.
I’m already exhausted between dealing with those two snobby women, the three million outfit changes, and the confusing charge I’ve been feeling since Brendan showed up.
It’s a lot, and Mark is a grounding force.
I glance over at Brendan.
He was so sweet in there.
I love how he looked after me and dealt with their crap.
Honestly, it was pretty attractive.
This whole situation I find myself in may be as fake as anything, but I can’t deny he made me feel special in that changing suite.
He’s frowning down at his phone.
‘Gotta make some calls.’
‘Of course,’ I say brightly.
He gives me a nod and sticks in an earbud.
‘Elaine. Yep. Heading back now. You’ll need to give Marlowe a tour at some point this morning.
Did the plumber come back with a quote?
’
I quietly check my phone with one hand, leaving the other on Mark’s sleek head.
Camille has sent a message wishing me luck for today, which is sweet, and Athena has added me to the Seraphim group chat.
I don’t know any of them yet except for Athena’s good friend Sophia, but they’ve all chimed in with tips and messages of support that range from sweet and supportive to filthy and hilarious.
I smile to myself, grateful for the reminder that, no matter how weird this new lifestyle might be, I’m not the only one out there living it.
I’m in no doubt as to my reasons for doing this, but it hurts to imagine little Tabs going about her innocent day at school when I’ve had a dangerously hot man dressing and undressing me in designer rags all morning.
If I’m making a sacrifice, surely it should feel harder?
When I’ve locked my phone, I close my eyes and zone back into Brendan’s conversation.
He’s still on the phone with Elaine.
‘No. Tell him he’s got to liaise with the boiler guy.
I’ve had enough of his muppetry.
Oh, and send flowers to that woman from Saturday night, will you?
Ava? Eva? I’ll text you her address…
I dunno, something pretty and expensive.
’
My hand freezes against Mark’s comforting warmth.
Because, just like that, Brendan has hit me with a very timely, very helpful reminder that I’m not the only woman he’s lavishing with pretty and expensive goods.
I’m an employee. A new novelty.
But I’d do well to remember that this gorgeous, charming guy is most likely spinning a hell of a lot of plates.
I just hope I don’t shatter into pieces when he drops me.