11. Rome
Three days passedin the normal rhythm, but I was restless. Work was as hectic as usual, but it failed to keep my mind occupied the way it normally did. I had a phone meeting with Wilbur Monk, and he gave me the runaround about signing on with my company. I had a feeling tonight’s charity gala would be a pivotal moment.
Which reminded me?—
I picked up my phone and dialed. It rang three times before a bright, cheerful voice replied, “Hello?”
“Have you found a dress for tonight?”
There was a pause. Then—“Who is this?”
I leaned back in my chair, glancing out the floor-to-ceiling window in my office as a smile tried its hardest to curl my lips. “Don’t play with me, Jordan.”
“Your number is unlisted,” she noted. “You could be one of the many men who call and demand to know what I’m wearing.”
“Is that what you heard from my question just now?” I frowned. “And how many men, exactly?”
She laughed, and the sound made the middle of my chest feel heavy. “I have a dress,” she teased, “and it’s fabulous.”
“The car will pick you up at seven.”
“See you then!”
I hung up the phone and tossed it aside. I’d seen her the day after the dinner at my parents’ place, when she came in to do some paperwork at the office. But I’d only nodded at her and watched as she chatted with Clara then sat down at a computer. Other than that, I’d seen some expense reports come in this morning for hair, nails, makeup, and clothing with her name on them. Instead of making me angry about how much she’d squeezed out of me, the expense claims made me want to laugh. The woman wasn’t wasting any time spending her monthly beauty budget.
Cole burst through my door. He skidded to a stop and frowned at me. “You’re smiling,” he accused. “Why are you smiling?”
“I’m not smiling.”
“You are. Well, you were. You had a big dopey grin on your face just now.”
“Why are you here?”
His eyes narrowed, but he shook his head and said, “The last independent contractor signed a full-time contract today. We’re clear.”
I blew out a breath. “Good. Thank you.”
Cole nodded. “You ready for tonight?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“And the girl?”
I shrugged. “Clara prepared a packet for her. She was told to study it so she knows what to expect.”
“Hopefully Monk will take to her, and we can close on this deal.”
“Hopefully,” I agreed.
The rest of the day dragged. Finally, I headed home to shower and dress in my tux, then called the car and headed to Nikki’s place in Brooklyn. I could have fetched her to meet me here to avoid going out of my way, but I wanted to use the drive to make sure she’d reviewed the packet and knew what she was doing. Tonight was important, and we needed time to make sure we were on the same page.
The car pulled up outside her place, and my driver informed me that she’d been notified of our arrival. I waited a minute or two, then glanced at my phone in frustration.
“You’re sure she knows we’re here?” I asked.
“She said she’d be down right away.”
Drumming my fingers against the door, I watched the front of her building and frowned. Where was she? I checked my watch, as if it would tell me something different from my phone screen, then glared at the door. Finally, unable to wait another minute, I got out of the car and took a step toward her building’s front door, intending to press her buzzer until she had no choice but to come down here and do her job.
Then I saw her.
She floated down the steps, a vision in blue.
Her dress had long sleeves and a plunging neckline. The fabric looked sheer but was embroidered with fine, glittering blue fabric that curled and swooped in strategic areas. It looked like she wore almost nothing, but she was fully covered. Her shoes were simple silver heels with a small strap across the toes and one across the ankles. It was just like her usual style: not exactly revealing, but intensely arousing. She moved like a goddess, elegant, graceful, sensual.
My mouth went dry.
She opened the building door and stood there, two steps above me, looking down. She’d put something on her skin so it glowed faintly, highlighting the sharp angle of her collarbone and the space between her breasts.
That was the moment I realized she was beautiful. I’d known it before, of course. It would’ve been impossible not to notice from the moment I pried open that supply room door. But she wore a dramatic blue gown like she belonged in a classic old movie, her hair glossy and dark, her lips painted red, her eyes watching me through hooded lids.
In her hands was clutched a ridiculous purse shaped like a bow, covered entirely in dark-blue crystals. I stared at it, and at her, speechless. Even the splint on her finger didn’t detract from the look.
Then she did a slow turn, showing me the embellished back of the dress that hugged her shape to perfection. The dress was a tease. I could see so much—and so little—of her body all at once. She spun around again and struck a pose, touching the length of her arm with her opposite index finger, the crystals of her bow purse glittering in the streetlights as she held it extended to the side.
Then she grinned. “See? Fabulous. I told you.”
I wanted her. It hit me all at once. I wanted this woman like I’d never wanted anyone before.
I wanted to spread those long legs and bury myself between them. I wanted her to turn back around so I could pull the zipper all the way down to the base of her spine and run my tongue back up the bared expanse of flesh. I wanted to feel the weight of her breasts in my palms. I wanted to kiss her until she gave herself to me fully, completely.
Blinking, I cleared my throat. She was my employee. I’d specifically chosen her to be my companion to these events so I wouldn’t have to date anyone. So I wouldn’t have to complicate these networking opportunities by dating someone who wanted sex—or worse, affection.
“We’re going to be late,” I told her.
She straightened, grasping that tiny, inconvenient-looking purse in both hands. “Right.” A smile lifted her lips, but I could tell it was forced. “Lead the way.”
I held the car door open for her, my hungry gaze on the way her body moved as she entered the car. Angry at myself for feeling out of sorts about a woman who didn’t mean anything to me—a woman that worked for me—I slid into the seat and nodded at my driver, who’d gotten out to close the door behind me.
But she was just there beside me, and now, in the confines of the car, her delicate perfume teased me and tormented me. The shape of her breast against the embroidered fabric drew my gaze, along with the nip of her waist, and her long, long legs. Heart pounding, I sat there, sick with wanting.
“Wilbur Monk is a potential client we’ve been courting for months,” I said, dragging my gaze away from the bare flesh exposed by her plunging neckline and toward the front of the vehicle. I popped open the small fridge and grabbed one of the chocolate bars Nikki liked. “He’ll likely be there with his wife.”
She looked at the chocolate bar I handed her, brow raised. Clearly, the promise of good-quality chocolate and almonds wasn’t worth the power struggle, because she took it after only a moment’s hesitation. As she opened the wrapper, she said, “Roseanne Monk. A patron of the arts and regular attendee of the New York City Ballet. She attended three shows at New York Fashion Week last year and made complimentary comments about Rodarte specifically.”
I clamped my lips shut, glancing at Nikki, who shot me an impish grin.
“You did your homework,” I noted.
She took a bite of the bar, made the same maddening little moaning noise she’d made the first time she’d eaten one, swallowed, and said, “These are so good. And I did more than my homework. After I read the dossier that Clara sent through, I did extra research.” She swept her arm down her side, tracing the edge of the lace. “You’re looking at a Zuhair Murad dress from the most recent ready-to-wear collection. Mrs. Monk viewed the most recent haute couture show when it was presented in Rome. She was photographed in the front row. And this”—she patted the bow-shaped crystallized purse—“is a Judith Leiber clutch that was very hard to procure on time. But when I was scouring the internet for photos of the happy couple, I saw her wearing a lot of unique bags, at least three of which were Judith Leibers. So I took a chance.”
“Right. She likes fashion.”
Nikki let out a long-suffering sigh, then shook her head. “Blakely, how do I explain this? The woman is a fashion girlie. I am a fashion girlie. I’m wearing head-to-toe icebreakers. You want me to stand at your side, look the part, and help you land this contract? This is what it looks like.” She gestured to herself, arching dark brows.
I grunted, my gaze touching the neckline of her dress, the embroidered, embellished fabric, the crystal clutch. “At least you’re making use of the clothing budget.”
Her lush lips curled into a wicked smile. “I haven’t even gotten started, honey.”
The words sounded like a promise. Despite myself, I found my lips twitching. I wanted to find out what she had in store. Wanted to see how good she’d look on my arm at every event. Wanted to hear the things that came out of her mouth and see the flash in her eyes when I made her angry.
But that was beside the point. She was here to facilitate a relationship with a client. Nothing more.
“Good. Let’s go over the other people who will be there.”
Nikki settled into her seat, shifting so her knees pointed toward me. I kept my gaze away from the slit in her dress and focused on what was important: work.