Chapter 13 Aurora
Aurora
‘You need to get out of those clothes. Dove might have something in her office. Wait here,’ Rafael all but barks at me.
I stand, dripping, in the centre of his office, and he returns moments later, holding a pair of leggings and a t-shirt.
‘My bathroom’s through there.’ He jerks his chin at a closed door.
‘Um, thanks,’ I say, unable to meet his eyes as I take the clothes and scurry to the door, closing it behind me, sealing myself off from the heat of his gaze.
I’m in a small entryway. On one side there’s a small walk-in dressing area with rows of shirts and suits lined up on matching wooden hangers.
And in front of me is another door, leading to the bathroom, complete with giant walk-in rainfall shower and long inbuilt vanity area.
It’s all modelled in dark grey marble – the walls and floor, even the ceiling.
There are a couple of large ferns fanning their leaves out over the counter beneath a giant mirror that reaches to the ceiling.
The overall effect is dark, sexy, and masculine.
And the whole place smells like him. A heady, intoxicating scent that’s earthy and spicy, and makes my mouth water.
I step inside the bathroom and close the door.
‘Fuck my life,’ I mumble. ‘Good-looking, rich bastard. Good-looking, rich, impossibly awful bastard.’
I peel my clothes off quickly; the idea of being in his personal space like this is too unsettling.
I don’t want to glimpse Rafael Fairfax’s private life.
Seeing him at Tanya’s was bad enough. Hearing the way his voice sounded when he was talking dirty to her .
. . seeing the impressive dick he’s concealing beneath his suits.
No, thank you.
I pull the leggings and t-shirt on then gather my wet clothes into a pile. Movement in the dressing area as I step out catches my eye.
Rafael’s standing inside, pushing his arms into a clean, dry shirt.
‘They fit,’ he comments, his eyes dropping over me.
‘Yeah,’ I mumble, staring at him.
He pulls his shirt together across his chest, but not before I get an eyeful of short, silky-looking chest hair coating his pecs. His fingers work fast to do the buttons up, and a faint flash of red in the centre of his chest disappears from view.
Frowning, he tucks his shirt into the waistband of a new pair of trousers, and I can’t help my gaze dropping to them. When I was trying to get the tube off his hand, I swear I felt . . .
‘Of course, you can’t wear them around the office. You’ll need something more suitable.’
I lift my eyes to his and he’s scowling at the t-shirt of Dove’s like it’s the first time he’s ever seen it. I glance down. The front is covered in a large logo I don’t recognise.
‘Is it from one of her clients?’ I ask, trying to decipher the image from my upside-down angle.
‘No,’ Rafael grunts. ‘Thankfully.’
His brusque tone shuts down any further questions I might have asked.
‘I can go home and change.’
He huffs. ‘It’ll take too long to get back to that place you live in.’
That place I live in? I hold back my scoff at the disgusted way he says it, like I inhabit a junkyard.
‘We’ll go out and get you something. We can make it back for my next meeting and take it in one of the conference rooms while maintenance dry out my office.’
‘We’ll go out?’ I stare at him as he expertly fastens his tie in a perfect knot.
‘We’ll get you a dress or something. We can’t take long. There won’t be time for a fashion parade.’ His lip curls into a slight sneer and I bite back any comeback I’d like to ram down his throat.
‘Fine. But I can go by myself.’
He sits on a bench and puts on a pair of fancy shoes and ties the laces. ‘Let’s go,’ he announces, standing and grabbing a new jacket from a hanger.
‘I said I can go by myself,’ I repeat, chasing after him as he strides out of the dressing room and back into his office, leaving behind a waft of his cologne in his wake.
‘And I said, “let’s go”,’ he says with a gravelly grunt like I’m testing his patience. ‘My time is usually billed at three thousand pounds an hour, Aurora. I suggest you keep up.’
I balk at the back of his head as he strides into the hallway, reassuring the members of staff who ask about the alarm that maintenance is already handling it. Rushing to keep pace with him, I practically jog into the empty, waiting lift.
‘There’s a store at the end of the street that—’
‘Huxton Atelier will have what we need,’ he clips, cutting me off.
I clamp my lips together. Huxton Atelier stocks the style of clothes I used to love wearing. I can’t even afford to look at their window displays now.
We exit into the lobby, and Rafael finally slows his pace enough that I can walk beside him without panting. The doorman holds the main door open for us and Rafael indicates for me to go first, before gesturing to a sleek black town car.
‘Good morning, Mr Fairfax,’ the driver greets, opening the back door. ‘Good morning, Miss Thorne.’
‘Good morning,’ I reply, dumbstruck that he knows my name.
‘Get in,’ Rafael clips.
I do as he says, shuffling along the leather seat of the immaculate interior as Rafael slides in beside me and the driver closes the door.
‘You have a driver?’ I ask, watching the man walk around the car.
‘I’m a busy man. I don’t have time to wait on cabs, or . . . the Tube,’ he says, flicking a cool gaze in my direction. ‘I pay people to wait for me, so I never have to wait on them.’
The arrogant way he says it has one word pushing to the front of my brain.
Prick. I can’t believe I’m stuck in a car with him and his irritatingly mesmerising cologne.
I only agreed to take notes in his meetings this afternoon because I hoped spending time with him might afford me the opportunity to find out when Dominic Ainsworth’s next visit will be. What a waste.
Crossing my arms, I stare out of the window instead of making small talk with him. What’s the point? He’ll only use it as an opportunity to swing his dick around and tell me how rich he is, or how valuable his time is again.
‘I’ll be here once you’re ready, Mr Fairfax,’ his driver says after pulling up alongside a fancy storefront.
‘Thank you, Kyle.’ Rafael nods.
Kyle exits the car and is at the door moments later. Rafael climbs out and then offers his hand for me to take. I stare at it in horror.
‘We’ve got fifteen minutes. I suggest you don’t waste any by making yourself too comfortable in my backseat,’ he snips.
I grab his hand, offering him a ‘thanks’ through gritted teeth. His fingers curl around mine and I hate how strong and confident his grip is. Like a man who knows he’ll always get what he wants. I bet he’s never been anxious over anything in his life.
The moment I’m out of the car I extract my hand from his.
‘I’ll be quick,’ I say, making a beeline for the store.
I reach for the tall brass handle on the elegant door, but long fingers curl around it above mine. The heat from his body is like a force slamming into me from behind as he leans closer. His breath hits my temple as I incline my head over my shoulder.
‘I’m not waiting in the car, Aurora.’
My stomach drops to my feet. I thought I was about to get space to breathe, but I should have known better. I search his darkened eyes as I scrabble to think of a reason why he should wait outside. ‘Because I think you’re an egotistical dickhead’ probably won’t go down well.
‘Fine,’ I say instead, letting him open the door for me.
The place is beautiful, and I can’t stop the way my stomach dances as I admire the racks of beautiful new season designs.
Rafael’s already got his phone to his ear on a business call, so I wander around, lovingly running my fingers along racks of silk, cashmere, and linen. I subtly check the price tags. My stomach knots. I can’t afford a single thing in here.
‘Excuse me.’ I catch the attention of a sales assistant. ‘Do you have a clearance rack? Or . . .’ I give her a friendly smile. ‘. . . any damaged items?’
I can fix holes, remove stains. That doesn’t bother me.
‘Oh.’ She looks taken aback by my question as her gaze flits to Rafael, who’s pacing on the other side of the store. ‘Of course. The sales items are over there.’
I leave her admiring Rafael and walk to the sales rack. There are some smart dresses in my size. Lifting one from the rack, I check the tag, and my stomach constricts like there’s a whole tangle of knots inside it. Even at fifty per cent off, I’ll still struggle to afford one.
‘Try it on.’
I turn at his gruff voice, my fingers tightening around the hanger. ‘I—’
Rafael extracts the hanger from my grip, his gaze dropping over the black dress with disinterest. ‘Can you put this in a fitting room, please?’ he says into thin air.
As if by magic, two sales assistants appear, throwing him dazzling smiles. ‘Of course, Mr Fairfax.’
They whisk the dress away, and he’s back on his phone on another call. He flicks his fingers at me in a shooing motion towards the fitting rooms.
I escape into them. Sliding the dress on, I fasten the gold zipper that runs from the hem all the way up to the base of my neck. Turning to the mirror, I smooth my hands over my hips.
And grin.
This. This is what I love about fashion. The way an outfit can make you feel. The dress is a simple fitted shift style, but the gold zipper on the back, and the way the fabric sits, accentuating every feminine curve, makes me feel both elegant and powerful.
I’ll have to worry about how I’m going to pay for it after I get my credit card bill. And I can always re-sell it – I’ve been doing that with brand gifts for the last three months. It’s the only way I can cover my rent.
Folding Dove’s clothes, I carry them out of the fitting room. Rafael lifts his head, his gaze sliding over me from my feet to my head. He’s on a call but tells them he’ll call them back before pocketing his phone.
‘You’re going to wear it now? Let me remove the tag for you,’ the sales assistant says.
‘Thank you.’
Rafael watches as I smooth my hair away from my shoulder so she can gently snip out the eye-watering price tag.
‘Ring it up, please. We need to leave,’ he says gruffly, his eyes narrowing on me.
I feel like a bug under a microscope being scrutinised. No doubt he’ll find fault. Deem me unworthy to grace the halls of his precious company, even in such a beautiful dress.
‘Certainly, Mr Fairfax,’ the sales assistant sings.
‘Actually, before you do that,’ he adds, causing her to freeze halfway to the checkout desk. ‘Pencil skirts. Do you have any?’
‘Yes,’ the sales assistant replies brightly, beaming at him.
But his eyes are still burning into my dress. I knew it. He hates it. He’s going to insist I buy something else. Something even more expensive.
I hug Dove’s clothes to my chest like a shield.
‘Show me,’ he commands.
The sales assistant rushes about and plucks a selection of skirts from the full-priced rails.
‘She’ll take those too. All of them.’
‘Of course. And what size would you like?’ The sales assistant smiles, directing her question to him.
‘Twelve. She’s a twelve.’
The sales assistant nods and goes to switch the skirts for my size.
The fact he got my size right must be a lucky guess, but that’s all the thought I can give to it as the sales assistant scans the skirts and bags them up. I wipe my sweaty palm on my dress.
‘I can’t . . .’ I swallow, moving closer to Rafael, embarrassment spreading heat up my neck as I prepare to admit I can’t afford them if I want to eat for the next two months.
‘Put them on my account,’ he instructs the sales assistant, sounding bored as he pulls his phone back out of his pocket and types something into it.
‘What?’ I squeak, lowering my voice so only he can hear. ‘Why are you paying for them?’
His lips curl down in a scowl. ‘It’s my money, either way.’
I have no idea what he means. I take the bag the sales assistant is holding out, thanking her.
‘I have a dress. I don’t need three skirts as well,’ I point out as we walk to the exit.
‘I’m replacing the one that got wet. That’s all.’
‘With three?’ I scoff. ‘Anyway, it’ll dry.’
‘Perhaps. But it could be ruined and rendered unwearable.’
‘So?’
‘So that would be a shame.’ He clears his throat. ‘A waste, I mean. That would be a waste.’
‘Why? It’s only a skirt.’
He opens the door for me, his eyes hard and impenetrable as he looks down his nose at me.
‘We’ve taken long enough. Let’s go.’