CHAPTER 16
MAPLE
“You’re a lifesaver,” I say to Everly, who walks through my door carrying several gowns. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Hey, this is what friends are for—” She stalls and looks around the space. “Umm, what’s going on? An area rug? Throw pillows? Is that a candle?”
I didn’t tell Everly about yesterday, other than that I fractured my wrist. It wasn’t that I didn’t want her to know. After last night’s text messages, I’m still trying to process.
I’ve never met anyone so hot and cold in my entire life.
There are moments when his stern expression takes a reprieve, and I’m met with a man who has a heart, a kind and caring heart.
But then it’s as if he snaps back into a trance and remembers that he’s supposed to be a brooding asshole who makes everyone around him feel like trash.
“Yeah, so Graydon did all of that.”
Everly slowly turns toward me, her brow comically raised. “Uh, care to explain? He bought you throw pillows?”
“And new bedding and a coffee machine, and filled my fridge and cupboards with high-protein food, fruits, and veggies. I have a very balanced diet at the moment, along with some ice cream sandwiches, which was a nice touch.”
“Okay, you need to fill me in on the details while you try on these dresses.”
When I was told I needed a dress for tonight—told several times—I knew Everly would be my girl.
She works for Magical Moments by Maggie, which has a wing of the company called Bridesmaid for Hire where they help brides find extra help for their special day.
There are always dresses being moved in and out of their office.
I lift an ice-blue dress and take it into my bedroom, where I undo my robe and change into it, the splint on my hand making things harder. I manage to shimmy into the dress. As I’m trying the dress on, I give her the quick version of what happened yesterday.
I step out into the living room and notice how the dress flares out at my hips, feeling more prom dress than fundraiser gown.
Everly shakes her head. “Yeah, not that one.”
“Can you take a picture of it with my phone? I’ll post the options on stories for Flock and Tackle, and people can decide which one they think I will go with.”
“Ooh, look at you being a social media wizard.” She picks up my phone from the coffee table and gives me a good pose before taking a picture.
“Try this one.” She hands me a deep green dress, and I take it back to the bedroom.
“So basically he played knight in shining armor yesterday, but then made you feel like shit about it?”
“Basically,” I say as I drape the ice-blue dress on the bed, then slip inside the green halter top. “I need help zipping this one.” I exit the bedroom.
Everly winces. “Yeah, this isn’t great, but we need the picture.” She zips me up, takes a pic, then hands me a red cocktail dress.
“This is a bit short, don’t you think?”
Everly rolls her eyes. “No, and it wouldn’t hurt to flash him those ankles he’s so worried about seeing.”
I chuckle. “Imagine his horror if I showed up in high-water pants and a zoo shirt.”
“After what you just said, he might steal you away and fit you for a dress, then make you feel bad about it later.”
I laugh. “Why does that feel like the most accurate thing ever?”
“Because it is,” she calls out. “At least you got throw pillows out of all of this.”
And they’re actually really nice throw pillows. Soft, fluffy. The man weirdly has nice taste.
I slip on the red dress, the fabric hugging my every curve and hitting me mid-thigh. It’s scandalous, short, and there’s no way I can wear this in public.
I open the door, and Everly’s eyes widen. “Oh my God, that one.”
“Are you crazy?” I shake my head. “There is no way I’m wearing this.”
“Oh yes, you are,” she says. “I refuse to let you wear anything else.”
“Everly, it’s too short, too tight, and I look like I’m about to go out for a night on the town, where I prowl the street corners looking for company.” Leaning in, I whisper, “Company that pays me for certain services.”
She chuckles and shakes her head. “No, you look hot.”
I glance down at the simple dress with an off-the-shoulder sleeve, form-fitting bodice, and short hem.
“I don’t even have shoes to wear with this.”
Everly picks up her bag from near the front door. “I knew you were going to say that, so I came prepared.” She pulls out a pair of matching red high heels. “These will do, and oh look, matching lipstick too.”
“Why do I feel like you planned this all along? Is this even a bridesmaid dress?”
“That’s neither here nor there.” She claps her hands and then makes me turn around so she can finish zipping me up. “This is perfect. He’s going to pass away when he sees you in this.”
“‘Pass away’? Isn’t that a bit extreme?”
“Well, at least you wouldn’t have to worry about him being an ass anymore. Death by red dress, what a way to go.”
I move back into my bedroom and look at myself in the mirror. “I don’t know, Everly, it doesn’t seem…appropriate.”
“Believe me, it’s entirely appropriate.” Everly stands behind me and pushes my hair to the side. “This is so pretty on you, and you’ll really stand out. Isn’t that what you want?”
“No,” I say. “I don’t ever stand out. I’m always the girl in the background, and I like it there.”
I’ve always felt more comfortable around animals than humans.
Birds in particular—no surprise there. I wasn’t interested in the junior or senior prom, didn’t join a sorority in college, and apart from Everly and Polly, my friend from college, I don’t have many friends.
And I’m quite happy with that. I’m a happy people watcher…
on the periphery. Standing out, in a red dress, has never been my desire.
“Well, you’re not that girl anymore, not when Graydon will be by your side at this event.” She places her hands on my hips and talks to me while looking at the mirror in front of us. “Not that we need to change for society, but you can make it easier for yourself to thrive.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, keep your vibrant, sweet, loving personality, but dress the exterior in something the public can’t possibly hate. Don’t give them fodder to troll the girl who’s hooked to Graydon St. John. Give them all the reason to cheer you on.”
“But don’t you think a short red dress screams…hussy?”
“No, it screams bold and confident.”
“What about that black dress?” I say, moving to the living room. “Don’t you think that will look nice?”
“The bodice is rippling with jewels. I brought it as a joke.”
I sigh and lean against the doorframe, looking my friend in the eye. “This is not me.”
“Neither is the girl who would be seen romantically with someone like Graydon St. John. Sometimes we just need to play the part.” She smirks and adds, “And make them drool while you do.”
I roll my eyes. “Trust me, Graydon’s not going to drool over this dress. The day Graydon drools over me is the day I sprout dragon wings and fly.”
“Oh, um, my friend gave me this lipstick to wear tonight,” I say to the makeup artist, Marty, who’s finishing up. My hair is done as well, pulled back into a low bun—something I could have easily manufactured if I didn’t have a splint, but hey, not my money spent.
“Oh, thanks,” Marty says as she takes the lipstick and lines my lips.
When she’s done, she sprays what I learned is setting spray all over my face while her friend packs up everything else.
She hands me a mirror. “What do you think? We kept it neutral, didn’t go heavy, and just accentuated your eyes.
Your skin’s flawless, so I didn’t have to add much foundation, just a little to even your skin tone and to cover the light bruising. ”
I take a look at myself in the mirror, and honestly, I’m blown away. She really didn’t add much, which I appreciate. She did a very thin line of black around my eyes to make them pop, coated my lashes with mascara, and added some blush and bronzer. Honestly, the red lips are the real highlight.
My hair is slicked back, but in a higher bun than I expected, giving me more shape.
Huh…I look…I look really nice.
“This is lovely. Thank you.”
“Of course.” Marty finishes packing up, and I glance at the time. Fifteen minutes before I need to leave.
“Umm, should I tip?” I ask awkwardly, unsure how this works.
Marty waves her hand. “It’s all taken care of. If you ever need us for another event, you have our card.”
“I do. Thank you.”
They let themselves out, and I go to my bedroom, grateful Everly helped me with my strapless bra before she left because that would have been a bitch to get on myself with this stupid splint.
“Oh shit,” I say just as I remember I need help zipping up the rest of the dress. I was going to ask Marty to help but completely forgot.
Maybe they haven’t gone far. I quickly put the dress on and head toward my door, just as there’s a knock.
Oh thank God, they must have forgotten something.
I open the door and say, “Thank goodness—” My words fall short as Graydon stands in front of me in an all-black suit, black button-up shirt, and black tie.
His hair is styled into that perfect fauxhawk of his and he smells like he just climbed out of a fancy parlor where business dealings take place.
His dark, smoky eyes roam over my body as he takes me in, stealing my breath right from my lungs as they stutter over my legs, at my waist, and then all the way up to my eyes.
“Umm…you’re, uh, you’re here,” I say, really unsure how to handle this because, wow, he looks so freaking good in a suit.
A suit that must be bespoke because it fits every part of his body perfectly.
“I told you I’d pick you up,” he says, his cologne penetrating every functioning brain cell I have.
“You did.” I nod. “Yup, that’s right, you did say that. I just thought we landed on something else, but you know, who cares, you’re here now, so, um…do you want to come in?”
“Would rather not stand out here and wait.”
My expression falls as my brain cells start functioning again. “A simple yes would have sufficed.”
God, insufferable.
I turn around, about to head back into my bedroom when he moves in behind me and gently tugs on my good wrist, keeping me in place.
Stunned, I whirl around to look up at him when my hand lands on his chest, and his expression softens.
Not saying a word, he slowly and deliberately turns me around so my back is to his chest. I suck in a sharp breath as his knuckles rub against my bare back right before his fingers close around the zipper of my dress.
With his other hand on my waist, he glides the zipper up slowly until the dress is firmly in place.
My breath ceases to exist as his hands gently slide down my sides, to my waist, and then turn me around to face him again.
“Need anything else?” he asks, the darkness in his eyes penetrating, but no longer bordering on angry.
Oh my God, why does it feel like my heart is about to pop out of my chest?
I wet my lips, my nerves jumping around inside me. “Umm, no. Just going to slip on my shoes quickly.”
“Okay,” he says as he takes a step forward, crowding my space and then shutting the door behind him. I stand there, staring into his eyes, the energy coming off him powerful, intimidating, making me feel broken, like I don’t know how to walk anymore.
He wets his lips as well, not breaking eye contact, just slipping his hands in his pockets, his chest moving up and down.
It’s the longest few seconds of my life, just me and him, tension, electricity bouncing between us. I have a deep awareness that we’re in my apartment, dressed up, but all I am thinking about is how much I want to undress him.
And that’s new.
Because I haven’t thought of him that way.
I’ve always thought of him as the ass.
The beautiful ass, but an ass nonetheless.
I’ve never considered what it might feel like to undo his tie, to unbutton his shirt, to take off his belt. And yet, here I am, all those thoughts pulsing through my head, all because he shows up at my place in a suit…and zips up my dress.
What the hell is wrong with me?
After a few more seconds, he finally breaks the silence. “Are you going to put your shoes on or just stare at me?”
Yup, that snaps me out of it.
“Shoes,” I say, spinning around, but then tripping over my own feet and tumbling forward.
I wince as I tip over, but he’s quick to my side, catching me by the waist and pulling me back to my feet and right against his rock…hard…chest.
Dear God in heaven, I’m sweating.
“Jesus,” he mutters. “Don’t go fucking up your wrist even more.”
His tone suggests I planned on doing that.
“I didn’t mean to,” I say, shrugging away from him, but he still holds on to my waist, checking to make sure I’m fine. When I take another step back, he releases me but doesn’t look happy about it. What is going on with him?
And me, for that matter.
“Be careful,” he says in a darker voice. Wait, is he…reprimanding me?
“I will,” I say back, unsure how to respond to such a demand.
And weren’t my thoughts just a second ago about wanting to undress him? Yes, those are long gone as he thrusts me back into reality with his prickly disposition.
Well, not long gone. I am a human with eyes.
As I start to walk away, he leans against the door, his large body taking up all of the space in the entryway as he folds his bulky arms across his thick chest, his eyes not leaving me as they follow me through the apartment.
Never straying.
Just…hungry.
Very, very hungry.
Graydon St. John is a man of few words, and that silence he loves to keep, well, it’s saying a whole lot right now.
And I have no clue how to interpret it.