Chapter 3 #2
It’s in his handwriting. I recognize it, even without a signature. It’s as if he heard me talking about what I’d wear to the reception and sent me a dress as an answer. I need to stop with the fanciful thinking. It’s a coincidence that it arrived as I was discussing my wardrobe issues, is all.
I tear open the seal—this one’s an Alexander McQueen. Whoa! And it’s genuine. It’s definitely not fake. And it must cost ... I have no idea how much, but I bet it’s more than the year’s rent I pay on this place.
My fingers tremble as I push aside the soft tissue paper and hold up a dress. Light catches the green sheath with lace detail that runs down the front. And sleeves that are made from material so sheer, I know the skin of my arms will show through it, and it will look both exquisite and tantalizing.
"He sent you a dress?" Zoe asks. "That's gorgeous!"
I nod as I place it carefully back in the box, then open the next box. No, no, no. It’s not any box it’s a shoe box with a Louboutin label.
"Oh my god!" I gasp.
"What is it?" Zoey cries. "I can't see! Is everything okay?"
No. Yes. I don’t know.
Without replying, I slide out a pair of three-inch heels with the characteristic lacquered red soles.
I place them on the floor, then step out of my slippers and into the shoes.
I fasten the ankle straps. I take a few steps, and it’s like I’m walking on air.
Again. The feeling is not dissimilar to the sensation I felt when walking on the thick carpet in his office.
Somehow, he’s right here with me with the ghost-touch of his fingers curling around my ankles.
"June, c'mon. You're killing me here!"
I cross back over to Zoe, who's straining to see what I have, grab the phone, and walk over to sink onto my settee with the faux leather covering. The shoes I’m wearing must easily cost as much as what I pay to cover a term of my sister’s university fees.
I’m too shell shocked to speak. Why would he do this? Is he trying to bribe me? Trying to make up for being such a jerkosauraus? Somehow, I don’t think so. I can’t get a bead on his motivations.
"June?" Zoey asks in an impatient voice. "What did he send you?"
In response, I flip the camera on the phone so she can see my feet. And am rewarded by a gasp of surprise. "Is that—"
"Yep."
I position the phone on the couch, then stand up, taking the dress out of its box again. I hold it against my body, then step back so she gets the full effect.
I glance at the camera to find she’s looking at me with an admiring look in her eyes. “You look beautiful.”
I take in my reflection on the screen. I do, actually. I can already tell that the dress is going to fit me like it was tailor-made for me. And how did he guess my size? I blink slowly. You know what? I don’t want to know.
I glance at the third box, which looks like a hat box, and feel overwhelmed. I don’t have the courage to open that one.
“It’s too much.” I swallow. “This dress and shoes must cost a fortune. I can’t accept them.”
She nods slowly. “I understand. You don’t want to be beholden to him, but for what it's worth, the dress would look amazing on you.”
I give my reflection a last glance, then fold the dress and place it back in its box. “I can’t understand why he sent it.”
“Guess he realized you need an outfit for the reception?”
I narrow my gaze on her. “Are you on his side or mine?”
“Of course, yours. In fact, I’ll be the first to warn you that these Davenports can be very slick.” She nods. “You need to be careful around them."
"Okay?"
She must hear the question in my voice, for she blows out a breath. "You know how my friend Vivian was wooed and fell in love with Quentin Davenport?"
I nod.
Her features take on a wary expression. "They can be very persuasive, these men. And they have the money to get anything they want. And the power to make anything and anyone bow to them."
And while money isn’t everything, fact is, I don’t have enough of it to take care of my family.
My phone pings with a notification from my bank.
Huh? "I just received a deposit in my bank account." I open up the bank’s app and see that the deposit is from the Davenport group. The amount is what I expected to be paid for my first month working there. "I don’t understand… I thought they’d pay me at the end of the month.
It’s only mid-month but I’ve already been paid for the month, and I've only been here five days.”
"Maybe it’s company policy to pay twice a month?" Zoey offers.
"Maybe…" Either way, I’m not turning down this money. I need it. But I can’t help but wonder if this is another way for my boss to make me feel like I owe him.
And what reason would he have to do that?
No, this is money I've earned. Especially after a very rough day today.
As for the dress and the shoes, and whatever's in the hatbox? I’ll be returning them.
Before I can slip off the shoes, my phone pings with an incoming message.
Unknown number: Office. Now.
What the—? My heart rams into my ribcage. Is it him?
Unknown number: My car is waiting outside for you.
My pulse rate shoots up. It has to be him. No one else could message me with such an order, implying he expects to be obeyed.
Unknown number: Don’t keep me waiting.
A pulse flares between my legs. My scalp tingles.
He wants me back in the office. It’s Friday evening, and I should be upset that he expects me to drop everything and obey his commands when he calls, but the fact is, I’d rather be back there, with him, in his presence and of service to him, than alone in my apartment.
Besides, he’s already paid me—as the cash in my account will testify—so I can hardly say no to him.
I could pretend that I haven’t thought about my boss’ cold, hard profile since leaving the office today, but I’d be lying.
There hasn’t been a second when I haven’t found myself thinking about the next time I'll see him. And secretly, I’m glad I don’t have to wait until Monday for that pleasure.
I squeeze my fingers around my phone in disgust at my weakness. "I have to go, Z."