Chapter 6 #4
Not that I can share this with my boss because, for the entire time he’s gone, there’s not one personal message from him.
Nothing except official emails. Our communication has been strictly professional.
I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, he did emphasize there’d be nothing personal between us.
And now that his handprint on my arse has faded, I confess, it’s becoming difficult to remember that day.
Then, it’s the day of the royal reception. When I wake up, there’s a car waiting to collect me from my place to the office. So, my boss was thinking about me, after all? My chest squeezes with happiness.
He realized how difficult it would be for me to transport the clothes he sent me on the Tube.
So, he made things easier for me. Despite the fact I’ll be beholden to him again, I suck up my pride and use the car.
Mainly because it makes me feel special that he arranged it for me.
It also makes me realize he didn’t completely forget about me while he was gone.
You wouldn’t know it from how he barely acknowledges me when I bring him his morning coffee. Yes, he’s back. And the anticipation building inside me had, perhaps, as much to do with counting down the days to his return, as it did the chance to attend this event.
The day passes with the usual rounds of meetings—with the advertising agency, then the PR agency, then the technical team, followed by a sales forecast meeting, where the numbers make my brain hurt.
My boss seems energized in the meeting. Clearly, he thrives on numbers.
Given the choice, he’d eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
He shows no sign of letting up, and when five p.m. rolls around, I’m beat. I stretch and yawn.
I need to start getting dressed if we're going to leave by six p.m. for the royal reception.
I rise to my feet and grab the garment box I placed under the desk. I sense someone approaching and when I look up, it’s to find a woman wearing white scrubs headed my way. She has a kind face and streaks of grey at her temple.
"Ms. June Donnelly?”
"Yes?" I frown.
"This way, please; your team is waiting."
"My team?"
"Your glam team, so we can get you ready for this evening."
"Glam team?" I scoff. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."
The phone on my desk rings. I balance the garment box on the desk and pick up the phone, more out of habit than anything else.
"You will go with the glam team and allow them to help you get dressed for the evening," my boss orders.
These are the first words he’s spoken to me since he left on his trip. For a few moments, I savor the rich timbre of his words. That deep darkness of his tone. My stomach flip-flops, and I have to squeeze my thighs together in an attempt to stem the flow of moisture from my pussy.
“You hear me, Kelly Assistant?”
Oh, he didn’t do that! Just like that, all of my yearnings shatter. “It’s June. And don’t pretend you don’t know my name; you called me by it in the staff meeting.” And this woman just called me 'Ms. June Donnelly.' What game is he playing at?
“You done?” he growls.
And damn, if that doesn’t piss me off even more.
And turn me on. Which pisses me off even more.
Though secretly, I’m loving the fact that he called me and ordered me in his bossy tone.
I’m so pathetic. I draw on the angry side of me and huff, “I don’t need this.
I can dress myself. And I have my own cosmetics. "
Which is a lie. I don’t wear makeup. Other than a bit of lipstick and eyeliner. Could never afford it, so never got into the habit.
"It’s not about you. It’s my image I’m worried about. You’ll be accompanying me as my assistant, and I need you to uphold my reputation." His voice is cold and brooks no argument.
I deflate a little. I mean, it’s nice to have a team to help me get dressed, but would it have killed him to come across as a little warmer, a little more enthusiastic about this process?
"Fine," I bite out.
"Fine." He slaps down the phone.
I squeeze the receiver and glare at it, then gently lower it to the cradle. I’m going to pretend my pussy is not dripping, thanks to that dark edge that laced his voice.
"May I?" The woman holds out her hand.
I glance at her outstretched palms then slide the garment box onto them.
"Follow me, please." She heads down the corridor.
Forty-five minutes later, I’ve had a manicure and pedicure and a quick massage, and my face has been done up, as well as my hair— all thanks to an entire team of people who sprang into action.
I’m wearing the deep green Alexander McQueen, and the dress looks even more beautiful now that I’m wearing it.
It’s crafted from fine silk chiffon, creating a flowing, ethereal silhouette.
The bodice features a V-neckline, and the sleeves provide coverage appropriate for the royal occasion.
I step onto the small platform the glam team wheeled into the conference room, which was converted into my dressing room. And yes, they’ve also placed a mirror in front of me. I stare at my reflection.
I removed my glasses and wore my contact lenses.
The glam team has exaggerated the shape of my eyes, so they seem bigger.
The brown of my irises is accentuated by the dress.
My complexion is flawless, ruby red lips, hair which has been curled and left to flow down my back.
And the dress—a green satin wrap dress that flatters my curves and highlights my best assets.
My breasts look perfect, my waist looks tiny, and my hips…
My hips are the highlight. The style doesn’t hide; it aims to showcase me and my figure.
The waist is defined by a band of deeper emerald-green satin, cinched in to create a flattering silhouette. From this band, the skirt falls in gentle pleats to just above the ankle, allowing a glimpse of elegant shoes and ease of movement.
Delicate beadwork in various shades of green—from pale mint to deep forest—adorns the bodice and gradually scatters down the skirt.
I slip into the Louboutins, which are so comfortable, I’m sure I can run in them.
In addition, I’m wearing a fascinator. It’s what I found when I opened the third box the delivery guys brought to my place.
The dress code at the royal reception demands a headpiece.
And what I have on is a headband featuring a base of fine sinamay straw, sculpted into a graceful, asymmetrical shape that curves gently to frame my face.
Emerging from this foundation is a spray of long, curled ostrich feathers in a complementary shade of blush pink.
When I move my head, the feathers dance and sway, adding a sense of lightness and motion to the piece.
A swirl of fine netting cascades down one side, providing a soft, veil-like effect.
The headpiece elevates what I’m wearing from a normal gown to that of a dress fit for a royal reception. And the slight veil makes me feel like a princess.
"Wow," I breathe, appreciating the full effect of the eyeshadow, which makes my eyes seem so much more prominent.
"You like it?" The woman who came to fetch me earlier and who was the leader of the glam team claps her hands.
"I… I love it." Tears glimmer in my eyes. "I’ve never felt this beautiful."
"You are exquisite." The woman smiles. The rest of the team nods in agreement. And that burning sensation at the backs of my eyes spreads to my nose. I sniff and her features pinch in alarm. "Oh no, dear. We don’t want you to spoil the makeup, do we?"
She glances at one of the other girls who moves forward and touches up my eyeliner.
Then the door opens. The hair on the back of my neck rises. My gaze locks with the devil’s in the mirror. A devil in a charcoal black tuxedo and blue tie, which turns his eyes into glittering sapphires.
Instantly, the rest of the team begins to gather their bags and other equipment. In minutes, the last of them depart, leaving me with my boss.