Chapter 18
Robyn
I take the dress bag from Carla. My insides are doing somersaults, but I’m trying not to show it.
Ridge is going to be my date tomorrow night.
To the biggest event on the hospital’s calendar.
A function where I have to mingle with donors, and give a speech in front of a room full of people I have to charm out of their money.
And he’ll be standing right there for all of it.
Shit.
Carla is watching me from where she is perched on the edge of my desk. “You’ve gone a funny color. Are you okay?”
“Just thinking about tomorrow night. You know how much I hate those things, but I’m fine.” My voice comes out a little too high. I clear my throat.
“Last year was so much more difficult since it was your first time and you were still only Acting Head.”
“It feels just as bad this time around. Actually, it feels worse because I’m no longer Acting. I am the Head of Shifter Medicine.”
“That’s not why you’re so out of sorts. I know you.” She points a finger at me. “You’re thinking about going to the function with Ridge and you need to relax about it already. There are far worse dates a girl could be saddled with at one of these things.”
“Are there?”
“There are.” She ticks them off on her fingers.
“There’s the one who spends the whole night talking about himself.
Where he went to school, all of his relationships, his job, his hobbies.
He’ll talk so much that you’ll switch off.
Then there’s the one who can’t stop talking about his golf handicap.
The one who wants to tell you, at length, about his ex-wife until it becomes clear that he’s still in love with her.
All of these have actually happened to me, by the way. ”
I laugh, in spite of myself. “I’ve had it happen to me, too.”
“Yep, the ones where you spend the whole night begging the universe to give you food poisoning, or a small fire, or for someone to please, please call you with a fake emergency so you can leave.”
“It’s true. I’ve done that for friends before.”
“Of course you have. You’re a doctor. Doctors are the queens of the fake emergency call.
” She nudges my arm. “Look at it this way. Ridge is great eye candy. He’ll be there to keep you safe, which is no small thing right now, and he isn’t going to bore you to tears with small talk about whatever the hell the rich and important think is interesting these days. ”
That much is true.
“And he’ll look the part. My only wish is that I could see him dressed up to the nines. It’ll be something to behold, alright. All of that muscle and—”
“Carla.”
“What?” She lifts her shoulders, all innocence. “I’m only saying what every other woman in that room is going to be saying when you walk in.”
I make a noncommittal noise and tighten my fingers on the dress bag.
The problem is that Carla doesn’t know the half of it. If she knew that Ridge and I had slept together, that I told him yesterday that I still wanted him, that he shut me down, she would be singing a different tune.
I can’t tell her. I’m too embarrassed about the whole thing.
“You’re right,” I say. “There are worse dates.”
“Exactly, so get over yourself, put on the dress, and let me see how it looks.”
“Fine.”
I take the bag and head into my ensuite. I close the door behind me and look at the bag in my hands.
Carla has good taste. She’s seen me in a dress plenty of times. She knows what works and what doesn’t.
I unzip the bag, hang it on the back of the door, and start to undress. My work clothes go on the hook. I leave on my bra and underwear, pull the bag open, and then I stop.
My mouth goes a little dry.
The dress is gorgeous; that’s not the problem.
It is a deep emerald green, almost black where the fabric folds in on itself.
The neckline has been cut into a sweetheart shape that dips lower than anything I have ever owned.
It’s a strapless number with a long A-line skirt, and even on the hanger, I can see exactly how much skin it intends to show.
“Oh, Carla.”
“Are you in the dress yet?” she calls through the door.
“Give me a minute.”
“You’ve had a minute.”
“Give me another one.”
I unhook my bra and hang it up with the rest of my clothes. There is no way I’m going to be able to wear one with this dress. I lift the gown off the hanger, work it up over my hips, and pull the bodice up.
It’s touch and go whether the bodice will fit over my chest. If it does fit, it’ll be like a damned glove.
I face the mirror.
Holy shit.
The skirt skims my hips and falls almost to the floor. My cleavage is on full display.
I make a strangled noise.
I can’t reach the zip at the back. I have it pinched closed at the top with one hand, and I’m starting to feel like crying.
“What the hell is this, Carla?” I yell.
The door opens.
She pokes her head in, takes one look at me, and her face splits into the biggest grin I have ever seen.
“Oh, my god.” She shoves the door fully open and steps inside, both hands flying up. “You look incredible.”
“You have got to be kidding me?”
“No, seriously. Turn around. Let me zip you up. I need to see the back.”
“There isn’t much of a back. My shoulders are bare. My breasts… Oh, shit!”
“Turn around.”
“I’m your boss, you don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“It’s after hours…now turn.”
I roll my eyes and do as she says, still holding the bodice. She zips me up in one quick movement, then takes me by the shoulders and spins me back around to face the mirror. She stands behind me, beaming over my shoulder.
“What were you thinking?” I ask her, watching her in the glass. “You do remember this is a work function? Look at this cleavage. Holy shit balls!”
“You look amazing.”
“My boobs are practically popping out of this thing.” I gesture at my chest with my free hand. “I cannot wear this. I absolutely cannot.”
“You look amazing,” she repeats. “Hold on a second.”
She disappears and comes back about fifteen seconds later with a small velvet pouch. She pulls a delicate silver necklace out of it. It’s pretty. There’s a long, narrow pendant covered in tiny diamonds, the kind of piece that catches the light when you move but doesn’t scream.
“Where did this come from?”
“I brought it in case the dress needed a little something. It’s costume jewelry.
It looks more expensive than it was. And the hospital paid for it, which is an added bonus.
” She fastens it around my neck. The pendant hangs right in the dip between my collarbones, drawing the eye up to my face.
“I have killer silver heels for you, as well. They’re not so high that you’ll fall on your face, but high enough to draw the eye. You look sexy and sophisticated.”
I look at myself in the mirror.
It’s a beautiful necklace. It does help. It also does absolutely nothing to mute the cleavage situation.
“It still shows too much.”
“Nonsense.” Carla makes a brushing motion with her hand.
“You have great breasts. You are well covered. Look at you. The dress is full-length. It doesn’t cling.
Your arms are out, your collarbones are out, you have a tasteful, very pretty necklace.
Sure, there’s some cleavage on display. Most women would die for your breasts.
You’re just not used to wearing something like this… that’s all.”
“This is as on display as it gets, Carla.” I gesture at my chest again. “This is the very definition of on display.”
“You should show them off more often.” She catches my eye in the mirror.
“It’s tasteful and elegant and, yes, super sexy, but you need to live a little.
This dress is exactly right for a fundraiser where you are the woman raising the money and giving the speech.
They need to see you in something that says you mean business, and you don’t mind being looked at while you do it. You look amazing.”
“I’m not going to be comfortable in this. I want to get something else. I’ll go shopping—”
“No.”
“Carla—”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I am not letting you turn up in something black and shapeless because you want to hide. You are beautiful. You rock that dress. I really want you to wear it. I want you to trust me on this. I’m good with this kind of thing.”
It’s true. She is. Still.
“I’m not so sure about this.”
“Well, good thing I’m sure enough for the both of us.” She squeezes my shoulders. “You look amazing. You are going to be great.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll trust you.”
“Good!” She claps her hands. “You won’t regret it. You’ll see. I sent you a draft of the speech,” she tells me.
“Thanks so much. I really appreciate it. I’ll take a look when I get home.”
“I still think you should say something from the heart.”
She gives my shoulders one last squeeze and lets go. I look in the mirror and struggle to recognize myself.
Maybe I should tell them I’m sick. I would rather walk barefoot across hot coals than go to this thing tomorrow night with Ridge.
No. I can’t do that.
I’m not that person. I need to suck it up and get it done.
Argh.
This is officially my worst nightmare.