Chapter 8
Ethan: Postpone my meeting with the investor until after Jamie’s dress fitting.
Rachel: You’re coming to the dress fitting?
Ethan: Yes, but keep it confidential.
Rachel: You mean, don’t tell Jamie?
Ethan: Exactly.
Ethan
I slip quietly into the design studio, catching Rachel's eye and silently warning her not to announce my presence. I’m not even sure why I’m here. The impulse that made me delay an important meeting was strong, but impossible to explain.
From the changing room at the back of the lavishly appointed space, Jamie's voice rings out, sharp with frustration. "This is ridiculous!" she exclaims. “All these dresses are too tight. I feel like I’m being crushed by a boa constrictor. And in these stupid heels, I’m a giraffe walking on stilts.”
The mental image makes me fight a smile as I settle into one of the cream leather armchairs placed strategically for the companions of those trying on clothes.
Three sales assistants are fussing around the changing room. One is babbling about how high heels elongate Jamie’s legs, another is saying how a darker color would minimize her thighs, and the third asks if she’s really sure she doesn’t want a glass of champagne.
“No,” Jamie says, clearly irritated. “For the last time, my thighs are fine, I don’t want champagne, and I don’t mind towering over everyone, but I don’t want to fall on them!”
Through the gap beneath the changing room door, I can see the shoes she’s complaining about. They’re very high, and Jamie is wobbling in them.
When she emerges to show Rachel and the assistants the dress she has on, Jamie spots me immediately and freezes.
The sight of her hits me right in the chest. The dress has only thin straps holding it up, and the deep red silk clings to every magnificent curve of her body, while her powerful shoulders are on full display.
The color makes her golden skin glow. The dress has a high slit that reveals one muscled thigh, and even in the high heels, she stands like a fighter.
She looks dangerous and stunning, like a goddess of war.
There’s only one thing I’d change. Her long dark hair is back in her usual ponytail, and my fingers ache with the desire to tease it out and let it fall over her shoulders.
"What the hell are you doing here?" She yelps the words, her expression fierce. Her fists clench and she looks ready to lash out. As though she’s debating whether to pick me up and launch me out of the nearest window.
She’s so damn fierce. So passionate. It’s incredibly sexy. And in that moment, I know exactly why I’m here. That much passion is intoxicating to be around. She lights everything up, as though she has a dial to crank up the whole world’s intensity.
“You three can leave,” I say to the assistants. “Now.”
They shoot each other shocked looks, then scurry from the room.
Jamie folds her arms. “I said, what the hell are you doing here?”
I shrug, pretending to be nonchalant. “Seeing as I’m paying for this fitting, I decided to send out for popcorn and enjoy the show.”
Jamie's eyes narrow to dangerous slits as she glowers first at me, then at Rachel. "You said this would be a private fitting."
"Don't blame Rachel.” I stretch my legs out, getting comfortable. "She has to do what I say. It's her job." I let my gaze drift over Jamie again, lingering on the way the silk shifts with each breath she takes. "And red is definitely your color."
Jamie tugs furiously at the neckline of the dress. "Get out."
"Rachel mentioned your friends couldn’t make it to the dress fitting.” I resist the urge to stand and adjust the strap that's slightly twisted on her shoulder. “I’m here because you need a second opinion.”
"I don't need your opinion on anything." She turns back toward the changing room but stumbles in the heels. With a string of curses, she hops on one foot then the other to yank the shoes off.
“We’ll have a few events to attend so you’ll need a few different outfits.” I turn my head to Rachel. “While Jamie tries on clothes, we can narrow down suitable options.”
Before Rachel can reply, Jamie lets out a huff of outrage. “I’m not parading in front of you! If you don’t leave, I will.” With her jaw set, she sweeps back into the changing room.
I recognize that stubborn look, because I so often wear it myself.
It means I don’t have much time to change her mind before my stunt backfires and she goes charging out of here.
I’m pretty sure that underneath all that fire, she’s a lot like me, and I know the arguments that would convince me if our positions were reversed.
“My presence will get the fitting over with faster.” I make my voice flat and practical.
“And you can trust me to be honest with you. If something doesn’t suit you, I’ll tell you.
If I think you’ll be underdressed or overdressed for an event, I’ll say so.
Accepting my input is the quickest and most efficient way to get the job done. ”
There’s a long silence. I can’t hear any movement from the changing room, and I imagine her thinking it over, fists clenched and teeth gritted.
I can only hope she’s as practical as I think.
And that she doesn’t suspect the forces that drew me here weren’t as logical as I’m making out.
I have a dozen urgent matters waiting for me, and my investor was annoyed that I postponed our meeting.
If he pulls out of our deal, I’ll have the inconvenience of finding someone else with his credentials.
It makes little sense, but still, I’m here.
Finally, Jamie pokes her head out of the curtains.
“Fine,” she says through gritted teeth. “But I’m not here for your entertainment, and I’ve already heard more than enough about the way I look.
If you make any comments about my body, I’ll throw a shoe at your head.
My aim is perfect. I never miss. And these heels are high enough to cause damage. ”
I nod, then look at Rachel. “Show me everything that’s not tight or restricting,” I tell her. “Let’s only go for clothes she can move in.”
Rachel nods, rifling through the racks of clothes. She pulls out a dress and I shake my head. “Too fussy.” Then holds up another that I like better, and I nod.
As Rachel crosses to the changing room to give it to Jamie, I say, “Show me how it looks once you’re wearing it.”
Jamie narrows her eyes again, and I can see her weighing her pride against practicality.
Her fingers worry the fabric of the dress for a moment, then she sighs.
“All right,” she grinds out. "But all I want to hear is a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’. Not another word, got it? Not even if you think it’s a compliment. ”
I motion for Rachel to keep looking through the racks of clothes and restrict myself to a simple nod or head shake for each outfit that Jamie comes out wearing. She looks sensational in everything, but I manage to hold back my praise and only say yes to the best ones.
For the next hour, we sort through options.
Jamie shakes her head at a shirt with fringed sleeves.
"I need to draw my gun without getting it tangled,” she says.
A strapless dress is impractical. “I don’t want to worry about it falling down.
" And a gauzy top gets a disdainful lip curl.
"One right hook and that thing would be confetti.”
"What about this?" Rachel holds up a sleek white dress with an open back.
Jamie snorts. "Sure, if I want to flash my concealed weapons to half of Los Angeles."
I have to bite the inside of my mouth to avoid cracking a smile and shocking Rachel. I doubt she’s ever seen me smile. She’d probably call an ambulance.
But the process of creating an acceptable wardrobe for Jamie is even more enjoyable than I imagined, thanks to Jamie's commentary on each rejected outfit. She grimaces at lace, rolls her eyes at heavy beading, and turns her nose up at anything frilly. I’m sure she’s playing up her distaste, but I didn’t expect her to be so hilarious.
We manage to find a few dresses, tops, and pants that both look great and pass Jamie’s movement requirements.
Then Rachel finds something different. It’s an emerald-green jumpsuit in flowing silk.
Elegant enough for a formal occasion, easy to move in, and Jamie gleefully declares that the pant legs are wide enough to hide a small arsenal.
She disappears into the changing room, and I try not to think about the whisper of silk against her skin.
When she emerges, the sight steals my breath.
The jumpsuit fits her perfectly. It looks sophisticated and makes the most of her height and athletic build.
She tests her range of motion with a few stretches, and it passes with flying colors.
But it's the way the soft fabric drifts against her hard muscles that makes it impossible not to stare.
The perfect contrast makes me ache, wanting to touch her.
"Well? Will this work for the ball?” She looks at me expectantly, wobbling on some not-very-high heels as she reaches up to smooth her hair. A dark strand has escaped her ponytail, curling against her neck.
The sight of that rebellious strand does something to my chest. It's such a small detail, but it fascinates me. She’s so damn strong, but there’s vulnerability there too. Softness beneath her strength.
“Acceptable,” I say curtly, keeping my inconvenient feelings in check.
“Good.” She kicks off her heels. “But these things are still too high.”
"We’ll find you some lower ones,” Rachel promises.
Jamie nods, wiggling her bare toes against the plush carpet. The simple gesture is endearing. I find myself gazing at her feet, wondering if she’s ticklish.
Rachel checks her watch. “Mr. Kane, I postponed your meeting with Mr. Barrett, but you’re running late for the new time. Would you like me to change it again?”
I’m partnering with Barrett Capital for my next project, a huge apartment complex with retail outlets in the first two floors. John Barrett will already be waiting.
I reluctantly stand up. “No, I’ll go to the meeting.”
I’m almost at the door when Jamie clears her throat. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll admit that wasn’t as terrible as it could have been. You made it through the entire thing without a single comment about my appearance. So… thanks.”
"Anytime." I pause at the door, unable to resist one last look at her.
Fuck, she’s gorgeous. Like a fantasy. A warrior draped in silk.
"Oh, and Jamie?" I say casually.
"Yeah?"
“What do you call it in a boxing match when one of the fighters gets knocked unconscious?”
She frowns, clearly confused as to why I’m asking. “It’s a knockout.”
“Ah, yes. That’s the word.” I tilt my head at her. “A knockout.”
She exhales an outraged huff of breath. The shoe she throws misses me by an inch as I duck out.
I grin to myself. She clearly missed on purpose, which means she might be warming up to me. And as I head back to my car, I realize I couldn’t care less how late I am for my meeting. It was worth it.