Chapter 3
“Ireally don’t think this is necessary,” Claudia protested for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon.
She stood on a small platform in the center of the Kinkaid Industries executive conference room, which had been transformed into an impromptu fitting salon.
Garment racks lined one wall, draped with an array of clothing that probably cost more than she’d made in the past year. Maybe two.
Barbara, Sam’s personal assistant and a formidable lioness who moved with the grace of someone half her age, gave her a look that could only be described as maternally stern. “Nonsense. The Alpha asked me to see that you were properly outfitted for Monaco, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
“But this is too much,” Claudia gestured helplessly at the racks. “I only need maybe two outfits. Three at most.”
“For the Celestine Gala?” The lead designer, a rail-thin man named Maurice who had flown in from New York just for this fitting, looked genuinely horrified.
“Ma chérie, you should have at least three evening gowns, not to mention cocktail dresses, daytime ensembles, resort wear, and appropriate accessories for each. And that’s being conservative.
You need to be prepared for all contingencies. ”
Claudia caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror that had been set up and barely recognized the woman staring back at her.
The seamstresses were currently pinning the hem of a floor-length evening gown in champagne gold.
The fabric caught the light with every breath she took, and the cut of the dress hugged every curve she possessed in a way that made her feel simultaneously beautiful and terribly exposed.
“This dress alone probably costs more than my car,” she muttered.
“Your car is held together with duct tape and hope,” Barbara said matter-of-factly. “And before you protest again, Sam has made it very clear that expense is not a concern. You’re representing Kinkaid Industries at one of the most exclusive events in the world. You need to look the part.”
“I’m supposed to be a consultant, not a supermodel.”
“You can be both,” Maurice said, stepping back to assess the hem with a critical eye.
“Marie, take it up another quarter inch on the left side. And consultant or not, you will be photographed. The paparazzi circle these events like sharks. Every outfit you wear will end up in a dozen magazines and on twice as many websites.”
Claudia’s stomach dropped. She hadn’t thought about photographers. “Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe Sam should take someone else. Someone who’s used to this kind of attention.”
Barbara crossed her arms, and her expression softened. “Cold feet?”
“Frozen solid,” Claudia admitted. She looked down at the seamstresses working at her feet, pins held between their lips as they adjusted the hem with expert precision. “I’m not this kind of woman, Barbara. I don’t do galas and designer gowns and photographers.”
“And yet, here you are.” Barbara moved closer, her voice dropping so only Claudia could hear. “Sam didn’t ask you to accompany him just for kicks. He trusts you. That should tell you something.”
It did tell her something. It told her that Sam believed in her abilities, in her magic, in her capability to handle whatever they might face in Monaco.
But it didn’t make the fitting any less overwhelming, the fancy wardrobe any less intimidating, or the thought of spending an entire weekend at his side any less terrifying for reasons that had nothing to do with Abdul Kettering.
“Turn to the right,” Maurice instructed. “I want to see how the draping falls.”
Claudia obeyed, and the fabric whispered against her skin like a caress. The bodice was fitted, held up by delicate straps that crisscrossed her shoulders, leaving her back mostly bare. The skirt flowed from her hips in elegant lines that managed to be both modest and alluring at the same time.
She had to admit, if only to herself, that she’d never worn anything so beautiful in her life.
“Magnifique,” Maurice breathed. “The color is perfect with your skin tone. You will absolutely shine in this.”
“I don’t need to shine,” Claudia protested weakly. “I need to blend in.”
“Trust me, chérie, in this dress, you will be doing anything but blending.” He made a few notes on his tablet. “We’ll have this ready for final fitting by next week. Now, let’s try the midnight blue silk.”
“How many evening gowns did you bring?” Claudia asked, a note of desperation creeping into her voice.
Maurice consulted his tablet. “Four evening gowns to choose from, plus selections of cocktail dresses, luncheon ensembles, and resort wear, and of course, appropriate shoes and accessories for each outfit.”
Claudia felt dizzy. “That’s a lot of clothes. I thought this was just a three-day weekend.”
“More than just three days, technically,” Barbara corrected.
“There’s a full day of travel with the time change and the long flight.
We’re planning for you to arrive on Thursday afternoon so you can adjust a little before the events start on Friday.
There are parties every night, and though many people start leaving on Sunday, there is a final brunch on Monday if you end up staying that long.
You need to be prepared for all of that.
You can’t wear the same outfit twice. There will be photographers at every function. ”
“In my world, wearing the same dress twice is called being practical,” Claudia muttered.
“In the world you’re entering, it’s called a fashion faux pas,” Maurice said with a sympathetic smile.
“I understand this might feel excessive to you, but trust me, you’ll be grateful to have options.
And who knows? Perhaps you’ll attend more events in the future and can use some of this wardrobe again. ”
Claudia doubted that very much, but she didn’t argue. The seamstresses had finished with the hem and were now examining the fit across her shoulders.
“The draping here is perfection,” one of them said to Maurice. “But we should take in the waist just a touch.”
“Agreed,” Maurice said. He turned to Claudia. “You have a lovely figure, by the way. It’s a pleasure to dress someone with actual curves instead of these stick-thin models who can’t hold up a proper gown.”
The compliment made her uncomfortable, but in a different way than the excess of clothing did.
Claudia had never thought much about her figure one way or another.
She was strong from her training, healthy, and that had always been enough.
The idea of being decorative, of being looked at and admired, felt foreign.
“Thank you,” she managed.
Barbara was watching her with that knowing maternal expression again. “You know, it’s all right to enjoy this a little. When was the last time you did something just for yourself? Something that made you feel special?”
Claudia thought about it and came up blank.
For a long time, her life had been about studying and perfecting her craft.
Even her current position with the Kinkaid Clan was about service, about using her abilities to protect others.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done something purely for pleasure.
“That’s what I thought. Let yourself have this, dear. Let yourself feel beautiful. It doesn’t make you any less powerful or competent.”
Before Claudia could object, the conference room door opened without warning.
Sam had been looking for Barbara to confirm the travel arrangements for Monaco when Gavin mentioned she’d commandeered the executive conference room for the afternoon.
Something about Claudia’s wardrobe fittings.
He’d only meant to pop in for a moment, ask Barbara a quick question, and leave.
He wasn’t really prepared for the sight that greeted him when he opened the door.
Claudia stood on a raised platform in the center of the room, and for a moment, Sam forgot to breathe.
She was wearing a gown that caught the afternoon light streaming through the windows, turning her into something ethereal and luminous.
The gold fabric clung to curves he’d somehow never noticed before, despite having worked with her for a while now.
Her dark hair had been pinned up, exposing the graceful line of her neck and the delicate slope of her shoulders.
She looked like a goddess. Like something out of a dream.
How had he been so blind?
He’d seen Claudia nearly every day since she’d arrived. He had sat across desks from her, walked beside her through the building, watched her work her magic on the Clan’s properties, and not once in all that time had he really seen her. Not like this.
Or maybe he’d been deliberately not seeing her, he thought. Because seeing her meant acknowledging the attraction he’d been carefully ignoring. Seeing her as an attractive woman meant admitting that, somewhere along the way, she’d become more than just the mage Granny Tucker had sent to help him.
“Hello, Sam,” Barbara said, breaking the spell. “We weren’t expecting you.”
Sam realized he was staring. Worse, everyone in the room had noticed. The designer, a thin man with impeccable taste written all over him, looked amused. The seamstresses had paused in their work, pins still in hand. And Claudia had gone very still, her cheeks flushing pink.
“I was looking for you,” he managed, directing his words at Barbara, even though his eyes kept wanting to drift back to Claudia. “About the Monaco arrangements.”
“Everything’s confirmed,” Barbara said smoothly. “I’ve booked a luxury suite at the H?tel de Paris, and arranged for a chauffeur and escort from our usual sources for the duration of your stay.”
“A suite?” Claudia’s voice was higher than usual. “As in, singular?”
“It’s actually more like a small apartment,” Barbara assured her. “Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living area, and a private terrace. You’ll each have plenty of space.”
Sam watched Claudia relax, though the color in her cheeks remained. She was nervous about the trip. About being in close quarters with him. The realization sent an unexpected thrill through him.
“The gold is stunning on you,” he said, and then wanted to kick himself. Stunning? That was the best he could do? The woman looked like she’d been poured into that dress by some benevolent deity, and all he could manage was stunning?
“It’s too much,” Claudia said immediately. “I was just telling Barbara and Maurice that this is all unnecessary. I don’t need—”
“You need it,” Sam interrupted, finally managing to tear his eyes away from her long enough to address the designer. “Whatever Maurice recommends. He knows what he’s doing. And make sure she has options for every possible occasion.”
“Sam—”
“This isn’t up for discussion, Claudia.” He met her eyes, saw the protest forming, and softened his tone.
“You’re doing me a favor by agreeing to this trip.
The least I can do is make sure you have what you need to be comfortable.
And before you argue,” he added, seeing her open her mouth, “remember that you’ll be representing Kinkaid Industries. People will be watching.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she muttered.
Maurice clapped his hands together. “Alors, if we’re all in agreement, let’s continue. We still have six more pieces to fit, and I have dinner reservations at eight.”
Sam knew he should leave. Knew he should go back to his office and let them finish. But he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to look away from Claudia standing there in that golden dress.
She shifted her weight, and the fabric moved with her like liquid light. He noticed the way it skimmed over her hips, the way the bodice emphasized her waist. Details he had no business noticing. Details he couldn’t seem to stop noticing.
His inner lion was paying attention now too, and that was even more dangerous. The beast within him, usually so controlled and measured, was practically purring with approval. It wanted to approach, to circle, to claim. Sam pushed back against the instinct, maintaining his careful distance.
But the animal in him had recognized something his human side had been stubbornly ignoring. Claudia might very possibly be his. The thought sent a jolt through his system.
“You can stay if you like,” Barbara said, a knowing glint in her eye. “Provide input on what works for the events you’ll be attending.”
It was a transparent excuse to keep him there, and they both knew it. But Sam found himself nodding anyway. “If it won’t be too disruptive.”
“Not at all,” Maurice said cheerfully. “In fact, having the gentleman’s perspective could be quite helpful. After all, you’ll be the one escorting her.”
Claudia shot Sam a look that clearly said traitor, but she didn’t protest as the seamstresses finished pinning the hem.
When they helped her step down from the platform and she disappeared behind a screen to change into the next outfit, Sam took a seat in one of the conference chairs, trying to look casual.
Barbara settled into the chair beside him, her expression far too innocent. “She cleans up nicely, doesn’t she?”
“She’s beautiful,” Sam said, then realized what he’d admitted. “I mean, the dress suits her very well.”
“Mm-hmm.” Barbara’s smile was positively feline. “You know, in all the years I’ve worked for you, I’ve never seen you attend a single fitting for any of your previous dates.”
“This isn’t a date. It’s a business arrangement.”
“Of course it is.” Barbara’s tone made it clear she didn’t believe that for a second. “That’s why you’re sitting here, instead of in your office handling the seventeen items on your afternoon schedule.”