She looked at me with those big beautiful brown eyes. “I won’t try to seduce you again, I promise. But if you decide you want to fuck me, just speak up. We can do it on auto-pilot.” She smiled warmly at me.
She was nicer than I was used to, and certainly nicer than I deserved.
“I’ll keep that in mind. We need to get ready for the dinner,” I said, adjusting my cuff links. “I’m going to change into a darker suit. Elena said she’d been shopping for you. I’d recommend a dress, something relatively conservative, if you have it.”
“Okay,” she said. “James, can I ask for a favor?”
“Sure,” I said, a feeling of relief flooding me. This, at least, was familiar territory for me—someone asking me for something.
“Can we eat something and have a drink before we go? I don’t want your family thinking I eat like a hippo, and I’m…”
“Nervous?” I asked, and smiled at her in spite of myself. “You should be. My family sucks.”
“Starving,” she said, embarrassed. “I’m starving.”
“Of course,” I said. The unusual sensation of sympathy flooded me. “I’m hungry, too.”
I led her into the kitchen and opened the enormous refrigerator. I’d never been grocery shopping in Boston. I had no idea where the housekeeper bought the food I’d had Nita request. Someplace organic and expensive, I was sure. I pulled out olives, cheese, grapes, and a bottle of wine. Dre opened up a cabinet, pulled out a platter, and got a knife, wine opener, and cloth napkins.
“You seem right at home,” I said to her.
“You can tell the hired help organized the kitchen,” she said. “Everything makes sense. Do you come here a lot? It seems a little…sterile.”
“It is,” I assured her. “I don’t spend a lot of time here. I prefer Los Angeles. I’ve always hated the winters up here.” I poured two glasses of Chardonnay and handed one to her.
“Plus, your sucky family doesn’t live in L.A. That makes it better, too.”
“Cheers to that,” I said, clinking her glass.
She grabbed an olive, and I tried not to watch as she put it into her mouth. I also tried not to look at her skin, which was smooth, perfect porcelain.
“So…what do you want me to do at this thing tonight?” she asked.
“For tonight, just smile and look pretty. Feel free to drink as much as everyone else, as long as you can handle your liquor.”
“I’m an escort. I can drink with the best of them,” she said.
“Then you should fit right in.”
Audrey
My clothes were delivered while we were eating. I excused myself and headed to my room. I selected a black lace cocktail dress and small, black, kitten-heeled sandals. Fortified by the wine, I also wore a tiny thong and a gorgeous black bra. Just in case James changed his mind.
Back at headquarters, I’d been thoroughly waxed within an inch of my life. I’d had a manicure and a pedicure; my nails glittered like jewels in the fading afternoon light. Elena had packed some really beautiful clothes for me to wear over the next two weeks. I ran my hands over them. Dresses, suits, handbags, lingerie, and swimwear that surely cost more than all of the clothes in my closet put together, along with my rent for a year. At least I would look the part. I tried to find some confidence in that.
I wore my hair down, in waves around my shoulders. I kept my makeup reasonable, like what I imagined lady lawyers wore on days when they went to court.
That seemed appropriate. I sort of felt like it was Judgment Day.
James had rejected me, and I still felt stung by that. I’d wanted him. I’d wanted to take his clothes off, check out his hot body, and get it over with. Then he could be a John, and this would be a normal assignment.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror. No matter how much I sometimes despised myself, I could still see that I looked beautiful. I was young enough that I always looked good, no matter what I drank or the crap food I ate. But these clothes made me look special.
It’s easy to be special, I thought. If you have money.
I put the expensive watch Elena had lent me around my wrist and enormous cubic zirconia studs in my ears. I hoped that the Preston family was so rich that they’d never seen fake diamonds before. I figured I was probably safe.
The final touches of lip gloss were applied to my lips, and I shook my hair out again. I nervously sprayed my mouth with mint spritzer. Part of me really wanted James to think I looked beautiful, and I chose to steadfastly ignore that part. That part was asking for trouble—gorgeous, intense, and distant as he seemed.
Steady girl, I thought. Unfortunately, I felt anything but.
* * *
James didn’t stare, or even really look at me, on the ride to the restaurant. Kai averted his eyes as well, which I took as a good sign.
“Are we going to stay together?” I asked James. He was staring at his phone, tapping out messages on it impatiently.
“We should,” he said. “That way, we can hear each other’s answers and stay on the same page.”
“Okay,” I said. I was feeling almost sick with nerves, and I realized it had to be worse for him. “Are you normally affectionate with your girlfriends in front of your family?”
“No,” he said, reaching over and grabbing my hand. “So we should be.”
Kai pulled the car expertly up to a street in the North End and double-parked out front. He opened the door and smiled without looking at me.
Apparently James had given him another talking to.
“See ya later,” I said to him anyway, smiling at him warmly and flagrantly violating the rules.
James grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Behave,” he said.
“That’s what I’m here for,” I said innocently.
He pulled me to the front of the restaurant: Le Ciel, read the sign, in fancy script.
“French?” I asked.
“My family’s old school,” he said, stopping to adjust his tie.
“Let me,” I said and fixed the knot. “Remember, we’re in love.”
He gave me a small smile; behind it, I thought I saw his temples pulse. He was stressed. I reached for his hand again and squeezed it. “Let’s go have a drink,” I said.
“Let’s stay drunk for the next two weeks,” he said and led me through the door.
Then maybe we’ll end up in bed, I thought, ignoring the clench of desire that tore through me at the thought. I looked at James as we walked through the door: tall, steel-grey hair, powerful shoulders, a square-cut chin. He was expensive looking.
He was also totally clench-worthy.
I heard him suck in his breath as he took in the restaurant; it was wall-to-wall fancy people, probably all related to him in one way or another. I suddenly wished I wasn’t wearing cubic zirconia. A waspy-looking woman with a white-blond bob was already heading for us. She was wearing a classic Chanel pink suit and a string of pearls.
“Is that your mom?” I asked James through the fake smile I’d plastered on.
“Yep.”
“She’s petrifying,” I said.
“Absofuckinglutely,” he said, and I saw that he’d plastered on a smile, too.