“I don’t think so. He’s a really nice guy.”
“Well, you’re presentable and I’m not, so you’re going to the door.” Perfect excuse for me to make her answer the door while I stay in bed.
“All right but you better come running if I scream.”
I roll to my side, closing my eyes and snuggling against my pillow. I didn’t get much sleep last night, and I could seriously catch some more Zs if Rachel would pipe down and leave me alone.
My mind is going, drifting into that restful place, until Rachel shouts my name. “Get up. You have to come and see this.”
Shit. I should have known that she wouldn’t let me go back to sleep. “Okay, but give me a minute.”
With hair and teeth freshly brushed, I go to the living room and Rachel is all smiles. “Raith brought this by. He said that it was delivered to the office this morning with instructions to be forwarded to you.”
There’s a huge floral arrangement and basket of fresh fruit, pastries and champagne on the kitchen counter. And a thought occurs to me: no one has ever sent flowers to me before. Ever. How sad is that?
“Mimosas for breakfast. Can you believe that? And this isn’t cheap champagne. It’s expensive. Very expensive.” Rachel holds out a small white envelope. “Here’s the card, but I think we can already guess who these things are from.”
You won’t regret saying yes.
—Hutch
I rub my thumb over the words and smile, biting my bottom lip in an attempt to suppress my pleasure.
“Come on, I’m dying to hear what the card says.”
“Just one line. ‘You won’t regret saying yes. Hutch.’”
“I don’t know this guy, but I have to agree with him. I don’t think that you’ll regret doing it.” Rachel takes out the bottle of champagne and lifts her brow. “It’s still cold. Shall I pop the top and mix up some mimosas?”
“Go for it.”
The cork shoots upward and hits the ceiling. “Well, that old bag upstairs will be bitching about that.”
“No doubt.” Mrs. Whitten is by far the grumpiest old lady that I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing. She’s forever complaining to the landlord about Rachel and me for one reason or another.
“I’m seeing him again tonight.” I don’t admit it but I’m excited. I like spending time with him.
“Where is he taking you?”
“Don’t have a clue.”
“The whole staying-out-of-the-public-eye thing limits your options.”
“No kidding.” Hiding. Seems like that will become a hassle after a while.
“I bet he takes you to a hotel again.”
“That would be okay. I didn’t mind.” It was a suite, so it didn’t feel a lot different from being in someone’s living room for the first time.
“You should wear the black Dolce & Gabbana lace shift dress with your strappy Louboutins.”
“I love that dress.” There’s no telling how much Cora paid for it.
“You should. You look amazing in it.”
I feel ultra-sexy in it. “Yeah, I’m wearing it.”
“And do your hair up in a vintage roll. You look so pretty with it like that.”
“Ah, thanks.”
We hold up our mimosas. “What do we toast to?”
“To your arrangement with Hutch. May it be the best three months of your life.”
The thought is exciting and terrifying at the same time. “I’ll drink to that.”
The cosmetics, the hair, the dress, the shoes. I look like someone other than Caitriona Louden.
I study the petite brunette’s reflection in the mirror and decide that she passes for something she’s never been—elegant and graceful and classy. I don’t just look like another person—I am another person.
I am Lou.
The girl looking back at me can pretend all she likes but she’s only different on the outside. Discomfort. Distrust. Doubt. She’s filled to the brim with those emotions, yet she feels overwhelmingly empty inside. And she’s held captive by that void.
Enough of that, Cait. You’d better get moving before you miss the train. Being late isn’t an option.
Rachel surveys me when I come into the living room. “Do a spin and let me see all of you.”
I twirl with the grace of a ballerina despite the high-as-hell heels that I’m wearing. “I look okay?”
“You look stunning.”
Rachel is my best friend. It’s her job to say stuff like that. “It’s the dress and shoes.”
“Hell no, it’s not. It’s all you, and Mr. Maxwell Hutcheson is going to beg you to give him that yes.”
He can beg all he likes, but I’m not ready to give him an answer.
“I need to go if I’m going to make the six o’clock train.”
“Are you going to allow him to pick you up here if this arrangement goes through?”
“I have no idea. How would you feel about his knowing where we live?”
“I trust you to make that decision. If you’re all right with his knowing, then I’m okay with it.”
I can already tell that catching the train to Inamorata’s office for a pickup and drop-off is going to become a hassle. But this is a job and I’m getting paid for it. That’s the only way to look at this.
Rachel stretches out on the couch and covers herself with our fluffy pink throw blanket. “I’ll be right here binge-watching Game of Thrones while you’re out.”
“Again?”
“You know how much I love Jon Snow.” Yes, I certainly do. “Be a doll and text if you’re going to be late or decide to stay the night with him.”
Is she serious? “You know better than that.”
“It could happen if things go really well.”
“I’ll text if I’m running late but you can expect me home; there will be no staying over with him.”
“Either way, have a great evening.”
I see the familiar black luxury sedan parked in front of Inamorata as I approach. Shit, I’m breaking one of the first rules that Cora taught me. Never be late. It conveys to the client that his time isn’t important, and these men don’t like to be made to feel like they’re less than the most important thing in your life at the moment. Their egos need to be stroked.
Hutch looks up as I approach the car and gets out. His gaze follows my body, beginning at my feet and ending at my eyes. And then he smiles.
Damn. Just damn.
“Hello, beautiful.”
“I’m so sorry if I’m late.”
“You aren’t late. I’m early.”
I look at my watch and see that I’ve arrived eight minutes earlier than our designated time. “Well, that’s a relief. I wouldn’t want to be the reason that you’re waiting for me.”
“Do you need to go inside or are we free to go?”
This date has already been approved by Cora. “We can go.”
I get into the car and slide across the seat, making room for Hutch. “Thank you for the flowers and breakfast basket. It was delicious. And unexpected.”