The second my hands move, Ben’s gaze swoops down to take me in. It’s chased by a low sound of appreciation that has the hairs on my neck lifting. “You wear this, Richard Vane is going to be demanding you handle the publicity for your wedding—to one another.”
“Rena made me try this on for kicks.” The zipper doesn’t budge, to my growing dismay. “But the damn thing is stuck.”
Ben doesn’t share my concern. “Turn.”
I do, then feel his hands brush my back. I fold my arms over my chest. Damn it’s cold in here, because my nipples are getting hard.
“Tris is just one of many people we need to convince. It’s not as if everyone will immediately believe we’re together,” I go on, mostly for something to say as his hands stroke up my back.
Ben finally gets the material free, letting out a sound of triumph.
“Hey, Daisy!” Rena’s voice comes from the other side of the door, and I freeze. “Let’s see the other dresses.”
Shit. I try to convey to Ben to be quiet, and he stills too, but there’s a glint of mischief in his eyes.
She goes on, "I always wondered if you and Ben were secretly fucking. I’ve seen that flirty little smile you give him. The one you don’t give anyone else.”
My eyes squeeze shut. Strike me dead.
I can’t see him, but I feel his attention on me. Is he smug? Shocked?
It’s not that thought, but the brush of his fingers at my bare waist and the sound of the zipper that has me daring to blink my eyes open.
Ben’s watching me with a combination of fascination and something darker.
“And I get it,” Rena tosses through the door. “He’s hot. I know you don't give a shit about rich, and it's one of the reasons I like you, but the man has some definitely attractive qualities.”
He plays with his hair, making an exaggerated show of doing that thing I told him was sexy. I punch him in the arm hard enough to elicit a muffled exhale.
“He’s all talk,” I reply. Ben’s gaze narrows. “Stamina of my prom date. In fact, I’m not sure it’s going to work out.”
Ben reaches past me for the door. I grab his hand to stop him. Then I reach for the door and slip out without exposing him, pulling it behind me.
“Oh, that’s hot,” Rena gushes as I step into the view of the mirror. “He’s going to lose his shit.”
I turn in the mirror, pleased with the results.
“I want to see the nude one, but I need to get back for a meeting.”
“Go! And thank you for the help.”
She turns on her heel and heads out.
I duck back into the change room to find Ben’s arms folded and a self-satisfied smirk on his handsome face. “How do you look at me exactly?”
“Shut up.”
“Rena and I agree on one thing,” Ben murmurs, his attention lingering on my body. “You are saying yes to this dress.”
“I don’t need multiple designer dresses.” But I can’t resist the urge to sneak another look in the mirror.
Ben cocks his head. “You need something to wear for your new boyfriend. Who, for the record, can go all night.”
I look pointedly at the door. “I’ll stop by Tris’s thing tomorrow. Are we done?”
"Only if you’re sure you won’t get trapped in that dress again the second I leave."
I debate. “Turn around,” I say as I reach back for the zipper.
After a moment’s hesitation, I think he’s going to refuse, but then he complies. I work my way out of the dress and pull back on my office clothes.
“What’s with the midday shopping?” he asks.
“There’s a bachelorette in the Vineyard with cocktail attire, and I need a new dress.” I bite my lip. “Do you know anything about Aiden Vane’s work life? Anything I wouldn’t find on the public record?”
“I’ll ask around.”
“Thank you. He’s keeping something from me, but I don’t know what.” I pull on my blouse. “If I did care what my boyfriend wanted me to wear,” I hear myself ask, “what would that be?”
“Lace,” he answers immediately. “Black.”
“A black lace dress,” I say, smiling as I adjust my skirt. “How nineties.”
Ben turns without asking, his chest brushing my back. His hand slips under the curved collar of my top, and the touch has my pulse skipping.
His finger finds my bra strap, skimming under the edge, and his voice lowers an octave. “I didn’t say anything about a dress. See you tomorrow, darling.”
He lets himself out before I can respond.
When I finally exit the change room, the swooning sales lady informs me all three dresses have already been purchased by “the handsome gentleman for his girlfriend.”
7
The life I lead is unpredictable—every day, I meet different people, take meetings, travel—so when I’m home, I have a routine.
I get up at six with my alarm and shift out of my king bed. I hit the well-stocked gym in my building, where I catch up on markets while I run. Then I shower and get dressed.
Sometimes I’ll make a cup of coffee with the espresso machine that was a gift from my brother when he joined the company. It has “Thanks for the nepotism!” etched into the stainless cover, which is a joke because Tris is eminently qualified, even if he is a prick.
My condo is chrome and glass, mid-century modern furniture a decorator picked out and I approved. It’s expensive enough to have the amenities and services I want. There are pictures of my family and friends. Some of my mom with Tris and me when we were little at parties in LA. There’s even one with my dad—but it serves as a cautionary tale, not a fond memory.
The man took advantage of my mom, flitting in and out of her life, leeching off her and us. Making promises he couldn’t keep until he finally walked out for good when I was twelve.
It took me two years to admit he wasn’t coming back.
When he finally did, I was in college. It wasn’t to see me, but to take up with my mom and leech off her again.
My longest relationship is with my cleaner, a woman named Monica. She takes care of this place whether I’m in the city or not, and doesn’t have an opinion about my life. Or if she does, she keeps it to herself. What I know of her is mostly from overhearing her talking on the phone to her son, whom I helped find a job at Soar—a charity whose board I’m on. They help kids and teens with mental health challenges learn science and engineering skills and apply those skills concurrently with getting counseling and other support they need.
I know firsthand how much it helps to have something good to focus on when you’re struggling with the challenges life throws at you.
Of the boards I sit on, Soar means the most.
Today I take the subway to work like every New Yorker, where I review my schedule. Two meetings with current holdings, a lunch with a prospect, and a dinner with another firm. After dinner, we’re all going out for my brother’s birthday.
The box in my pocket is something I found at home for Tris. He took our father's abandonment harder than me, and in different ways. Like Mom, he still wishes Dad were different.