Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 92835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
"Really?" Her eyes perk. "That's lovely. He's had such a difficult time since his brother passed. I'm glad he found someone."
Remy shoots me a you better explain look.
I wave him away. Later. When I find a way to articulate this. Something that isn't I agreed to marry a reclusive billionaire. In theory, because he offered me a million dollars. But is that really why I said yes? Or is it because I want to fuck him?
"I'm Bree. It's nice to meet you, Ms. Bellamy." She offers her hand.
"Danielle." I shake.
"Remy. Her brother." He waves hello.
"And your brother will be accompanying you on our shopping?" She tries to hide her frustration, but she doesn't get there. Difficult rich people.
I appreciate Remy's moral support, but I have to agree, this will get weird fast. "He'll leave once we start trying things on."
She smiles with relief. "Perfect. I have a few questions, then you and your brother can talk while I pull outfits."
"Sure," I say.
"What do you do, Danielle?" she asks.
"I work at an art gallery." Well, I did. I can't exactly work there and live in Adam's secluded mansion at the same time.
"She's a photographer," Remy says.
Bree makes that hmm, interesting noise. "An artist?"
"You could say that."
"Is that how you want people to see you, as an artist?"
Is this really about how I want people to see me? Or about how Adam wants people to see me?
I understand. If I show up to dinner in a Zara dress, his friends and family will either wonder why I'm clueless or why he isn't taking care of me.
Rich men have certain expectations. That includes dressing the part.
If that means a wardrobe of fancy clothes for me, well, I can't exactly complain.
I close my eyes. Try to conjure an outfit that defines me.
Instead, I see the image I posted last night.
Me, naked, covered only in my wavy hair.
No layers, no pretenses, no costumes.
When I'm behind the camera, in control of what I present, I can reveal myself.
I'm powerful, in both my vulnerability and my shield.
How do I explain that to Bree? Maybe artist is enough.
"An artist, yes, but the femme fatale version. Wielding my beauty and my skills as power," I say.
"Yes, the boots, the short dress, the stare." She nods. Starts drifting into her head. "Do you prefer any type of clothes?"
"Dresses and skirts," I say.
"She never wears pants," Remy agrees.
Bree smiles. "Men prefer skirts."
Remy nods. "We think with our dicks."
I clear my throat.
"What? It's true." He chuckles. "See, you need me here. She's difficult."
"Even so. We'll need privacy to do our best work." She shuts him down with a polite smile. "Take twenty. Go to the cafe if you'd like. Or my assistant can bring something here."
"I'll take a macchiato," Remy says.
"We can go to the cafe," I say.
"Enjoy being rich for the day," he whispers.
"No. We'll go to the cafe. Thanks," I say.
"I'll call when I'm ready," she says.
"Sure." I take Remy's hand. Lead him in the direction of the escalator.
He shoots me a you better explain look, but he waits until we're sitting at the cafe to ask.
Remy sips his macchiato. "When did you get a rich boyfriend?"
I taste my almond milk latte. It's sweet, creamy perfection. Just like the drink I had this morning. "Recently."
"And he's dressing you?"
What can I say that's true? I'm not allowed to reveal the nature of our relationship, but I don't want to lie to my brother. "I didn't realize it until today."
"Why turn down free designer clothes?" He nods of course. "Is it the hot customer?"
"Huh?"
"The one who was making you all flushed during Blood Borne?"
"I was flushed from the vampires."
"Uh-huh." He shakes his head lies, lies, lies. "But this is the guy you were texting?"
"It is."
"Adam Pierce. Why is that name familiar?"
"He's a customer," I say.
Remy shoots me a really look. "You think I keep up with the art world? It's either a blue canvas or a naked chick. Boring."
"You're an artist."
"Fun art, Danny. Not drab paintings of flowers."
"Our art isn't drab." It's not ours anymore. I no longer work at the gallery. But I still feel a need to defend it. "It was great. We worked with amazing photographers. I was lucky to have the job." Yes, it meant smiling at rich assholes all day, but there were a lot of other girls who would have happily taken my place.
"So you quit?"
Shit.
"For this guy. Adam." Remy taps his chin. "'Cause he's loaded."
"I'm going to stay with him."
Remy's eyes go wide. "It's a sex thing." He play-swats me. "And you didn't tell me. Fuck you, Danny."
"It's not a sex thing."
"God, that's so hot. He wants you so bad he's paying for it. Especially since he has a big dick."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
"I haven't—" I can't say I haven't seen Adam's dick. He's supposedly my boyfriend. "That's none of your business."