Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 94546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Jack’s fingers feel damp when he curls them around my hand and guides me out of the elevator before we’re forced to ride in the wrong direction. He weaves us past a group of bumbling security guards, through an even more people-dotted sidewalk, and into an awaiting car idling at the curb.
“Crystal Boutique on Pyke,” Jack demands a second after assisting me into the back seat of an SUV with two security details inside and a driver.
I barely get the chance to cool the heat on my cheeks when the car comes to a stop outside a retail building on a leafy yet busy street. We’re only a few blocks from headquarters. “You took a car to travel a few hundred feet?”
As he flings open his door, Jack replies, “It’s chilly out. I don’t want you catching a cold.”
“In the wool coat you gifted me.” I air quote gifted like I don’t truly believe his recollection of events. He purchased me this coat, whether with money or a guarantee I’d be photographed in it, but he purchased it, nonetheless.
Jack smirks, his expression smug before he slides out of his town car and bobs down to offer me a hand. I won’t lie. I am in love with his chivalry.
After handing our coats to the doorman, we enter a gold-embossed door being held open by a man in a crisp black suit before we’re greeted by a woman whose voice is as pointy as her nose. “Good afternoon, Mr. Carson. What a pleasure to see you today.” I roll my eyes when she swoops in to plant a kiss on the edge of his mouth before she drifts her eyes to me. They’re nowhere near as friendly now, filled with bitterness. “And you must be Octavia. Pleasure.” Her puckered lips barely touch my cheek before she whips around, slapping me in the face with the fake hair hanging from the top of her head to her tiny waist. “We’ve pulled a range of garments off the racks for your approval, but you’re more than welcome to peruse them yourself.”
“What about the special order I requested?” Jack asks while shadowing the saleswoman into a boutique that looks more empty than full. The dresses and garments are gorgeous but sparce, and I’ll be surprised to discover if any of them come close to fitting my chest. Even eating nothing but celery sticks for a week won’t help. You can’t squeeze double Ds into outfits not designed with voluptuous women in mind. “Marsha also stated any alterations will be finalized by Friday. Is that correct?”
The light bulb in my head finally switches on. He’s not attempting to buy me a new wardrobe that I’d decline even with their designer tags making me giddy with excitement. He’s purchasing a dress for the gala he wants me to attend with him.
“A last-minute fitting isn’t necessary. I have dresses at home.”
When Jack pivots to face me, my heart patters. He looks content and peaceful, like spoiling me will make me as happy as I was in the elevator. “I know.” He squeezes my hand, reminding me he’s not once let go of it in the past several minutes. “But none of the colors match the tie I’m being forced to wear.”
“Then we’ll find you a new tie.” I slant closer to him, loving the way my nearness flares his nostrils before muttering, “And exactly when did you snoop through my closet? Between fuck session one, two, or three?”
He drags his index finger down my screwed-up nose before replying, “It was after session four while I was struggling not to instigate exchange number five.” He articulates his words without a hint of shame and loud enough for both the saleswoman to hear and the men shadowing his every move. “And although I’m not a fan of the peacock-blue coloring Elaine picked, the last time I went against her selection, I landed on the worst-dressed list at the Oscars. I’d rather avoid another misdemeanor than encourage it.”
The man with the burnt orange hair chuckles under his breath before he spins away from us with a cough. His response makes it obvious Jack isn’t lying, but it also has me curious as to their dynamic. He seems more influential to Jack than purely a security detail.
I’m about to tell Jack I’m not comfortable with him spending money on me, but his next lot of whispered words steal my thoughts as effectively as they speed my pulse. “And this way, I get the chance to correct the error I made on Saturday when I fled the changing room.” His hand feels extra clammy from the heat that roars through our conjoined bodies when he whispers, “I look very much forward to undressing you, Ms. Henslee.”
“Jack…”
I don’t know if that’s a needy please-fuck-me moan or we’re-stepping-over-a-fine-line groan but whatever it is, it doubles the zap of electricity roaring through me when Jack winks about the husky deliverance of his name before he requests the saleswoman to take us to the private changing room.