Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 134133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
"He's like... someone's dad or something," Sabrina says. "I don't know, he's old."
A frown of confusion flickers across my face. That throws me off, so I follow her to the front door to see who it is.
A man in a neat black suit stands just outside the door looking dutiful. I get the impression he wouldn't come in even if we invited him.
"Can I help you with something?" I ask him.
"Ah, yes. Are you Miss Sophie Bradwell?"
I nod.
"Perfect." He hands me a garment bag. "This is for you. Mr. Koch requests that you change into it so that I might drive you to dinner."
"Mr. Koch?" Sabrina questions.
Eavesdropping, Rumi asks, "Silvan Koch?"
Sighing, I hold the dress bag back out. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time, but I told him last night I don't want to go to dinner with him, and my answer hasn't changed."
My rumbling stomach chooses now to stage its protest, growling so loud that everyone in the room must hear it.
How embarrassing.
Ignoring the rising heat in my cheeks, I offer the gentleman a polite smile and go to close the door.
He puts out a hand to stop it. "I'm sorry, I explained that poorly. Mr. Koch isn't in the car. I'm here to take you to dinner. Just you."
I blink, my arm going slack and the dress bag drooping to touch the floor. "What?"
"He understands you didn't want to dine with him this evening, but he wants to buy you dinner, anyway."
"What?" Rumi demands, slamming her iced coffee down on the counter. "Sophie gets a sugar daddy who doesn't want sugar and it's Silvan Koch? What kind of fairytale did you fall out of?"
If only she knew.
I still feel obligated to say no just because it's coming from Silvan, but... I mean... it's not dinner with Silvan. It's just dinner alone.
"Then what's with the dress bag?" I ask, holding it up again. "Why buy me a dress if he won't even see me in it?"
"It's a comfortable style," the man assures me. "Not for his viewing pleasure, he just thought he would send you something suitable to wear in case you didn't have anything. You'll be dining alone, and then I'll bring you back here when you're finished. You won't see Silvan this evening,” he specifies, since that's clearly a concern for me.
That's a little harder to say no to.
I'm famished, and I suppose he does owe me dinner.
Well played, Silvan.
Not that he gets anything out of it, so I don't really understand the gesture.
"If she's still saying no, I'll go," Rumi volunteers. "I'll wear whatever he wants me to wear, and you can take me to him. I'm not stupid."
Sliding her a sideways look, I murmur, "Thanks, Rumi."
"Anytime," she says cheerfully.
Kendra pipes in from the couch. "Mm-hmm. I knew something happened between you two last night, sneaking up to the escape room before the rest of us were allowed to go."
"There was an escape room?" Sabrina bemoans. "I love escape rooms."
Kendra nods. "He had it built just for the party in case anyone was wondering exactly how rich his family is."
Rumi stayed home to study like I should have, and Sabrina had to work, so even though Kendra invited all of us to the party when she got the invite, only I went.
Scrutinizing the driver to make sure it doesn’t seem like a trick, I ask, “And you’re positive Silvan won’t be there if I go with you?”
“He wanted me to assure you that you wouldn’t have to see him at all this evening. He just wants to make sure you’re fed.”
“Oh my god, he’s so sweet,” Rumi says, clutching her chest.
Sweet, my ass.
But the driver seems to be genuine, so without further interrogation, I head to the bedroom to change into whatever Silvan sent from me.
Unless I hate it, of course. Then I will change into something of my own.
I still think it's a little odd that he sent me a dress if he doesn't plan to see me in it. When I unzip the garment bag, I find a soft cashmere wrap dress inside. It feels so nice when I run my fingers across the soft fabric. I’m definitely wearing this.
I grab my cosmetic bag and make quick work of brushing on some mascara and a coat of lip gloss, then I look myself over in the mirror on the closet door. The dress is very comfortable, but the soft white fabric clings to my curves and—I have to admit—looks really good on me.
I grab a little cream-colored purse from my corner of the closet and slip on a pair of nude-tone flats.
My coat is definitely not appropriately classy to match the cashmere dress he sent over, but it’s the only one I have, so I pull it on, anyway.
My roommates play up their jealousy as I leave—well, all but Kendra who watches wordlessly like she has something to say, but she never says it.