“It’s a charity event, not a company event.”
“Yeah, but I’m representing the company. I’ll be on edge. What if I make a fool of myself in front of someone important, with Wolfe watching?”
“Sadly, princess”—Matty grins—“you’ll have to suck it up. We’re scoring fat bonuses this week; we’re basically at the company’s—and his—mercy. People go to these shindigs all the time. That’s the game.”
“But I work in the back-office! That’s not my job.”
“Taylor does it, though.”
My eyes drift to Taylor, brows furrowed as she scribbles frantically in her notebook. I can’t recall a moment when she was relaxed during this trip.
Maybe Matty’s got a point. Maybe I should seize this as an opportunity to impress Wolfe by charming the hotel high rollers. He might see me as a diligent employee, not just a random makeout sesh in the hallway.
???
When I open the bedroom door, there are three suspiciously fancy black boxes on my bed with a note on top. Definitely not your average Amazon delivery.
“Dress code: Black-tie,” the note reads. “The dress, shoes, and necklace should fit. – JP.”
What the hell? Does JP moonlight as a tailor or something? Or can he guesstimate my measurements by eyeballing me with those brooding eyes? That seems plausible, given his reputation. But how did he magic this up so quickly?
My hands shake slightly as I approach the largest box and… holy shit.
This is by far the most exquisite evening gown I’ve ever seen. Blue, the shade of royalty.
Delicately, I lift the dress and hold it against me. This is class on a whole new level, a serious upgrade from my usual “it has pockets” dress. Perfect cut, off-shoulder, cinched waist, gentle flare… so classy, so intimidating.
The second box unveils a pair of sleek, strappy high heels that could probably double as deadly weapons.
And in the third…
This necklace. My God, this necklace.
Please tell me those aren’t actual diamonds.
I’m floored. All this for a work event?
This doesn’t feel like the getup a graphic designer would don for an outing with her boss. What role am I playing tonight?
Does JP Wolfe want to have sex with me? Is this his way of seducing me, or does he just not want me to embarrass him because he’s seen the leggings I’ve been wearing at hackathon?
Swallowing hard, I strip down and pull on my best pair of underwear. I packed hackathon-appropriate underwear, not thongs. No one wants a wedgie mid-design marathon.
I slip on the dress and wiggle into the killer heels, then navigate past Matty’s laundry on the floor to get a full view in the bathroom mirror.
Wow. I look like a Hollywood starlet.
It fits. A little too well. It’s like he had it custom-made for me. The thought sends shivers down my spine.
Panic washes over me as I smooth out the silky fabric of my dress.
Reaching for my toothbrush, I quickly scrub my teeth, scowling at my reflection. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the most out of place of them all?” I grumble, my words lost to the toothpaste.
Rhetorical question, obviously.
I rinse, spit, and examine my reflection, checking for rogue underarm hair, food in my teeth, or any other potential cause for humiliation.
Fucking hell, I look good. Call the emergency services, I’m coming in hot.
