For the first time, a full smile bent Jian’s mouth and lifted the corners. “Is this the Southeast Asian girl who drove you to the airport?”
“Yeah.”
“The one with the long hair that fell past her waist?”
“Yep, that’s Anjali. It actually goes down almost to her knees.”
One of his eyebrows quivered, almost lifting. “Do you think she would prefer if I gave you my phone number for her, or if you gave me her phone number?”
Colleen sighed and chuckled in relief. “She asked for your phone number, but I would bet that she would prefer if you texted her first. Just a word of warning, she’s old-fashioned in a lot of ways. Which is why I think she might like it if you asked her out first or contacted her first or however this is going to work. I mean, I don’t even know when you guys would ever see each other because she’s in college. She was a year behind me, so she’s graduating this August. She wanted to take a summer class before she officially graduated because she has a huge scholarship that pays for everything.”
Jian nodded and pushed a piece of paper toward Colleen. “If you could write her number down for me, I would appreciate it.”
Colleen grinned. “Cool!”
Half an hour later, another woman arrived, rolling a large makeup kit behind her, and she commandeered the bathroom to do Colleen’s hair and makeup while the seamstress finished tailoring the dress.
The hairdresser stood behind Colleen, yanking her basic brown hair into place and tying it off with tight elastics, when Colleen’s phone chimed. A pang of guilt bumped her even though she had been notifying Anjali practically every hour, on the hour, as to her location.
But the chime wasn’t for a text. It was for a Sherwood Forum direct message, and her cringe turned to a blush when she saw the name on the phone read Twist the TwistyTrader.
Memories of the Devilhouse rolled back, and her skin tickled at the thought of his hands and his tongue on her.
How are you? he DM’d.
Colleen swiped her thumb over the screen without wiggling as best she could. I’m doing okay.
Are you alone?
No. There’s someone here with me.
Go somewhere private.
Embarrassment flushed through her and heated her face. I don’t know if I can.
I said, go somewhere private.
Colleen swallowed her trepidation and looked up as if she could see over her scalp and behind herself at the lady doing her hair. The bathroom ceiling was painted pristine white, and the space was larger than her studio apartment back in Phoenix. The gold marble tub was so big that she could have floated in a bath like a starfish bobbing on waves. I really can’t, but we should talk.
Twist typed, Yes, we should talk. Perhaps we could do a short voice call.
I really can’t right now, Twist. Maybe tomorrow? I’m really sorry, um, sir, but I can’t talk to you right now or tonight. My new job has me really busy.
Oh, she felt terrible about that.
And yet, she shouldn’t feel bad about it. Tristan King didn’t own her. He didn’t have exclusive rights to her body just because they’d boinked once. Boinking wasn’t a commitment.
She typed, But yeah, I need to talk to you, too.
Two hours later, the lady had finished doing Colleen’s hair and makeup so exquisitely that Colleen barely recognized herself in the mirror, her eyes large and doe-like and her lips a puffy Cupid’s bow. The lady had even shaped and painted Colleen’s nails.
A short time later, Colleen had been crowbarred into the gold dress, and she stood in the living room with her hands outstretched, afraid to move lest she wrinkle or smudge herself.
Jian Laio had inspected her, grinned a conspiratorial smile and winked, and left the suite.
Tristan emerged from one of the bedrooms, wearing a different, darker suit. He glanced at her and said gruffly, “You look amazing,” and looked away, almost scowling.
Colleen set her fists on her hips. Damn the wrinkles. “Is there a problem?”
