That night, I dreamt of steel eyes and strong hands, and woke up tangled in my sheets, breathing hard, feeling hunted.
I told myself I'd never see him again. That men like Christian Hawthorne didn't remember girls like me after charity functions.
I was wrong.
"Holy sleigh bells, is that the dress?" Lily's shriek makes me jump so high I nearly knock over the display of crystal snowflakes I'm arranging. She's standing in the doorway of the back room where I've hung the garment bag, the zipper partially open to reveal a glimpse of emerald velvet. "Sophie Winters, you've been holding out on me!"
"Shh!" I glance nervously toward the front of the shop where Mrs. Henderson is examining handpainted ornaments. "It's just a dress, Lil."
"Just a dress? Like the Hope Diamond is just a rock?" Lily marches over, flipping the price tag still dangling from thesleeve. Her eyes bulge. "Holy—Sophie, this costs more than my car payment!"
I snatch the tag away, cheeks burning. "I know. It's obscene. I'm returning it after tonight."
"You most certainly are not." Lily folds her arms across her chest. "Christian Hawthorne gave you his credit card. Clearly, he wants you to make an impression."
"A professional impression," I clarify, moving past her to straighten a row of music boxes. "For his business associates. Who might want to order custom pieces for their corporations."
Lily follows me, her red curls bouncing with each determined step. At five feet nothing, she still somehow manages to loom when she's on a mission. "Sweetie, men don't hand out platinum cards for 'professional impressions.' He wants to see you dolled up. For him."
"That's ridiculous." I arrange and rearrange the same music box three times. "He's a billionaire. He could have any woman he wants."
"And apparently, he wants you." Lily leans against the counter, examining her fingernails like they contain the secrets of the universe. "Not that I blame him. You're gorgeous. You just don't see it because you've been hiding behind handmade ornaments since college."
I roll my eyes, but warmth creeps into my cheeks anyway. "One dance at a charity auction doesn't mean anything. He probably forgot about it the next day."
"Yes, men regularly forget about women they paid fifty thousand dollars to dance with." She gives me a look that could wither artificial Christmas trees. "That's why he showed up in your shop the minute he heard about it. That's why he's demanding you attend his fancy-pants gala tonight. That's why he personally ordered you to buy something 'appropriate' with his money. Because he's forgotten all about you."
Mrs. Henderson approaches with three ornaments, saving me from having to respond. After I wrap her purchases and she leaves, Lily pounces again.
"What time is he sending the car?"
"Seven," I mutter, busying myself with tidying the register area. "And it's not 'his car.' It's a driver. Probably some car service his company uses for out-of-town guests."
"Mmhmm." Lily's skepticism could power a small city. "And what are you doing with your hair?"
"I don't know." I touch my blonde waves self-consciously. "Up, maybe? What does it matter?"
"It matters because Christian Hawthorne is going to want to run his fingers through it, and updos make that difficult." Her grin is positively wicked.
"Lily!" I glance around, though the shop is empty now. "Stop it. This isn't—he doesn't—" I take a deep breath. "It's business. End of story."
"Sure, if the business is 'how quickly can he get you horizontal.'"
"Oh my god." I bury my face in my hands. "You're terrible."
"I'm honest." She picks up a snow globe, shaking it absently. "My cousin works in the administrative office at Hawthorne Enterprises. Says the man has never—and she means never—brought a date to the company gala. Not once in the five years she's worked there."
Something flutters in my stomach. I squash it immediately. "I'm not his date. I'm a vendor. A local artisan he's showcasing."
"Sophie." Lily sets down the snow globe and takes my hands. "You're telling me a man who could display Tiffany and Cartier products at his gala is instead featuring handmade ornaments from Winter Wishes? The shop whose owner coincidentally made him pay fifty grand to hold her for three minutes?"
When she puts it like that, it does sound...unlikely.
"Maybe he wants to support local businesses," I suggest weakly.
Lily snorts. "Maybe he wants to support getting you out of that dress later tonight."
"Lily!"
