“It’s this one.”I pointed to a white brick building that took up almost half the block.“But I don’t need to get out.I’ve already made up my mind.Archer, let’s buy everything possible on this block.”
He looked back at me with raised brows.“You sure?”
“Yeah.We need to move quick.Sebastian’s planning something big, and he’s already casting a wide net.We need to be there at the ready with scissors.”
Possibilities roiled through my mind as Archer instructed Trojan where to find the next property.And while we drove deeper into Queens, I pulled out my phone to let Clara know about the change in plans for tomorrow.
At the Development Council Annual Summit, we’d be rubbing elbows with everybody who was anybody in our industry.
I was ready to dive in headfirst.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CLARA
Nash promised someone would arrive at my door at eleven on the dot.
He was right.
Three crisp knocks startled me out of my midday dead-leaf pruning, an activity I was now happily pursuing given how much more me-time I had, thanks to Nash and his extremely generous business proposition.Mid-day plant tending wasn’t the only new activity I was pursuing.Now that I had money coming in, I’d started entertaining the idea of going back to school.
I was a leaf-pruning, billionaire-dating, master’s-degree-investigating single mom.Life couldn’t get wilder.I stuffed the dead leaves I’d been culling into my palm and hurried to the front door.A very patient looking man smiled at me from the hallway, garment bags draped over his arms.
“Madam Clara,” he said in a slightly French-accented voice.“These have been sent courtesy of Mr.Nightingale.”
I was too stunned to speak as I received the bags.Nash had told me to expect a delivery to help me get ready for tonight, but he hadn’t saidwhatwould be coming.The bags were weightier than they looked, and I blinked nearly a hundred times before I blurted out an inelegant, “Thanks.”
The courier smiled kindly and left.I didn’t know where to put the bags.Putting them on the couch seemed uncouth.Draped over the back of a chair?Out of the question.I finally went to my bedroom and placed the bags on my rumpled bedspread, so delicately, as if each of them might crumble if I breathed too hard or allowed the clothes to know that I had knock-off designer things in my closet.
I stood there breathing heavily for a moment.Truthfully, I was scared to see what was in there.I was scared to know how much it all cost.I was terrified about the evening ahead in general.
When Nash had texted me yesterday about the change in plans—from casual get-to-know-you dinner to high-octane Developers Summit—I wondered if I was out of my league.Somehow, the contents of these bags would help me decide if this entire thing was a fool’s mission.
My phone chirped from the other room, and I scrambled to get it.
NASH: You got the delivery?
CLARA: I did.Still gathering the courage to peek inside.
NASH: I sent options.Let me know what you like best.
CLARA: What if I like all of it?
NASH: Just send pics so I can figure out what I’m going to wear.
Goosebumps prickled along my arms.I looked around my bedroom in shock.Was this my life now?Receiving luxury garment bags, trying things on, sending pictures to my billionaire betrothed?I squealed, tossing the phone to the bed.
I unzipped the top bag.
“Holy shit.”I stepped back, clasping a hand over my mouth as I took in the first dress.Emerald green, intricate beadwork, and absolutely no fraying seams or discount tag to be seen.Just seeing it lying on my bed, I knew it was gorgeous enough.I couldn’t even imagine putting it on my body.Inside the second bag was a midnight blue silk gown, potentially even more gorgeous than the green one.And the last bag contained a classic black dress that screamed old Hollywood glamour.
And somehow, I was supposed to choose.
“Okay.Just try them on.They’re dresses.They’re meant to be worn.”The pep talk didn’t stop me from handling these things like they’d evaporate into thin air if I moved too quickly.I opted for the black dress first, since it was on top.Once it was on, I realized it fit perfectly, which also blew my mind.When Nash had asked me for my measurements yesterday, I’d been embarrassed to hand them over.I wasn’t the waifish thing he’d met four years ago, not after my pregnancy, my postpartum depression, and all the stress eating that had become a regular fixture in my life.But he assured me it was to expedite the process.And now I understood.
After I stared at myself on the full-length mirror hanging on my closet door for what seemed like a half hour, I remembered to take some pictures.I snapped up my phone, unsure of what types of pictures a man like him would expect.Full curves?Cleavage?Or maybe stoic and to the point?Head cut off, just the body and fabric?I took far too many photos of me in the dress, trying out a variety of facial expressions and bodily angles.I didn’t have my shapewear on either, so it was hard catching the right angle that didn’t make me feel insecure.Finally, frustration won and I tossed the phone aside again.Time for the next dress.
The midnight blue dress came next.It hugged my body in ways that nearly made me weep.I’d never felt so beautiful, and this was without hair or makeup done, and zero shapewear.I twirled in the mirror, giggling maniacally.This is real life.After the requisite photos, I moved on to the emerald green dress.Just as beautiful as the last, and the joy shone in my face as I snapped more pictures for Nash.
