I wonder if her bra matches them.
Things I shouldnotbe wondering about my assistant. Who I inappropriately passed out on a fur rug with after we got shit-faced wasted together.
"So, you never did tell me how yourdatewith that guy from last night went," I say casually, spotting the lipstick on the side of my expensive end table lamp. My grin widens. "Must not have been too much to speak of, if you ended up with yourbossdrinking the night away."
"It went about as well as your own date last night," she huffs from the kitchen, her hands flying on the fancy coffee machine as it hisses and smokes. "And mine wasn't a date. He offered, I declined. It's not what I'm looking for."
I look around some more, piecing together our night as I pluck her heels from the floor and set them by the door. "So whatareyou looking for?" I spot her phone, which she'd abandoned looking for to pivot to coffee, which sounds divine right about now. "From a curious outsider's perspective, strictly speaking."
"Nothing," she mutters, letting me know thereissomething she's looking for, she just doesn't want to tell me. "I just wasn't interested, so I told him to bugger off, and went home."
My fingers trail over the clean countertop as I take a seat at the breakfast bar and wait patiently for her to set the coffee I know she's making for me in front of my waiting hands. She doesn't put that much cream in hers, so I know it's not herself she's making it for. "Ah. Interesting. You wenthome."I think about what she'snotsaying, wondering how far I can push before it's too far to come back from. I don't want to spook her. I like Denali, as a woman, and as my assistant. I'd hate to lose her as either. "And yet, here you are."
"And yet, here I am," she echoes, setting my coffee down in front of me. Those hands of hers are quick, and she snatches her phone from my grip, grinning wickedly at her victory. "Now, what the hell was it that I needed to do this afternoon?"
Those long, manicured nails fly over her screen and she stares hard at it for a second. Then, her face contorts into one of frustration and confusion.
"Something wrong?"
I get a phone in my face for my trouble, damn near taking my coffee out in the process. "It saysGala RSVP.But you did that for me already, didn't you?"
"I did. So what the hell is this in here for?"
The phone falls to the counter as I cover her hand with mine and force her to look away. "Don't worry about it. We've already had my tuxedo fitting, the RSVP is in, all that needs done is my tux needs picked up from the shop tomorrow, so I can put it on and show up."
"Oh shit, the gala really is tomorrow." She perks up, heading for my bedroom, her own coffee long forgotten. "Did you pick out a pair of shoes yet? What about your tie? And shit, you've gotta get accessories ready, too?—"
"That's what I have a stylist for, Denali," I say with a smile, taking my cup to follow her into my room, watching her fly around the walk-in closet as she searches the drawers where she's got my pieces all sorted out—rings, watches, ties, pins, all the bells and whistles. "They're paid to make me look good."
"Yeah, well sometimes they don't know what they're doing," she says with a huff of annoyance, dancing around the comment, the insinuation. I think she's just looking for something to keep her busy. "Like that time they tried to put you in pants that looked like they had three waistlines. Seriously, who thefuck?—"
"Okay, I'll give you that, they were horrible," I agree, sipping the hot concoction she made me. It's always divine, whatever she does to make it like it is, and I never have a single complaint. Hell, it's better than what I usually get at the cafe most days. "But seriously, Denali, we?—"
"Here," she says confidently, yanking a watch from my nearest drawer, "this one, I think." She flits to the next drawer, rummaging through my necklaces before settling on a chain link number that looks sharp but classy. It'll pop against the open-button collar thing I've been rocking lately, and she knows it. "It shines against your skin, since it's so dark, and it'll balance thewhite tuxnicely." Her look at me when she sayswhite tuxtells me exactly how she feels about my choice in color for that.
I let her spiral, because it's not something she needs to do, styling my look for tomorrow, but it's something she's comfortable with, and honestly, if she's so nervous that she needs to keep herself busy to prevent a fallout, I'm more than willing to enable her.
And okay, so maybe I enjoy the sight of her in my closet, her hands on my clothes, picking out what I'll wear, like she's my wife or something, a little too much.
"And we have to tell your plus one that she'll need to match you, not the other way around. You're the star, it's only fair."
I don't bother telling her that the woman on my arm tomorrow isn't going to have to worry about matching me. Because that woman is already my perfect match.
chapter twenty-one
Denali
Kai is late.He'sneverlate. I'm starting to lose my damn mind over this. Of all days to start a new habit, and a bad one at that, and he chooses the day of the gala?—
"Kaito Kobayashi, you're going to miss the gala if you keep dragging your feet?—"
"Jeez, full named me and everything. I'm not sure if I should be scared or aroused?—"
Kai strides out of the dressing room with a smile plastered on his lips, his hands in his pockets as he saunters for the maximum effect. And to be fair, it's a hell of a look he cuts in that custom piece.
I was originally on the fence about the white tux, because everyone else would be going in black, typically—that's just how these things worked. But Kai marched to the beat of his own drum, and he went opposite what everyone else would, choosing to stand out.
It's a solid marketing tactic. But there's still the problem of whether or not he'll show up with someone on his arm, and whether she'll compliment him, or make him look like a fool.
