“But you’re going away with him for the weekend? That’s kind of a big deal, Bri.”
“It’s not like that. It just kind of… came up.” I don’t know how to explain this without telling her the whole thing.
“And who would say no to spending the night with that hottie,” she laughs.
“We’re not having sex or anything.”
Holly looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You’ve spent every night this week with him, and you guys haven’t slept together?”
“No, no… No.” I hadn’t even thought about sleeping with him. He’s my boss. The devil in a very attractive disguise.
Okay, maybe a rogue thought crossed my mind on occasion, but I’m only human. Besides, I highly doubt the wealthy, gorgeous mogul is keeping himself awake with thought of me.
“Well, no time like the present.” Holly waggles her brows suggestively. “I have a cute little pajama set you should borrow.” I give her a warning look, but she just shoots me a knowing glance back. “It’s better than the sweats you usually wear. You can’t go on a weekend getaway with a guy you’re dating with a baggy T-shirt and stained sweatpants.”
“They’re not stained,” I mumble, but Holly is already up. She comes back a minute later with a pair of pink silk pajama pants and a tank top. It isn’t as skimpy as I was expecting, to be honest. The thought of Damian seeing me in that instead of my usual pajamas makes my belly swoop. “Okay, yeah. Throw them in my bag.”
I get up off the bed and put a single sweatshirt on top of the pajamas, picking up and putting down every other article of clothing that I touch. I know I’m overthinking this, but I can’t get out of my own way. I pick up my phone and shoot a text off to Damian, hoping that will help.
Me: What are you wearing?
The three dots appear immediately, then stop. Then pop up again, disappearing just as fast. Finally, the text comes through.
Valentine: Getting into character already? I appreciate that kind of initiative. Gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt.
My face heats as I see what I did wrong there.
Me: I meant what are you wearing this weekend? What are you packing for clothes?
Me: But now that you told me, I have to say I’m having a really hard time picturing you in anything other than a suit.
Valentine: Do you need a visual?
My hand freezes as I reread that text a couple of times. A tightness squeezes at my chest, the seconds ticking by.
I respond at the same time a new message pops up.
Valentine: I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. I shouldn’t have sent that.
Me: Yes, I think I do.
Shoot. What am I doing? This conversation is getting away from me. Had I waited two more seconds, I would have received his message, accepted his apology, and moved on. Now I have a message—to my boss—that is distinctly asking for a picture of himself.
I am halfway through a message explaining that I was joking when an image comes through of Damian dressed exactly like he said. Gray sweatpants and a plain white tee. His face is cut off, so it just showcases his body.
“Damn, girl,” Holly says, looking over my shoulder. “Are you sure you’re not getting in on that? You can send him my way, you know.”
“Shut up. You’re obsessed with Jordan, anyway.”
“Yeah. Which is too bad, because that man is fire.”
I look back at my phone to see another text has come through.
Valentine: Your turn
“Well, that looks like my cue to leave. If I don’t see you before you leave, have fun this weekend.” Holly wiggles her fingers as she backs out of my bedroom.
I roll my eyes. “Love you. Good night.”
