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“Remind me why we’re here again.”
“Because it’s good for business. Bennett needs to network and I want to see you in a dress.”
My pulse skips. I know he likes me in his t-shirts, but dressing up is fun, especially when you’re dressing up for a man like West Abbott.
We reach the front of the line, and the valet approaches. West gives my thigh one final squeeze before he opens the door and hands the driver the keys.
The next five minutes are a blur. A butler ushers us toward the steps, staff swooping in to collect our garment bags before I can even protest. The marble foyer smells faintly of lilies and polish, every surface gleaming, every corner busy with housekeepers straightening cushions and wait staff ferrying trays of champagne flutes.
The sound of string music drifts down from the mezzanine, mixing with the faint rumble of laughter and conversation spilling in from the back of the house. Bennett cranes his neck to take it all in, while West moves like he belongs here.
A woman in black silk and pearls sweeps down the stairs, clipboard in hand, directing us toward a hallway lined withdoors. “Dressing rooms are through there. Ladies on the left, gentlemen on the right.”
Bennett gawks at her like she’s stepped off a movie set, then stumbles after the staff carrying his suit bag.
West watches him go, shaking his head. “It’s like dropping a kid off at summer camp. I half expect him to lose a shoe.”
I bite back a laugh, nerves buzzing in my stomach, and follow the woman toward the ladies’ rooms.
It’s weird how the atmosphere changes completely when I step into the room full of women in various stages of undress. Every one of them is beautiful, cheekboned to the nine, parading around either naked or pretty close to it, unashamed of their perfect bodies.
“Would you like to take a shower?” Pearls-and-Silk asks.
“Are they communal?” I frown.
“Oh no. We have lots of private bathrooms.” She smiles at me. “You take the one marked ‘pink’ and I’ll hang up your dress. There’s a robe in there you can use if you wish.”
I nod and head to the bathroom, grabbing my toiletries from my luggage as I pull out my phone and message West.
I can’t decide if I’m in hell or Bennett’s idea of heaven. There are naked women everywhere. – Eden x
Are YOU naked? – West x
I cough out a laugh, because he might be my biggest obsession, but at heart he’s still a man. A very horny man.
No, but I will be in five minutes. It’s shower time. – Eden x
Send me a photo. Or a video. Whatever. There are about five guys trying to broker deals in here. And somebody’s already set up a poker game in the corner. I need a distraction. – West x
Hang tight there, buddy. And no pics. You’ll just have to wait for the real thing. – Eden x
By the time I’m out of the shower, my skin still overheated from the powerful spray, the dressing room has quieted down. There are hair stylists and makeup artists waiting for the next victim at their stations, but apart from their steady chatter, it feels almost serene in here compared to before.
I find my dress hanging on a rail in the corner, and of course Pearls-and-Silk appears as if summoned, slipping it from my hands before I can protest.
The gown is one of Autumn’s. Midnight blue silk, cut on the bias so it clings in all the right places without feeling tight. The neckline dips into a soft V, not too low, but enough to hint. But the back is the real showstopper, a deep scoop that leaves my skin bare from my shoulder blades down. I trail my fingers over the fabric. Of course Autumn picked this for me to wear. Sophisticated, sleek, the kind of thing that whispers money without screaming for attention.
I stare at my reflection, half amazed, half unsettled. Who is this perfectly dressed woman staring back at me?
“That’s beautiful,” a soft voice says.
I turn to see one of the most stunning women I’ve ever laid eyes on. She’s tall, with legs that seem to go on forever, poured into a pale champagne gown that clings to her like it was custom-made for her body. Her hair is sleek and glossy, pinned into an artful twist that shows off the sharp line of her cheekbones. Evenher makeup is perfect – smoky eyes, lips painted in the exact shade of rose that says expensive without trying.
“Thank you.” I give her a smile. “Your dress is gorgeous, too.”
“You’re with West Abbott, right?” she asks, her tone light, but there’s a sharpness beneath it I can’t quite place.
I pull my lip between my teeth and glance down at the ring on my left finger. West insisted we both put them on before we left Liberty. Her gaze follows mine, and for a second her smile stills. A tiny crease appears at the edge of her mouth, but her eyes don’t move. They don’t give anything away.
