There it is. He needs arm candy to piss off the Chadovichs some more. It all makes sense now. The nice clothes. The coffee.
“Great,” I say, my voice deflated. “Another party, I assume?”
“No,” he answers. “Dinner.”
“Oh? With your family?” I do mental inventory of the dresses on the rack at the penthouse, wondering which one would be best. Probably whichever one would look like I am going to my own funeral.
“Just us.”
Ransome’s words stop my brain like a scratched record.
“Just us? As in me and you?”
“I think that’s the definition of us, yes.”
I study him, but Ransome is unreadable.
“Okay. What time?”
“Be ready by seven.”
I nod.
Ransome pivots like he’s going to leave. Then he stops. He rubs the nape of his neck, dragging his hand up the back of his head.
“Do you like seafood?”
“I…”What in the ever-loving fuck is going on?“Yeah. I mean, I don’t splurge on it often, but?—”
“Okay. I’ll make arrangements.”
“Do you want me to—” I point at the schedule.
“No,” he answers. “No. I’ll take care of it. Otherwise, it won’t be a surprise.”
A surprise?
I round to the backside of my desk, suddenly needing to sit down. I can’t figure out if I am dreaming or hallucinating or simply losing my mind. That has to be it. Things have been wild enough that I am actually going nuts.
I sit down and take a sip of my macchiato, relishing the sweet, velvety caramel.
But then Ransome walks back in.
“Did I forget something?” I ask.
Wordlessly, he sets my phone on my desk.
Then he walks back out.
What… the… fuck?
30
AMARA
It occurs to me why there is a deep purple dress with a bunched ass and padded halter top that will no doubt make my tits look phenomenal on the rack.
Ransome had this dinner date planned before he sent the clothes to the penthouse.
