“How formal do you think dinner will be? They have a butler. I’m not sure if I have anything butler-formal.”
I flip open my luggage and blink, praying the clothes in my black rolling suitcase are just a mirage. A trick of the light. An optical illusion caused by my temporary brain injury.
But even after blinking rapidly, the clothes remain. “What did you do?” I ask in horror. “I packed my bag. With nice things, appropriate for a weekend in Napa. But these”—I pull out the thong he teased me about this morning—“these are the clothesyouchose.”
He walks over and inspects the contents in confusion. “But I thought you said you repacked.”
“I did!” I say in panic. I rummage through the bag, and, as I feared, all my suitable outfits are gone. “Or, well, I didn’t bother unpacking yours. I just packed a new one.”
My skirts and dresses of a tasteful length and pretty blouses are nowhere to be found. And where the hell are my sensible,comfortable underwear? The type of panties that cover your entire ass and can get you through a busy day without chafing.
I look closer and swear.
“Duncan grabbed the wrong bag! He brought the suitcaseyoupacked. I have two identical black ones, so I didn’t notice.” I turn to face him, my hands on my hips, and glare with all the menace I can muster. At least I like to think I’m menacing, but at five foot three, I know that’s probably my delusion.
“Crap,” he says. But then holds a hand up. “Why the hell do you have two identical bags?”
“It made it easier when we had back-to-back trips scheduled with no time between them. I had a system,” I defend. “And don’t look at me that way. If you hadn’t packed a suitcase full of these ridiculous clothes, there wouldn’t have been any confusion. Why do you have to be such a menace?”
“I’m really sorry, Em,” he says, looking sincerely remorseful. But then he ruins it by perking up. “Maybe there’s a silver lining. I bet the clothes you planned to bring were the type you’d wear to a business conference. I bet nothing was appropriate for this house party.”
“And this is?” I grit out, holding up a red dress with a deep décolletage.
He smiles at it admiringly. “Frankly, I’m surprised you own such a beauty. Mancini’s old-school. Look around. He likes a little glamour.”
“We’re not going to dinner in a bordello,” I say in horror.
“And you call me dramatic. You’ll look gorgeous. Come on, I dare you.”
I narrow my eyes.
“If you hate it so much, why was it even in your closet?” Sebastian blusters.
“It’s not mine.” My stomach does a flip, imagining having to show up to dinner more bare than dressed. “It’s Sadie’s. And Idon’t actually hate it. It’s one of her clubbing outfits. You know, the type of clothes a college student wears for a night out in the city to get drunk and get laid. It’s not what someone wears to dine with the rich and prestigious.”
I pull out a tiny pair of jean shorts and a string bikini, longing for my tasteful one-piece suit. “And these are Sadie’s as well. I would look ridiculous in them. If you ever were to wonder why I quit being your assistant, this is it. Because you don’t understand boundaries. Regardless of whether or not this was a mistake, you forget that this isn’t just a party. For me, it’s the equivalent of a job interview with Caitlin. And I need to make a good impression.”
Sebastian’s mischievous grin disappears. I refuse to respond to the starkness in his eyes. I’m too worried about looking like the poor relation in front of the other guests.
I get a flash of memory. It was Abigail Menor’s eleventh birthday party. She was the popular girl of the sixth grade. And it wastheparty to attend. I somehow got an invitation. I agonized about what to wear. I’d recently grown a few inches and I had no dresses that fit, and we had no money to buy something new. I even thought about shoplifting. In the end, I chickened out and chose the best out of bad options.
When I arrived, I knew I was utterly, horribly wrong in what I had on. All the girls were in pretty new dresses, the kind that show up inTeenmagazine. Me? I was in a cheap polyester Easter dress from years ago. It was tight across the bodice and way too short because it was meant for a child, not a growing tween. They all laughed at me behind my back, and I had to walk with careful precision and not bend down, for fear of showing all the mean girls my underwear.
Looking at the bag full of skimpy clothes, I’m right back there.
Sebastian jumps off the bed and pulls me into his arms. “I’m sorry, Em. It was spontaneous and stupid. I saw those hanging in your closet and thought maybe that’s what you wore when you weren’t at work. And I wanted to see you in something that wasn’t like a… uniform. I wanted you to have fun. And when I saw that red dress, all I could think was how it was your color. So I just started packing. I wasn’t serious. I thought maybe it would give you a nudge. That you’d keep a few items.” All the while he’s talking, he’s hugging me, loosening the anxiety. I fight him at first, but it feels so damn good.
Logically, I know I shouldn’t be so upset. It’s just clothes. And what does it matter if snobby people think I dress like a party girl? But imagining going downstairs, surrounded by all those people and feeling… lesser… has anxiety shooting through me.
“I had no idea that Duncan would grab the wrong bag. I’ll fix this.” Sebastian vows. “Give me an hour and a half, and I’ll have an entire wardrobe for you to choose from. And if, after that, you still want your other clothes, I can have them flown in and they’ll be here in the morning.”
Concern and regret are evident on his face. “I’ll make anything happen for you, baby.”
A rush of warmth suffuses my face. There it is again. That word.Baby.It confuses the hell out of me.
“And,” he continues, “you wouldn’t look ridiculous. You’d be freaking hot in that red dress. And in that bathing suit. And in every single item I packed,” he says with an intense look that leaves me breathless. “But you look amazing in everything.”
He called me hot. Does Sebastian really think I’m hot?
