Turning to check on Fern, she was too busy ignoring me to pay them any attention, so I bent down, opening them both. They were packed with stuff, but one of them had a white envelope on top with our names on it. Opening it, I pulled out the letter.
Fern/Myth Maker,
I checked the weather for where you are and it’s fucking cold, so just in case you packed like you were off on a cruise somewhere warm, I sent you some stuff, snacks, and SOS items. And if the worst comes to the worst, the trunks are large enough for you to hide in until I can get there to rescue you.
Fern - it’s a week but if you need me, call me.
Charlie - there is no coming back from this if you don’t take care of her. Protect her like she’s yours.
Neo
Great, that was just what I needed. A reminder of how much I’d fucked up and what was at stake here. I had it all, and I’d blown it. And this week was the only chance I had to prove that I wasn’t a worthless fuck up and get our contract back with the label.
Chapter 5
Fern
I didn’t get to check out what Neo had sent us because I noticed the time and realized I had less than an hour to get ready because in the Richards’ house, we were expected to dress for dinner. Grabbing my toiletries and an outfit from the closet, I walked into the en suite bathroom.
“I’m going to shower so I can get ready for dinner. You should change too.”
“Into?” Charlie questioned, frowning deeply.
“Something more dinner worthy.”
“Aren’t we just eating with your folks and your sister?”
“Yes, but we always dress for dinner.”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “Really? That speaks volumes. Fine, I’ll change.”
I let out a grateful sigh before locking the bathroom door behind me.
Forty-five minutes later, I’d washed and dried my long silver hair before I wrapped it in a bun at the base of my neck, knowing Mum would make some comment about the new color. My makeup was in place and I couldn’t help the grimace as I looked in the mirror. I’d not dressed like this for years, but it felt like a familiar uniform as I took in my reflection.
Stepping out of the bathroom, Charlie was sitting on the foot of the bed, fiddling with his phone. He looked up and then looked away before his gaze flew back to me, his eyes widening. “What the fuck, Fern?”
“What?” I asked, knowing what was coming.
“You went into the bathroom looking like a young woman who works for a successful, international record label and came out looking like a middle aged Stepford wife. Are you wearing a twinset and pearls?”
“Fuck off. I’m not wearing pearls.”
His hand dragged over his face. “But you’re wearing a twinset?”
I stood in front of the full length mirror and smoothed down my calf length black pencil skirt that I’d paired with black two inch heels, so I didn’t add to my height—because men don’t like tall women—along with a lemon, high-necked top, and matching cardigan that I’d buttoned up.
“No wonder you hate being here if this is how you have to dress just to eat. For fuck’s sake.”
Charlie was now standing behind me, his hands on his hips, looking at me with disbelief.
“I thought I asked you to change into something more suitable.” My tone was clipped, but it wasn’t aimed at him. I was annoyed at myself for falling back into old ways so easily.
Holding out his arms to the side, he did a slow spin. “I changed into a shirt.”
And he had. He now wore a black button up with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his corded forearms. His top three buttons were unfastened, letting me catch another glimpse of the ink on his chest.
“I meant a suit. Dad will expect you to wear a suit.”
