He laughs at my stubbornness. “Put on something cute.”
“Why?”
His grin widens. “Because I’m taking you out. You’ve been in my T-shirts and holed up while I’m at the trainer and the gym—sexy as hell, by the way—but I need to see you in something that gives me a boner.”
I cross my arms. “Is this a ploy to get me into a dress?”
“Absolutely. Put on something you feel pretty in.”
I stare at him, torn between laughing and launching a pillow at his head. “Where are we going?”
His mouth twitches like he’s dying to spill. “It’s a surprise.”
“YouknowI hate surprises.”
He shrugs. “Can’t you just play along? Don’t be so stubborn.”
“Did it occur to you that I might not be so stubborn if you weren’t so bossy?” I snort, walking to the closet. “You realize I’m limited in the zipper department right now and I haven’t bought anything new since I’ve been here.”
Even though the city is full of boutiques and shopping, I haven’t felt the urge to splurge.
“I’ll help,” he offers, eyes lighting up like that was his goal all along. “Hell, I’ll zip it, unzip it, and zip it again if you need me to.”
I roll my eyes. “Pervert.”
He catches my sass, laughing, then leaves the room with a wink. “I’m going to change too. Half hour, no pressure. Except for the part where my heart might explode if you don’t knock me flat on my ass.”
I stand there for a second after the door shuts, smiling like a fool.
Then I ditch the half-packed suitcase and pull out the one dress I stuffed into my duffel “just in case.” Black.
I step into the bathroom, smooth the dress over my hips, and study my reflection with a critical eye. The fabric clings in all the right places—soft over my hips, snug at my waist, and dipping low enough at the neckline to be classified as dangerous if I bend too far forward.
I swipe on some mascara, a little lip tint, and then smooth my hands down the sides of my dress before tackling my hair. It’s a mess of waves from too many lazy buns and pillowcase naps, but I tame it into a sleek chignon at my nape, twisting and pinning until it’s polished and elegant.
One last look in the mirror. Not bad. Not bad at all.
“Let’s do this,” I say to my reflection. “Let’s knock that man on his ass.”
I tug the hem of the dress down a touch—nerves fluttering low in my belly—then step into a pair of heels I forgot I owned. My legs thank me and curse me simultaneously.
When I step out of the bedroom, Callum is already waiting near the entryway in a dark suit, no tie, and a sinful amount of smirk.
His eyes rake over me slowly. Appreciatively. “Babe, you are so smokin’ hot.” I laugh, nerves fizzing in my chest as he offers his arm like some kind of gentleman-thief hybrid who just pulled off a diamond heist in Milan. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I mutter, slipping my hand into the crook of his arm.
Downstairs, a sleek black car is waiting at the curb, engine idling. The driver opens the door with a polite nod, and Callum helps me in like this is a normal Thursday night and not whatever fever dream I’ve found myself living in.
The car smells like leather and something faintly citrusy, and I sink into the seat, careful not to wrinkle my dress.
“Do I get a hint yet?” I ask as the driver pulls away from the curb, Scottsdale glittering through the tinted windows.
“Nope.”
“Not even a clue?”
“Not even a breadcrumb,” he says, tapping his fingers against his knee. “Although if it makes you feel better, I’m ninety percent sure you’ll love it.”
