He places a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”
“Oh, my poor baby,” I clutch my chest and throw a fake pout for him, “Life is so unfair to you.”
He nods sadly. I chuckle, rolling my eyes as I return my attention to the laptop. “Take your family members." I mutter.
“That was my first thought.” He admits, “But Vedant is attending with his girlfriend, Radhika and Ma are out of town to meet Ma’s friend, she’s ill.” That explains why he’shere annoying me instead of emotionally blackmailing family members.
“Take a potted plant.” I feign a sweet smile.
He chuckles and stares at me, I almost squirm under his intense gaze and I DO NOT do squirming, no matter who sits opposite me. He softens his voice. “I’ll owe you one. I promise.” That should not matter. It absolutely should not matter. But something stupid inside me still listens when he sounds sincere. I hate that part of myself.
I lean back in the chair and cross my arms. “Your events are high class,” I say. “I do not own dresses for rich people networking rituals, so I cannot help you anyway.”
He goes suspiciously still. Then claps once.
I frown. “What?”
The door behind him opens. Two people roll in a garment rack covered in protective plastic with at least ten dresses hanging from it. Another woman follows with a mobile makeup case the size of my monthly budget.
I stare at them. Then at Aryan. Then back at the rack. Then at Aryan again. “What the hell?”
He smiles with zero shame. “I came prepared.”
“You are insane.”
“I prefer thoughtfulness.”
“You assumed I’d say yes.”
“I believed in myself.”
I am speechless. Actually speechless. The stylists stand politely near the wall like this is a normal Tuesday. It is not. Nothing about this man is normal. Nothing about the fact that he knew I would say yes, that somewhere I knew too I would cave in for this man is normal.
“Anything you need is here,” he says casually. “If you need something else, I can get it here right now.”
I look at the rack full of silk and satin and things I’m scared to breathe near. “I don’t think I can need anything beyond this,” I say before I can stop myself.
He grins like he won something. Which he did. I hate it. “I’ll let you get ready,” he says, standing.
At the door he turns back. “And Sunshine?”
“What?”
“Try not to look too stunning. I have business to conduct.”
I throw a pen at him. He ducks and laughs his way out. The woman nearest me smiles kindly. “Shall we begin, ma’am?”
Ma’am.
I nearly look behind me. No one has ever called me ma’am while presenting me with designer clothing. This feels like an out-of-body experience. I stand slowly and walk to the dresses. My fingers brush fabrics softer than anything I own. Deep blue, champagne gold, black velvet, silver sequins, red satin.
Then my eyes land on a beautiful gown.
Emerald green.
Simple but elegant. One shoulder, fitted waist, slit on one side.
The exact shade of his eyes.
