My breath catches. From his calm expression and matter-of-fact tone, he believes what he’s saying. I can’t look away as he gazes at me. My heart flutters, but not all of it is sweet, even though his words were so tender. It’s the kind of sensation you get when you want to cry a little, too, for some inexplicable reason.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Rhys
Angelo drives us to a salon owned by my longtime personal shopper Danica No-Last-Name. She’s one of the most fashionable and experimental people I know, although her picks never cross the line into the bizarre, like pineapple hats or lobster corsets.
The location is new—she just opened it last year. Chrome and polished earth-tone tiles that look like marble create a chic, elegant ambience, while several pots of deep purple orchids say expensive and classy. I inhale the soothing scent of sandalwood and nutmeg in the air. Danica said it was her own blend, not for sale, when I asked about it. Lots of fairy lights emit a soft glow to flatter you in selfies. I don’t bother with social media, but a great many of her clients do.
She greets us, her almond-shaped gray eyes crinkling. Her brown hair is pulled into a high ponytail, which goes well with a jaunty little pink dress with a flaring skirt and booties the color of pale chocolate milkshake. “Max, right? You’re so pretty,” she says to Max, sizing her up.
“Thanks. So are you.”
Danica’s smile widens. “Rhys never told me you were this good looking. I should’ve known, though. He’s very particular. Heard you lost everything in that horrible apartment fire.”
Not only did it make the news just on the basis of being a horrific incident, but for the absurdity of it being a viralchallenge gone wrong. Another reason I stay away from social media—it rots your brain and destroys common sense.
“Yeah, I kinda did,” Max says. “So I need to replace some basics—like work clothes and shoes.”
“And accessories,” I add. Max looks at me with surprise. I shrug. “Gotta complete the outfit.”
Danica nods. “He’s right. But I have somereallynice items for you to try.”
She leads us to an airy room with two plush off-white leather seats and a low table. On the top sit several colorful catalogues, along with fabric and leather samples, and a tray with some fresh-cut fruit, chocolate truffles and bottled water. Danica doesn’t usually serve chocolate because I’m not a big fan, but I texted her to bring some out for Max.
“If we can’t find anything you like, we can tailor something, but that takes a while,” Danica explains.
“I’m sure we can find something,” Max says quickly.
“I think so, too. I have some fabulous stuff. Give me a sec. And please, help yourselves. If you want wine or champagne, just let me or Vanessa know.” She disappears.
Max twists the cap off the water while looking around. “I didn’t think I’d ever use Danica’s service.”
“She’ll do you right. I wouldn’t have brought you here otherwise.” I lounge comfortably on the couch, my arm draped along the back. I enjoy watching Max taking everything in, her eyes bright. Truly a rewarding woman to spoil.
Danica soon returns with a rack of dresses and a dolly full of boxes of shoes. “Here. Let’s try these first.” She gestures at the dressing room. “Go ahead.”
Max nods and disappears behind the door. There is a faint rustling of fabric and my mouth dries as I imagine Max undressing, the black dress sliding down her gorgeous curves. I draw in an unsteady breath as my mind conjures images ofher leaning against the wall with her legs spread and her pelvis rocking. Or her on her knees, pulling my cock into her hot mouth, her eyes on mine, lust flushing her face as she sucks me off.
I shift and try to think about something boring or gross, but can’t come up with anything. Finally, I pull out my phone and start going through my email. Although she handles most of it, a lot still require my personal attention.
I read a message from Beissen with a scowl, then make a voice memo with instructions for Max. It isn’t my fault its executives are incompetent and the price isn’t as high as the shareholders would like. If they cared about the company as much as they care about the share price, it might run better and I’d be spared this nonsense.
They’re lucky I’m not a lawyer, because I might tack on an idiot surcharge.
I go over the next one. Ohimesama is less inane, but also full of non-news. Just the way the Japanese do things—they drag their feet until they make up their mind. But once they commit, they go all the way. I type up some guidance for the team.
There’s a text from Grandmother’s assistant:
–Georgia: Did you get a chance to review the list? Any questions?
I make a face. Unlike Marie or Camilo, she’s actually competent, which means she’s more annoying. I can’t just brush her off or distract her with some random trivia, like how cats can supposedly jump up to six times their own body length, or which porn star has the biggest breasts. The latter would get Marie and Camilo going for hours, but I can just mute them and enjoy the peace and quiet.
–Georgia: Sorcha is open-minded and prefers that you marry one you like.
–Me: How very kind. And here I was thinking about marrying a woman I despise, just to please her.
–Georgia: That’s uncalled for.
