Page 52 of In Love and Revenge

I pull the leggings and t-shirt on then gather my wet clothes into a pile. Movement in the dressing area as I step out catches my eye.

Rafael’s standing inside, pushing his arms into a clean, dry shirt.

‘They fit,’ he comments, his eyes dropping over me.

‘Yeah,’ I mumble, staring at him.

He pulls his shirt together across his chest, but not before I get an eyeful of short, silky-looking chest hair coating his pecs. His fingers work fast to do the buttons up, and a faint flash of red in the centre of his chest disappears from view.

Frowning, he tucks his shirt into the waistband of a new pair of trousers, and I can’t help my gaze dropping to them. When I was trying to get the tube off his hand, I swear I felt ...

‘Of course, you can’t wear them around the office. You’ll need something more suitable.’

I lift my eyes to his and he’s scowling at the t-shirt of Dove’s like it’s the first time he’s ever seen it. I glance down. The front is covered in a large logo I don’t recognise.

‘Is it from one of her clients?’ I ask, trying to decipher the image from my upside-down angle.

‘No,’ Rafael grunts. ‘Thankfully.’

His brusque tone shuts down any further questions I might have asked.

‘I can go home and change.’

He huffs. ‘It’ll take too long to get back to that place you live in.’

ThatplaceI live in? I hold back my scoff at the disgusted way he says it, like I inhabit a junkyard.

‘We’ll go out and get you something. We can make it back for my next meeting and take it in one of the conference rooms while maintenance dry out my office.’

‘We’ll go out?’ I stare at him as he expertly fastens his tie in a perfect knot.

‘We’ll get you a dress or something. We can’t take long. There won’t be time for a fashion parade.’ His lip curls into a slight sneer and I bite back any comeback I’d like to ram down his throat.

‘Fine. But I can go by myself.’

He sits on a bench and puts on a pair of fancy shoes and ties the laces. ‘Let’s go,’ he announces, standing and grabbing a new jacket from a hanger.

‘I said I can go by myself,’ I repeat, chasing after him as he strides out of the dressing room and back into his office, leaving behind a waft of his cologne in his wake.

‘And I said, “let’s go”,’ he says with a gravelly grunt like I’m testing his patience. ‘My time is usually billed at three thousand pounds an hour, Aurora. I suggest you keep up.’

I balk at the back of his head as he strides into the hallway, reassuring the members of staff who ask about the alarm that maintenance is already handling it. Rushing to keep pace with him, I practically jog into the empty, waiting lift.

‘There’s a store at the end of the street that—’

‘Huxton Atelier will have what we need,’ he clips, cutting me off.

I clamp my lips together. Huxton Atelier stocks the style of clothes I used to love wearing. I can’t even afford to look at their window displays now.

We exit into the lobby, and Rafael finally slows his pace enough that I can walk beside him without panting. The doorman holds the main door open for us and Rafael indicates for me to go first, before gesturing to a sleek black town car.

‘Good morning, Mr Fairfax,’ the driver greets, opening the back door. ‘Good morning, Miss Thorne.’

‘Good morning,’ I reply, dumbstruck that he knows my name.

‘Get in,’ Rafael clips.

I do as he says, shuffling along the leather seat of the immaculate interior as Rafael slides in beside me and the driver closes the door.