Page 39 of Bred By the Sheikh

One of the women from the creative team sat across from me, deeply interested in her tablet.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly.

By four, we had a revised deck ready to send to Amanda and three visual sequences moving into final development.

At four-fifteen, a woman from the hotel’s luxury retail team appeared beside my chair.

“Ms. Campbell?”

“Yes?”

“I’m here regarding evening wardrobe options.”

I blinked.

She smiled.

“We were told your travel was arranged on short notice and that you may need appropriate clothing for the gala and other evening events. We can bring selections to the residence, or you’re welcome to view them privately downstairs.”

Of course they could.

This hotel could probably produce a ball gown, a helicopter, and a string quartet with forty minutes’ notice.

“Who arranged this?”

“The residence authorized access.”

Maybe Tariq had authorized it without turning it into a personal shopping expedition.

If so, that was smart.

“I’d like to choose downstairs.”

“Of course.”

Thirty minutes later, I stood in a private fitting room surrounded by dresses that almost certainly cost more than my first car.

I rejected three immediately.

One made me look like I was auditioning to become someone’s wealthy aunt.

Another had enough structural engineering in the chest to qualify as commercial architecture.

The third was beautiful but beige.

I’d worn enough beige in corporate life.

Then I tried on the blue one.

Deep sapphire silk skimmed my breasts, narrowed at my waist, and fell smoothly over my hips to my ankles. The neckline dipped enough to be unmistakably evening without making me feel exposed, and the color turned my eyes almost painfully blue.

I studied my reflection.

My stomach was still soft, my hips still wide, and my breasts still very much present.

None of that changed when I turned sideways.

But the dress didn’t ask me to hide any of it.