Page 13 of Bastard In A Suit, Vol. 3

Chapter 7

I waketo an empty bed and the sound of rushing water in the bathroom. A lazy smile sweeps across my face. I stretch out, unwrapping myself from the tangle of sheets. My eyes close, open, close. I must have dozed off, because when I open them for real, Duke is already dressed, attaching cuff links to his sleeves.

“Good morning,” I say, admiring the way he fills out a suit. He fiddles with his tie and I sit upright. “Want a little help with that?”

I try to sound sexy, confident, but Duke sloughs me off with barely a glance.

“We’ll be leaving in about fifteen minutes,” he says. “I had someone deliver an appropriate work outfit. I trust you don’t want to go to the office in the same clothes again.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

Duke yanks on his tie, pulling the knot tight. He’s dressed in charcoal today, with a pale gray shirt that almost looks silver, and a teal tie. “Do you need more time to get ready?” he says without a trace of emotion.

What I need is a mood stone. After his nightmare, Duke had curled into me until we’d both fallen asleep, our naked bodies providing comfort and warmth. I wasn’t sizing up wedding dresses and naming our children yet, but I assumed, perhaps with a little too much haste, that the tides had turned for us.

I pull the covers up over my chest. “I hadn’t planned on going into the office.” Even though the neighbor is looking after my cat, Onyx isn’t the only thing about home I miss—my make-up, my hair products, fresh underwear, a new bra. And much as I enjoy Duke’s expensive java, my “I’d Kill For A Cup of Coffee” mug is just the right size and weight.

Duke sighs. “Are we really going to do this again?”

“Do what?” I peel off the covers and swing my feet around so they touch the floor. Cool air breathes across my skin. I stretch, extending my torso to work out the morning kinks—but in reality, I’m hoping the sight of my naked body, nipples hard, will nudge him out of whatever’s put him in a bad mood. “There is literally nothing for me to do there,” I remind him.

With the MicroTracker bagged as evidence, and Forrest taking an undetermined amount of time off, my skills will remain dormant. I refuse to be one of the many people that are paid to be at Duke’s beck and call. No way. I’ll go back to my apartment, do laundry, play with my cat, and try to figure out my next move.

Duke’s expression softens. “There are a number of things I could use your help with,” he says. “Please, I’d like you to join me.”

It’s the “please” that does it. Well, that and the anticipation of seeing what he bought for me to wear. My mind goes to dirty places, and I snicker at the thought of me prancing around the office in a French Maid costume. When I realize I’ve been busted laughing, I sober up. “Give me twenty minutes?”

“Very well. There are towels in the bathroom, unless you’d prefer one of the other showers.”

I can almost guarantee they don’t smell like Duke, and even in this awkward moment, I’m drawn to his scent, his overwhelming presence. He doesn’t just command the space, he commands my every thought. I’ve yet to figure out how dangerous that may be for my health.

The pencil skirt Duke ordered fits me like a glove, accenting the soft curve of my hips, and cinching around my narrow waste. It’s black, classy, and hangs just below the knees. Considerably more conservative than I thought. Inside the garment bag, I also find a pretty burgundy blouse with lace cuffs and a steep plunging neckline, and a black lace bra, C cup. No underwear.

I scrounge around in my purse until I find my compact and apply a thin layer of powder. I use the light pink gloss to rouge my cheeks before applying it to my lips. I study myself in the mirror. This will have to do.

We don’t take the Lamborghini to the office, just the car with his regular driver. There is no singing, no holding hands. In fact, Duke spends most of the ride on his phone, answering the chauffeur’s questions with curt responses and mine with even less enthusiasm. I fiddle with my purse strap. Play with the buttons on my blouse.

By the time we get to Kingston Industries I’m bordering on tears. Why is he being so cold?

We stroll through the front lobby together, but we might as well be strangers. There is silence as I scan my access card, a curt smile from the receptionist, and then more non-talking as Duke and I ride the elevator up to the penthouse.

“Is something bothering you?” I say.

Duke glances up from his phone. “Why do you ask?”

I clear my throat. “You’re just really…quiet.”

“Focused,” he says. “I have a busy day ahead of me.”

Right. I get it. He’s a businessman, and I’m merely an employee. At the office, I accept that—maybe even demand it—but he showed me not one ounce of affection this morning, and for some reason, it stings much more than it should.

“Coffee,” he says, once seated at his desk.

I stand for a second, confused until I realize he expects me to fetch him a cup. Okay, then. I set my bag down at my desk, smooth out my skirt, and walk to the coffee station to pour us each a mug. I add two sugars to mine, a splash of cream to his, and take them back to his desk, then take a seat in the leather chair across from him.

“What are you doing?” he asks, an edge in his voice now.

“Waiting,” I say.