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“The acquisition? The promotion? Or sharing accommodations with me?”

“All of the above,” I admitted. “A week ago I was planning client strategy. Now I’m traveling to New York City with you.”

All he did was shrug. “Life can sometimes change on a dime.”

“True,” I said just before I let out a long sigh. “But most of those changes don’t involve sharing accommodations with their new boss.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Would it matter if it did?” I countered.

“Yes.”

The simplicity of his answer caught me off guard. I’d expected deflection or sarcasm, not straightforward acknowledgment.

“Then yes, it does,” I admitted. “Not because I think you have some nefarious plan, which, let’s be clear, is entirely possible, but because—” I paused, choosing my words carefully. “Because this blurs lines that I prefer to keep clean and clear.”

“Professional and personal,” he said, not a question.

“Exactly.”

“Understandable. I can arrange separate accommodations if you prefer.”

Now I was really thrown. Did he just agree with me again? I paused for a minute to think things through quickly. “No,” I said after considering it. “That would be impractical at this point. But I appreciate the offer.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Practical as always.”

I couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or a criticism, so I let it pass without saying a word. The rest of the ride was spent mostly in silence and soon we were pulling up to The Pierre. It came as no surprise that the staff greeted Cain by name as we entered the lobby, and we were brought straight to the presidential suite without the formality of checking in or bringing our bags anywhere.

“I have meetings I need to attend,” Cain said as he held the door leading into the suite open for me. “You’ll have this whole place to yourself for a few hours.”

“Thank you,” I replied, genuinely relieved at the idea of being alone. “I have work to catch up on as well. What time should I expect the dress and the stylists?” I asked, setting my bag down on one of the plush couches in the living area. The suite was larger than my entire apartment, with floor-to-ceiling windows. I tried not to look impressed, but it was difficult. I thought about how quickly the stylists were going to have to work to make sure the dress fit me. Then again, how would they have even known my size to begin with?

“Everything will arrive at three,” Cain said, checking his watch. “The gala begins at eight. We should leave by seven-thirty.”

“And what exactly am I walking into tonight? You mentioned your mother’s charity, but I’d appreciate some specifics.”

“The Ashcroft Foundation’s annual gala. It supports arts education in underprivileged schools.” He moved toward the door. “My mother has chaired it for twenty years. You’ll meet her tonight.”

The thought of meeting Cain’s mother made me even more anxious. I didn’t have time to examine why I cared about it. “Any particular expectations I should be aware of?”

He paused at the door before looking at me over his shoulder. “Just be yourself, Sutton. That’s more than sufficient.” With that, he was gone, leaving me alone in the presidential suite of one of New York’s most exclusive hotels.

I exhaled slowly in hopes of relieving the jitteriness that was stationed in my body and took a look around the whole suite. Thankfully, Cain wasn’t lying when he said there were multiple bedrooms. After choosing one, I ordered room service and I pulled out what I needed to work. I settled down at one of the desks I found because despite everything, there was still work to be done. I spent the next few hours answering emails and checking things off my to-do list because I was trying to do everything but focus on the night ahead.

I stopped working at two-thirty to take a bath and at three o’clock on the dot, there was a knock at the door. When I opened it, I found myself facing not just one person but a small army. A woman holding a garment bag, another with a suitcase bag and some full of makeup, and a third with what appeared to be hair-styling equipment.

“Ms. Prescott? We’re here to help you prepare for tonight,” the first woman said with a small smile.

I stepped aside to let them in. “Of course. Please come in.”

My glamour team moved into the suite and immediately began to transform the living area into a makeshift styling station. The woman with the garment bag carefully hung it on a door frame, and I felt my curiosity building about what was inside.

“Mr. Ashcroft mentioned you prefer minimal fuss,” the makeup artist said as she unpacked her supplies. “I’m Vanessa, by the way. This is Elise for hair and Mira who’ll help with the dress and any last-minute alterations.”

“Nice to meet you all,” I said, trying to sound casual despite feeling like I was in some surreal movie scene. I needed to update Cassie on all of this. “I appreciate you coming.”

“Would you like to see the dress now, or shall we start with hair and makeup first?” Mira asked, her hand resting on the zipper of the garment bag.