Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I blinked, processing this information. “What exactly did he say?”
“He wanted to make sure you were properly outfitted for the event, no matter the cost. His words.”
“You heard the woman, Raina.” Wren’s grin turned smug. “That means shoes too.”
“Of course,” Diana agreed, and the gleam in her eye suggested she was already calculating the commission. “What size do you wear? I’ll start pulling options right away.”
“Size eight,” Wren answered for me. We’d worn the same size for years and regularly borrowed each other’s shoes.
The associate hurried off, and Wren turned to me with a knowing look. “So. Your boss is wealthy, generous enough to buy you an expensive gown and shoes without blinking, and—according to you—secretly a softie—”
“That’s not what I said,” I interjected, but she talked right over me.
“—and you clearly like him. Which leaves only one vital question.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Is he hot?”
“He’s my boss! What he looks like is irrelevant.” I shifted my attention to the dress, brushing away an imaginary piece of lint. My traitorous cheeks were warming again.
Wren’s laugh came out as something closer to a cackle. “Oh my God. He is hot, isn’t he?”
I didn’t want to admit it—not even to her—because I knew it was dangerous to acknowledge my attraction to Simon out loud. I couldn’t control my thoughts, but voicing them made everything feel more real. More reckless.
But Wren didn’t need my confession. She could read me like a book.
“I almost wish I was going to this gala,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “I’d love to see you on a date with your rich boss.”
“It’s not a date,” I countered quickly. “It’s a work event.”
Still wearing the gorgeous dress, I walked over to the chaise lounge where the associate was arranging an array of black heels for me to try on—some pointed, others rounded or square-toed, with heels ranging from sensible to dangerously tall. I’d be on my feet most of the evening, socializing at Simon’s side, so I reached for a pair with a more modest heel.
“Fine, not a date,” Wren conceded, settling into a plush chair nearby. “But hear me out. What if you pretended it was?”
I side-eyed my friend. “What does that even mean?”
“Have some fun, Raina. Hot guy. Fancy party. Expensive champagne. Take advantage of it. And him.” Her smile turned wicked. “Maybe even end the night in a way that helps release some of that tension you’ve been carrying around.”
My eyes widened. “Are you telling me to get laid?”
“Specifically, I’m telling you to shag your hot boss,” she said unapologetically.
I stared at her incredulously. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Not at all. I just think your dry spell has reached tragic proportions.”
“It hasn’t been that long.” I latched on to that point rather than engaging with the absurd suggestion of sleeping with my boss.
“Ahh, she protests too much,” Wren said dramatically. “I know it’s been a while. Since Eli, right?”
I shot her a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. She was right, of course. About the dry spell and about Eli. Not about shagging Simon. That would be insane.
Wren raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll mind my own business.” She paused, then added, “Just keep in mind that orgasms are good for your mental health.”
A startled laugh escaped me. The associate had just returned with another pair of shoes, and she let out a small snicker at Wren’s words before hastily setting down the box and retreating.
“I think you scandalized her,” I said, trying on my second pair. The first had pinched my toes—absolutely not an option for an entire evening on my feet.
“I’m just stating facts. Orgasms relieve stress.”
“So does yoga.”
“You can incorporate yoga if you want.” Wren’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Position your feet behind your head, or get into a downward dog, and I bet Mr. Bossman will help you achieve real enlightenment.”
The associate had returned again—truly terrible timing—but she managed a smile as she met my eyes.
“How are we doing, ladies?” she asked us. “Can I bring more champagne?”
“No, thank you,” I said, standing to test the second pair. The heel was reasonable, with a padded insole that made them almost comfortable. Black leather with a peep toe—they complemented the gown beautifully.
I turned to check the mirror and felt a rush of excitement. I looked elegant. Sophisticated. Like someone who belonged at a glamorous gala.
I once again had the urge to ask about the cost of everything, but forced myself to hold back. If Simon was willing to pay whatever was necessary to outfit me properly, who was I to argue?
Wren gave her stamp of approval, and I headed back to the dressing room to change into my own far less impressive clothing. Not long after, we walked out of the boutique. I carried a garment bag, Wren had the shoes, and Simon, well, he was down a couple grand.