“If I’d known from the beginning that Elvis only wanted us to be a partnership of convenience, I would probably have still agreed, Shiloh. I know you think I’m looking in the wrong places for true love, but the truth is that I’m not looking for true love at all. My career is my true love. There is very little I won’t give to get where I want to be.”
Her features soften, and she lets out a breath of air. “I hear you. I just think you’re wrong.”
My jaw tightens, but I try to remain reasonable. “About which part?”
“About your career being your true love. I think you’ve convinced yourself that it’s what will make you happy because you’re too scared to put your heart out on the line. Afraid someone will break it the way Elvis did.”
Again, my eyes prick. “Even if that were true, I’m committed to him now. This is the life I’ve chosen.” The lamp timer goes off, and I pull my hand out and offer it to Shiloh to check.
“One more round each hand and you should be dry,” she says.
I sl*p my left hand under again, still thinking about what she’s said about my heart and not putting myself out there. “Also, I’m confused by what you want from me. Are you saying I should put my heart on the line for Hadrian?”
“No. No, I don’t.” She considers for a moment. “I’m saying a few separate things, I guess. In my dream version of your life, you would get the job at SNC, and fine, get it by exchanging favors, if you’re good with that. But you’d also leave that f**khat of a husband of yours, and you’d find a man who loves every part of you so much that you can stop compartmentalizing and give him all of you. Not just the sexy parts. Not just the good-at-your-job parts. The whole package. Someone who loves you like I do.”
Now I want to cry for different reasons. “Well, you’re f**ked up in the head, so that’s unlikely. But for what it’s worth, I love you too.”
“Ew. You’re being squishy.”
“You started it,” I say with a laugh. “Seriously, though—you could do a YouTube show where you do a makeover for them while giving them therapy.” She says she loves that her job is low p**ssure and lots of variety, but she’s often wondering if she should try to do something more ambitious. Having her own shop has never appealed to her, and I get that. Having a show though…
“Make them up just to have them cry it off?”
“Okay, maybe the idea needs finessing. But you should think about it.” My phone starts to ring, and I glance down at the ID. “Oh my God. It’s him.”
“Elvis? Oh. Hadrian.”
I nod. b**terflies take off in my stomach, and my brain goes blank. Like, what should I do? And why am I torn bet**en wanting to hear his voice and wanting to run into my bedroom and put my head under the covers?
“Are you going to answer it?” As much as she’s harped about him this morning, Shiloh sounds as excited about his call as I am.
Shook into action, I scramble to pick up the phone and push accept, ignoring her warning to, “Be careful of your nails!”
“Um, hi. Hi. Hello. Hi.” Great. I’ve suddenly forgotten how to use the English language. “What’s up?”
Shiloh covers her mouth, but I can still hear her laughing. I glare at her and take the phone with me to pace the living room.
“Get ready to go into the City. I’m on my way to pick you up.” Laid back and flirty Hadrian from Sunday night is gone. This Hadrian is all business.
“You’re…what?” I’m an hour outside Manhattan. It makes no sense. He should have had me meet him somewhere or sent a car. “You’re in a car?”
“Yes. In a car. Driving. On my way. To you.” He sounds irritated, and something about his tone makes me pretty sure he’s actually driving, not being driven.
I want to ask about that, but the other bit of info he landed on me is more p**ssing. “Get ready for what?” I look back at Shiloh, my eyes wide as I mouth, he’s on his way here.
She mouths, what? I don’t know if she’s echoing my sentiment or if she didn’t understand what I said. Either way, my attention is on the voice coming through the phone.
“It doesn’t matter what for. Dress to imp**ss.”
I blink, trying to decide if I want to be irritating or not. A glance at Shiloh, and my decision is made. I don’t want her thinking I’m being taken advantage of. Irritating as it is. “Dress to imp**ss can mean a lot of different things. It would really help to know where we’re going.”
“Like I said, it doesn’t matter where we’re going. It matters what I want you to look like.”
Something about that statement makes me feel warm. From the look Shiloh gives me, I’m sure she sees it on my face.
I turn away, ignoring her. “Okay, well, like formal? Or like for a job interview?”
“Something like what you wore in the elevator.” He sounds annoyed and impatient, but the fact that he said the elevator and not the award show gives him away. Lets me know what direction his thoughts are going.
It sends my thoughts in that direction, anyway. “Something tempting?”
“Something classy.” He’s brusque, as if our arrangement is the last thing on his mind.
My back stiffens, and when I turn once more toward Shiloh, she has a disapproving look in her eyes.
What? I mouth.
“Stand up for yourself,” she whispers.
In other words, be more irritating. “How long will this take? What if I already have other plans?”
“Don’t do that.” Even more annoyed.
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t pretend like we didn’t get this hashed out. I’m giving my Saturday up for you. When I ask you to be somewhere, you drop everything to be there. Any other woman up for an anchor job at SNC would do the same.”
I start to say something when he adds, “Even if they weren’t willing to take their clothes off.”
My face heats, thinking about what I’ve already let him do. Shiloh might be right in some ways. I’ve set a precedent with him that I can’t unset now.
But he’s right too—if I want this job, I need to cooperate. Within reason. “Fine. I’ll be ready. How long do I have?”
“I’m about to turn onto the 287.”
f**k. That’s max twenty minutes away. Fifteen minutes, knowing my luck. I start toward my bedroom, waving Shiloh to follow along with me. “That doesn’t give me much time.”
“Then you better stop talking and—” I don’t hear what else he says because I hang up on him.
I throw my phone on the bed and immediately start shedding my clothes. “I don’t have time for a shower. Can you do something with this hair?”
“We’ll do a knot.” Shiloh passes me to fl*p through the dresses. “What look are we going for?”
“Something like what I wore to the award show.” I don’t need to look at the contents of my closet to know I don’t have anything up to that level. It’s why Elvis had splurged for me to buy the zipper dress.
“You could do your black.” She holds up the generic dress I wear to almost everything. It looks good on me, but it’s not imp**ssive.
“It’s forgettable.” I already know what the best choice is. “I’ll wear the zipper dress again. It’s all I have that fits the bill.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
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