“I wasn’t thinking about it then.”
“What were you thinking about?” he asks and my cheeks heat because I remember exactly what and who I was thinking about to forget the papers.
“The number six,” I lie and turn away from him.
“Me too,” he replies but there’s a tone to his voice which sends a chill down my spine.
I get the hell out of his room before I think of the number six anymore.
That was intense.
And I left all the papers scattered. Oh my God. What am I doing?
* * *
The investigation is launched and there’s little more we can do but wait as his hired financial team from another branch make their way to Houston to figure out what has gone wrong. It’s an expensive process and that’s why he goes first usually. He has so many things to deal with, but then he is CEO so it’s to be expected.
We head out after stopping for lunch as he speaks on the phone to Pax of all people. When he offers the phone to me, I shake my head rapidly, feeling panicked, and hide behind a street vendor.
He laughs and says something to Pax, then laughs again and moments later they end the call.
“Did you just hide from a phone call? You answer the phone all the time.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know what to say unless it’s about the business or you.”
“Tell him how you are, what you’re doing, where we’re going.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing or where we’re going,” I mumble, passing stores along the way. “Did you tell him I didn’t want to talk to him?”
“I did,” he admits, chuckling when my jaw hits the floor.
“Oh my God. Why would you tell him that?”
“Because he asked to speak with you.”
“So make an excuse!”
“Like what?” He’s finding all of this so amusing.
“Like… like I’ve been hit by a car or something.”
His strong throat moves as he laughs, drawing the appraising eyes of those around us. They like what they see. Not me, but him. He’s a tanned, dark-haired, Italian American with a sharp jaw and thick brows. Age has been kind to him.
I look like milk compared to him. My skin is so white, my hair dark brown with a reddish tint, like chocolate dipped in wine. I stand out like a ghost. Not like some of the exotic beauties I’ve seen pass us and give him the eye. It’s almost embarrassing.
“What do you want to do?” he asks, something he has never asked me before.
“Find something to wear… I really need to. It’s tomorrow night and he’s basically seen my entire wardrobe at work.” I peek up at Mr. C. “You don’t have to come but I really do need to find an outfit.”
That’s my nice way of saying please leave me alone because normally he does. We don’t do this. This isn’t our thing. Usually I get to sightsee, and he stays at the hotel.
“Maybe I can help? Give you a man’s eye?”
I raise a brow. “That’s not happening, we all know what you think of my style.”
“Yeah… I’m a dick.” When I say nothing he scoffs a comical, “You’re supposed to say, no, Ezra, you’re not a dick, I forgive you.”
“And deny you your truth? It’s not often people experience epiphanies, I’m not about to get in the way of that.”
He shoves me so hard I almost fall then grabs my hand to pull me in an attempt to stop my descent, but he yanks me so hard I come back like a yoyo and slam into his chest making him grunt and dig his heels in. The entire time he’s laughing, whereas I’m clinging to the front of his shirt feeling rattled.
I glare up at him. “You’re such an ass.”
“You’re so weightless. I almost threw you through that store window.”
“I know,” I grumble, still clinging to his shirt.
He looks down at me, his hands gripping just above my elbows and something warm and comforting transpires between us. Something that drowns out the rest of the world. People walk around us as our gaze holds and my vision narrows onto him and only him.
My eyes flicker to his lips as the steady beating of his heart against my knuckles lures me in, drawing me closer.
His smile fades and his hands squeeze tighter. He swallows and traces the lines of my face with gunmetal gray eyes, so sharp and heady.
I feel him dip his head a fraction, his eyes on my moistened lips as though they’re magnets to his.
“Move!” a jogger yells and I’m shoved into Mr. C so hard my cheek squishes against his chest.
“Hey,” I whine, turning around to look for the culprit but he’s already down the street flipping me the bird over his shoulder. “ASSHOLE!”
“Come on,” Mr. C mutters, guiding me away. “Let’s find you something to wear for your date.”
Whatever that was it’s broken now so I don’t have to think about it anymore. He seems content to ignore it too. I probably imagined it anyway. The connection… the chemistry… the electricity crackling in the space around us…
It was all in my head.
I’m tired and excited to hopefully get laid and end on a good number this time.
Now I’m nervous again. I don’t know how to do sex.
It terrifies me.
* * *
“What about this?”
If you had told me last week that I’d have been shopping with Mr. C in Houston, for a date with Pax, I would have laughed and laughed and laughed.
“That’s disgusting,” I mutter, crinkling my nose up at it.
We’ve been doing this for an hour now and have been in three different stores. I’ve found nada and Mr. C keeps picking up clothes his wife would wear.
I finally find a couple of nice dresses which have long sleeves. I don’t typically like showing my arms, not because they’re hideous or disfigured but just because I don’t like showing my arms. It’s just a weird thing of mine.
One of the dresses I pick up is a dark purple velvet, it kind of reminds me of what those creepy porcelain dolls would wear.
Another is a dark red bodycon dress, a lot tighter than I’ve worn in a long time but I want to try it on for giggles.
I thank the sales lady and leave Mr. C to browse the men’s section. This is not his kind of store but he’s at least pretending it is, that makes me feel better. Credit to him for not moaning yet beyond calling me the most awkward woman he has ever met. Which must be saying something because I’ve met his wife.
“Hot date?” the sales lady asks, giving me a number to hook on the back of the door. Not that she’ll forget how many clothes I took inside seeing as I have two dresses and nothing else.
“I guess so.”
“Okay, well, try on your things in one of the rooms and if you walk further around to the left there’s a bigger room with mirrors for all angles.”
“Nifty.”
I try on the porcelain doll dress first and I love it. It makes me look so white though, like snow. I look almost like a vampire.
Smiling, I exit the changing room and whistle at the sales lady to get her attention.
I’m about to ask her what she thinks but the widening of her eyes and the clearing of her throat tells me she does not like it.
Huffing, I turn back and rip it off by body for the bodycon dress, then I exit the changing room again a few minutes later and meet her smile of apology crossed with a grimace once more.
“Wait,” she tells me, grabbing the purple dress off the hook in my room. “Can you… humor me for a minute? You have the exact same body shape as my sister and I’m looking for a birthday outfit for her.” She’s bullshitting… right? Is this allowed? “The Emilia Clark-type body… not that I’m hitting on you or anything.” She holds up her hands, still rambling. “Can you try a dress on for me?”
I peek around her to look for Mr. C but he’s nowhere to be found.
“Sure,” I respond flatly. “I’ll just change out of this.”
Her hand sticks through the curtain while I
stand naked in the mirror.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I hiss, poking my head around the curtain to look at her.
“It’s gorgeous right?”
I groan and look at the soft red satin material. The breasts are held up by tiny straps that crisscross at the back.
“When in Rome,” I mutter, “or Houston…”
I carefully slip the soft, light, red material over my head and it falls down my body like a waterfall of satin. The side against my body is soft like velvet but the outside is shiny and so simple. It clings to my breasts, holding them and hugging them before showing every groove of my flat stomach. I turn slightly impressed with how it gets to my butt and just falls over it almost fluid.
I’ve never shown this much of my body in my entire life. Not even when I had sex. I still had my top on and knee-high socks and I’m pretty sure we just yanked my panties to the side.
I feel feminine and sexy, but I don’t feel like me.
“Let me see,” she insists. “Are you decent?”
“Nope,” I respond, pulling back the curtain and biting my lip. “I’m naked. I just look like I’ve been painted red… also this thigh split is way too high.”
“You’re a six, right?” she asks, suddenly crouching at my feet.
I nod and she helps me wriggle my pale feet into strappy red heels.
“I’ve never worn heels in my life. I’m going to fall,” I warn her, and she takes my arm until I get used to them. My ankles wobble a bit but, overall, they aren’t so bad. I can imagine they’ll ache like hell in an hour though, thank heavens I’m only wearing them for a few minutes.
I stride ahead releasing my hair from its bun at her request. I think she might be attracted to me. I don’t know but this whole thing is really fucking weird.
“Can I get changed now? You’ve seen it, surely, it’s okay right? Just buy it for your sister. What’s the big deal? If she doesn’t like it then take it back.” I’m rambling but I feel so uncomfortable right now.
I turn the corner to the part where the mirror room is, praying that it’s empty though the lady assured me it is. The dress is tickling my ankles.
The second I step into the light, looking down so I don’t fall, I hear somebody spray something from their mouth and start choking.
I look up… in my state of undress… and my eyes find Mr. C gaping at me, water dripping from his mouth, more water on the wooden floor.
I scream and grab for a nearby curtain, trying to wrap it around my body, still screaming.
“Holy shit what did I do?” the sales lady cries as I tangle myself in the curtain.
“GET OUT!” I yell at him but he seems to be stuck on the spot, still gaping at me as I try to hide myself from his view.
I pull off one of my heels and throw it at his head. He ducks at the last second and escapes the room, his tanned cheeks flushed and his eyes wide and down. As he leaves, he gives me one more look and I threaten to hit him with the other shoe.
“So… he wasn’t your boyfriend?” she asks, chewing on her lip.
“NO!” I cry, feeling on the verge of tears. “He was my boss.”
“Oh shit.”
“Did he tell you to get me to try that dress on?”
When she doesn’t reply I fight the urge to scream again. What the hell was he thinking? I stomp back to my room and almost rip the scrap of fabric that he tricked me into wearing when it gets stuck under my arms.
I get dressed at record speed and grumble my way out of there with flaming cheeks and my temper at near max. My sneakers hit the ground like bricks, and I don’t wait for him. He can get fucked. I am so angry.
I should have said no but I find it hard to say no to people.
“Rose,” he calls softly but I ignore him and continue. I know my way back to the hotel, so I don’t need him.
He doesn’t say my name again, but he does follow close behind not saying a word. I’m on the verge of tears again, angry embarrassed tears this time.
I don’t stop until we’re back at the hotel and he doesn’t speak until we’re in the elevator.
“Rose,” he tries again, and I flinch when he takes my pinky finger in his. “I am so sorry. I didn’t… I thought…”
“What? Hmm? What did you think?” I ask, looking at him over my shoulder with tears blurring my vision.
“I just wanted you to see yourself in something different,” he explains as the doors ping open.
“You think I don’t know what I look like in clothes like that?” I ask, sucking in a sharp breath as I rummage through my bag for the door key.
“It sounds stupid when you say it aloud but yes, I thought you were too nervous to try other styles because you’re so used to what you have.”
“Your stupidity is astounding,” I rumble, unlocking my door and pushing it open. He follows me inside without my permission. “What is your problem? Why do you always do this?”
“Do what?”
“Hurt me,” I reply, and he lurches back as though I’ve struck him. “You treat me like a toy… and I’m not a toy. What because I don’t dress like your wife, I’m not beautiful?”
“That’s not fair, that’s not why… I didn’t have any sexual motives to what I did. I didn’t realize you’d be so…”
“So what?” I ask, tying my thick wavy hair back. “Sexy?”
He looks away, shame crossing his features.
“Ezra, that’s the point,” I breathe, feeling disgusted with this entire situating. “I don’t want to be sexy. I don’t want to be the object of anybody’s desires but the man I choose. I wanted to be your equal, your partner, not the PA you’ve seen naked.”
“I haven’t seen you naked,” he corrects.
“You have, that dress was nothing but body paint and we both know it and I am humiliated.”
“I thought it might inspire an outfit for your date.”
“Because I couldn’t possibly get a man I want with how I like to dress?” I ask incredulously. “Because I couldn’t possibly know how to be sexy?”
He raises his hands and pushes one through his hair. “I was trying to help.”
“I didn’t ask for your help,” I snap and turn away from him. “You had no right to trick me like that.”
“I know.” He sounds defeated.
I shake my head and almost feel bad for chewing him out over this. Maybe he was trying to be helpful, maybe I am taking this too far, but then I think of Laurie, and what I’d tell her to do in my position.
“You should finish packing.”
He doesn’t move an inch, so I turn back to face him.
“Can I help you with anything else, Mr. Conti?”
“I’m sorry,” he tells me, directly to my eyes with so much heat and darkness swirling in those silver orbs. “Truly.”
The sincerity and depth to his apology has me almost trembling.
I felt it. I saw it. I could practically fucking taste it. His apology was genuine, but it didn’t feel like he was apologizing for what he did, but for something else entirely.
I just don’t know what.
Chapter Ten
He listens to me.
“You look stunning,” Pax declares, his tone loud and charming as always. He twirls me under his arm and the skirt of my dress fans out. I ended up buying a new one this morning, it’s navy blue and tight to my breasts, fanning out at my waist, and it has a matching cape jacket that I can drape over my shoulders to keep myself cloaked. “Ridiculously stunning. Can we cancel dinner so I can just eat you instead?”
I slap his arm. “Behave.”
He laughs and leads me to his car, a sports car of course, some model of BMW. Absolutely stunning to say the least.
He opens the door for me and offers me his hand as I climb into the seat. It’s no wonder he beds so many women if this is how he behaves all night.
When we’re both buckled in and I’m clutching my purse to my stomach, he grins at me and holds my chin, then he leans ove
r the console and places his lips gently over mine for a fraction of a second.
“Almost forgot to kiss you at the door,” he whispers.
“Aren’t you supposed to do that at the end of the night?”
He wags his eyebrows. “Thank you for the offer. I’d love to.”
My head hits the headrest as I laugh so hard I almost cry. I check my eyes in the mirror to make sure my mascara hasn’t run down my cheeks.
“What are we doing?” I ask quietly when he drives for a while to a part of the city that I don’t know very well.
“You’ll see.”
We end up at a tiny little Mexican restaurant which, ominously enough, is situated at the end of a long, narrow alleyway. We head up a set of stone steps and end up on a beautiful terrace with dangling lights and candles on every table. The roof is sheet plastic so the sun pours through it but not the rain on a dreary day.
According to Pax, who seems to know the owners, they do the best enchiladas in town so that’s what I order.
“How are you with spicy?” Pax asks, sipping his drink that was brought to us a few minutes ago. I’m just having a soda. I need a clear head.
I tap my fingers on the table as I answer, “Average. I like spicy foods.”
“Me too,” he watches me tap my fingers and mirrors the movement. “You do that a lot.”
“Sorry.” I do it twice more to make forty-two and stop.
“Don’t be sorry, it doesn’t bother me. It’s cute. I like all of your little… habits.”
I wet my lips, feeling warmer all of a sudden. “Not many people would say the same.”
“People are too uptight, they let things bother them which really have no effect on their lives at all.”
“That’s actually really true.” I grin at him, seeing him in a brighter light than before.
“Does it annoy Conti? Because, if so, you can always come and work for me?”
“And then we’d never be able to do this again.”
“Smart girl, not mixing business with pleasure. I usually follow the same rule, but for you, I had to make the exception.” He raises his glass and I clink mine against it.
Becoming His Mistress Page 7