by Sierra Rose
Okay...that last part might have been pushing it.
Whatever Nick was thinking, it was impossible to say. He simply stared at me in a state of mild shock, lips parted speechlessly, probably wishing he was wearing something with a little more gravitas than a jellyfish towel. For a split second, a flicker of what looked like genuine respect flashed through his eyes. But before he could say a word, the door crashed open.
“There you are!”
Both Nick and I jumped in our skin, like guilty school children caught holding hands, as Louise-the-Bavarian-storm-cloud burst into the room. She paused a moment, upon seeing the two of us standing so close, before her eyes narrowed in even greater judgement.
“I ask for the dry-cleaning ten minutes ago.” She whipped an accusatory finger into the air—jabbing it in between us. “If you two are finished with whatever unfug is going on in here, I do not like to ask twice!”
Unfug wasn’t good. Unfug meant mischief in German. Nick and I had learned a long time ago, that whenever Louise said unfug—it was a bad sign.
And so, the three of us dispersed. All heading in separate directions.
Louise—muttering what sounded like profanities in every language east of Poland.
Nick—muttering about being trapped in a house with vengeful women.
And me—muttering about needing to find some clothes to replace my wilted dress.
“You can wear some of mine.”
I looked up in surprise, to see Nick watching me with a surprisingly gentle expression. A hint of that signature twinkle had returned to his eyes, and in a moment, all was forgiven.
It was quick. Especially given the heat of the argument. But it wasn’t all that shocking.
The two of us had been through too much together to be derailed by a simple fight. It would take more than words in a linen closet to drive a wedge between us.
My lips curved up in a tentative smile that was graciously returned.
“Yours? You think we’re the same size, do you? Or gender?”
He flashed me a rueful grin, before heading off down the hall.
“Wear some of Gemma’s,” he called over his shoulder. “She won’t mind.”
Chapter 8
TEN MINUTES LATER, I was standing in the skimpiest cocktail dress I had ever seen. The kind of dress that just might fall off in a gentle breeze. Give up and surrender without putting up a lick of fight. Two wide silk straps cut at a diagonal down the front of it, leaving triangular cutouts through which you could see my back and hips. The shoulders were also bare, and save for a delicate little zipper holding the whole thing together—it was hanging on by a prayer.
“Gemma,” I muttered under my breath, “why did it have to be Gemma?”
Gemma Arlison was an ironically-named diamond heiress who Nick had dated off and on for the better part of two years. She had become a regular fixture at the house (along with about half a dozen others), and as such, she still had leftover clothes in several of the closets.
Things had finally ended for good when Nick saw for himself what the rest of us had been telling him for months. The girl didn’t have a brain. Just very, very large breasts. (He had a habit of confusing the two.) They had split, as amicably as was possible, and not two weeks later—she had married a billionaire oil tycoon from Texas. I think Nick was actually hurt.
To be frank, I really didn’t have the giant curves to pull this kind of dress off. While her ample bosom had stretched the fabric to its limit, the silk hugged comfortably around me, clinging like a second skin. A shimmering sapphire kind of skin that exactly matched the color of my eyes.
“Why couldn’t he have dated the kind of girl who would wear an entire dress?” I groaned, rotating in front of the bathroom mirror in dismay. The huge cutouts revealing wide portions of my ivory skin were particularly troublesome. Especially considering it was winter in New York. “Maybe she also left a coat in here...?”
Sure enough, an ankle-length trench coat was hanging just inside. The kind that was tailor-fitted to make me feel like I was in a designer version of the Matrix. There was even a pair of sparkling Louis Vuitton stilettos to match.
I swept up my fountain-curled hair when I was done, securing it in the kind of tendril-draping updo it did so well, and touched up my makeup from the night before. When I was finished, I stepped back to survey the finished product.
“Not bad. A little fucking formal for a day at the office, but not bad at all.”
By the time I wandered back downstairs, I was actually feeling quite confident indeed. At least, I was until I ran into Nick in the kitchen.
The second he saw me, a very peculiar expression flashed across his face. He dropped his eyes immediately, but couldn’t manage to hide his smile.
At once, my stomach was sick and my hands were clammy.
Oh gosh—I looked ridiculous! Why hadn’t I just asked to run home so I could change into my own clothes? You know—something that required more fabric than a scarf?!
“I know, it’s not...” I blushed and looked down, sweeping a stray curl back out of my face. “Clearly, it’s not something I would usually—why are you making that face?!”
“I’m sorry,” he bit his lip with a grin, “it’s just...I’ve taken off that dress many times.”
Many, many times.
My face blanched, as my hands nervously smoothed it down. “Well, believe it or not, it was actually the warmest dress I could find. And by warmest, I mean...”
He laughed softly.
“I know exactly what you mean.”
Of course he did. He had fucking dated the girl.
...in this dress.
All at once, I felt incredibly uncomfortable.
“You know what—I’m just going to call a cab and go home really quick to change. I’ll be back in less than an hour, and then the two of us can sit down and come up with a list of—”
“Absolutely not—we’re going out!”
He grabbed my wrist in a blur of speed, and started pulling me towards the door. I looked around desperately for Louise—surely she wouldn’t allow me to wear such a thing—but he had already pushed the door for the elevator, and before I knew it, we were heading down.
“Nick,” I pulled the coat protectively around me, an unintentionally pleading tone coloring my voice, “wherever you want to go, whatever you want to do—I can meet you there, okay? There’s no need for me to—”
He held up a silencing hand, staring down at me with a slight frown.
“Ms. Wilder, you were contracted to be my publicist, isn’t that right?”
This again. Shit.
I sighed and bowed my head.
“Yes.”
His eyes twinkled.
“And as my publicist, it’s your responsibility to be available whenever I go out into the public eye, correct? To be on hand in case there’s any...trouble?”
I didn’t like the sound of this.
“...yes.”
His face lit up with another victorious smile.
“In that case—I’m afraid I’m going to need you around. And furthermore, I’m afraid there won’t be any time for you to change out of that incredible dress.”
My teeth clenched, but I forced my glare into a dangerously sweet smile.
“And what might we be doing, pray tell?”
The doors opened, and he gazed out towards the horizon.
“Today...we’re going to get into a little trouble.”
Chapter 9
THE PLAYERS: NICHOLAS Hunter and Abigail Wilder.
The stage: All of New York City.
The objective: To cause as much mayhem as possible.
To be fair—that was Nicholas’ objective, not mine. While as a publicist, I should have been focused on stopping him, my only real goal became to somehow stay inside my dress.
“This is, without a doubt, the cruelest thing you’ve ever done to me.”
A gust of wind threw open my trench coat once more, and I yank
ed it shut. The winter winds and busy pedestrian streets hadn’t been kind to my particular ensemble, but Nick was in such festive spirits, he didn’t seem to mind.
“That’s not true,” he countered, cheerfully pausing to take a selfie with some adoring fans. “What about the time I took you to the serpentarium?”
A belated shudder ran up my spine.
“I thought we had agreed to never talk about that...”
A practiced grin spread up the side of his face, as he knelt down to be at the same height as two middle-school-aged girls. A neon flash lit up their faces, then he turned that grin to me.
“I think it was a day of existential growth. Facing your fears, and whatnot.”
I studied him carefully for a moment, then turned sharply on my heel.
“I quit.”
“Oh—come on!” He flashed the twelve-year-olds a conspiratorial wink, before taking off after me, weaving his way through the crowd. When he finally caught up, I was in the process of hailing down a cab. He arrived just in time to wave it away again. “Abby—I’m sorry, okay? I was actually taking you out today to apologize.”
“To apologize,” I repeated caustically. “You were. Really.”
Again—they weren’t phrased as questions.
“Of course.” His blue eyes widened with angelic innocence. “How could you doubt me?”
I smiled sweetly, just as angelic as him.
“For what, pray tell, were you apologizing?”
“For your dress. For your date. For...the lobster.” He leaned in closer, trying very hard not to smile. “I’d really appreciate it if you’d let me call up Cameron—apologize in person.”
A flash of indignation rose within me, paired with an exasperated sort of amusement. I turned back to the street so he wouldn’t see my grin.
In the time he’d spent abroad, Nick had developed a faint English accent. Whenever he said words like ‘apologize,’ it came through even stronger.
Not that he apologized much.
“You’d do that?” I asked, playing along. “For Cameron? For me?”
His eyes twinkled—he knew he had me.
“Well you know I’d do anything for Cameron. And for you...? I could make a call.”
My lips turned up in a reluctant smile, and all was forgiven once more.
This little dance was nothing new for us. Since Nick had discovered the wonders of the New York subway system, I’d quit at least once a week for the last year.
“So, you’re apologizing, eh?” I prompted as we began walking once more.
Much to my surprise, he offered me his arm. It wasn’t like that never happened, but as much as we bantered back and forth, the two of us tended to occupy very specific roles. This morning, however, I took it gratefully. I had already slipped twice on the winter ice.
“Yes,” he answered cheerfully, “I have quite the apology in mind. But first,” he ducked suddenly into a store, pulling me inside with him, “we need to make a few stops.”
I caught my breath, clinging onto his arm for support as he tugged me inside. Then I blinked around in confusion as my eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lights.
“Dior?” I actually said it out loud, suddenly a bit anxious.
I had just been in Dior just the other day—for the second time in my life. Well, it was the millionth time in terms of going for clients. Only the second time in terms of going for myself. It had been to buy a certain dress, for a certain date, that a certain someone had interrupted. It had been a rare splurge—a dress that had set me behind several months in terms of rent. None of that was supposed to be a problem—except the dress had gotten mysteriously soaked in a fountain.
Suffice to say, I wasn’t particularly thrilled to be back right now.
“What are we doing here?” I asked nervously, trying to pull my arm away as Nick began wandering up and down the aisles. “You know you’re in the women’s section, right?”
Not that he was exactly a stranger...
“Oh—Mr. Hunter!”
As if on cue, a regal-looking woman came bustling out of a back room. Her pantsuit was tailor-made to perfection. Her gray hair was swept up into a perfect coif.
She kissed Nick twice on each cheek, taking care not to transfer even a speck of her bright crimson lipstick—as women on the Upper East Side have all been trained to do.
“Forgive me, we didn’t know you were coming in this morning. I would have cleared out the floor, or at the very least, requested some of the ladies to come in early and help you.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
What? Is Miss Manners over here actually pimping for him now?
“It was a spur of the moment decision, Ruby.”
Of course her name was Ruby. Just like my mother’s cat.
“And I don’t think we’ll be needing any help.” He glanced at me quickly, before turning back to her with a charming smile. “I think my friend and I will just browse for a while.”
She looked completely taken aback. Clearly, this was not the normal way of things. I could only imagine how many times he’d come in here, looking for a dress, or a diamond, or a pair of trillion dollar shoes for his new flavor of the month. My guess was that he was asked to describe the flavor in three simple words, and the rest of them would pick things for him.
But not today.
“Oh...of course, dear. Whatever you like.”
She took a tentative step away, but seemed incredibly uncomfortable not to be ‘hands-on helping’ in some way or another. Nick sensed her plight and provided a gracious request.
“But we might like a little champagne...?”
Her face lit up with an indulgent smile, and she pinched his cheek in a way that implied the two of them shared a great many secrets. He returned the smile as best he could, then turned away the second she was gone—rubbing gently at his reddened skin.
“I wish she would stop doing that,” he muttered. “It’s getting to be worse every time.”
I grinned, pleased that at least something in his perfect world was out of sync.
“She’s an old lady—what do you expect? It’s adorable.”
He flashed me look, lowering his hand quickly as Ruby made her way back.
“It’s only adorable because she’s not doing it to you.”
We fell silent at once and looked up with matching smiles—thanking her for the champagne at least three times before she finally left. After she had done so, Nick clinked his glass against mine, eyes twinkling over the rim.
“To my apology.”
I clinked back.
“Whatever it may be.”
He downed his in three gulps, and urged me to do the same. I set down my empty glass with my head spinning. I had missed dinner last night—thanks to him, and hadn’t gotten breakfast either—thanks to his father and Louise. One glass of champagne was my new limit.
“So what are we doing here?” I glanced around the store, taking in the general splendor as the wheels in my PR driven mind started automatically turning.
If I could just get him excited about the idea of doting on someone new (one of Nick’s favorite things in the entire world was ‘doting’), then maybe he would be less resistant to the idea of me procuring an actress, or a model, or an heiress to attract his attention.
Maybe I could convince him to buy some of these earrings—
“We’re here for you.”
I turned around in surprise to see him staring at me, an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression gentling his face. I didn’t understand. Was this my big apology?
“For me?” I repeated, very much as a question this time. “What does that...what do you mean, we’re here for me?”
Another rather strange expression flitted across his face, as his mouth twitched up in a crooked smile. “That dress I ruined, it was Dior. I know, because I found the wet tags stuck in my pocket this morning. That couldn’t have been...that was quite the dress to have spoiled.”
A f
lush of sudden embarrassment reddened my cheeks.
That couldn’t have been...easy for you to buy. That’s what he was going to say.
He was right, of course. But I didn’t want to hear him say it. I was mortified already that he’d sobered enough to realize why I’d left on the tags.
“Nick,” I shook my head quickly, heading for the door, “you don’t have to—”
“Please.” He caught my wrist, pulling me gently back. “Let me.”
“No,” I said firmly. “That’s not the kind of relationship we have. That’s not what this—”
“What?” he interrupted. “Working with me means that you have to budget in for collateral fountain damage?” He shook his head, pulling me farther into the store. “No. I broke it, now you have to let me fix it.”
I started to shake my head again, but he cut me off.
“And if you’re stuck on this whole ‘that’s not the relationship we have’ bullshit, then I can play along. The relationship we have is professional. You are therefore being professionally recompensed for damages accrued in a professional capacity. Hazards of the job.”
My lips twitched up, and I tried not to smile. He saw through it at once.
“Or, I could just tell the truth. Say that you’re one of my best friends, and I’m truly sorry for ruining your big night out, and I’m sorry for ruining your dress.” His head tilted down with a coaxing grin. “Since I have more money than Donald Trump, will you please let me pay for it?”
Nick was used to getting what he wanted. And I was used to eventually caving in.
But this time—I had to say that I was sincerely touched.
One of my best friends.
I never knew he felt that way.
“Alright,” I agreed quietly, collecting my thoughts. The champagne wasn’t making it very easy. “But something the same price—not a penny more, okay?”
He rolled his eyes, but agreed—steering me through the winding aisles like a train conductor who had been there many, many times before.
Predictably, he went straight for the lingerie section, but I shook my head and tugged him over to the purses. The last thing I wanted Mitchell Hunter to see was a picture of his son buying me some lacy garter. Besides, as expensive as they were, the purses were probably some of the cheapest things in this store.