Page 92 of The Billionaire Bodyguard Next Door
“Hurry up!”Faith shouted at me as I picked at the dress I donned. It was the fifth one I'd tried on this morning and it still wasn't hitting like it should.
I’d come back from my weekend upstate with more problems than I'd left with. All the relaxation from that time away evaporated into thin air the second we crossed the Brooklyn Bridge.
I’d been working like a beast ever since.
Parvati called to let me know that we still weren't getting anywhere close to finalizing the permit sign offs from the city. My blood boiled and my blood pressure shot through the roof (I imagine, I didn't actually check), and sure enough that throbbing between my eyes resumed in full force.
Luckily, Faith agreed to this little shopping adventure in between my morning at the Chateau and my evening at Club Deux. If I didn't find a winner in about ten minutes, I'd be seriously screwed.
The Sexual Assault Survivors Network Gala was just a day away and dammit if I wanted to look good. For me, sure, and because I’d have Beck Bennet on my arm, but also because I wanted to prove to Carter that I was fine and had moved on.
Take that.
And I was starting to become suspicious that she was withholding my permit intentionally. Not only had she ignored my emails, but she'd fully given me bad intel.
Unacceptable and unprofessional. I wanted to channel my inner real “Housewife” and call her out on it, but I would hold myself back, become the epitome of decorum and diplomacy.
Work and reality hit like a ton of bricks.
While I’d stepped back in terms of the gala planning, I still garnered a lot of sponsors and items for the silent auction. So when the email came in—again—from Carter reminding me of the details, I wanted to throttle him. Not great considering the cause we were raising money for, so instead of violence I chose a five-minute meditation and when that didn't work, I did a midnight jog with my personal billionaire bodyguard keeping pace next to me.
It didn't help much.
And standing in front of this mirror was only adding to my irritation. I usually stuck to the silhouettes I knew flattered my body and none of them were fancy enough for the event.
“You need to try the emerald gown,” Faith insisted. “Like I told you from the beginning.”
My eyes found hers in the mirror. “It's too...demure.”
Faith cocked her head. “What's wrong with that? You're making demure sound like a four-letter word.”
I picked at the dress in question. “Demure isn't exactly my style. I'm more leather and sky-high heels.”
Faith jumped up from her chair and picked the dress from the rack. “All the more reason to try something new. Besides, this dress will have Beck drooling all over you.”
I ran my fingers over the delicate bodice. “You think?”
“I know.”
I peeked at her from beneath my lashes. “I wouldn't mind making that man drool.”
She hip-checked me. “Someone will have to walk behind him with a mop.”
“Fiinne, I’ll try it.”
Faith beamed. “You’ll thank me later.”
* * *
Someone knocked on my office door, which was just as well because my bleary eyes couldn't review another spreadsheet. I’d double checked the inventory review and read through the recommendations put together by my bar leads.
It told me many things, like what people were ordering, what people asked for that we didn't have in terms of brands, and evaluated if we should change up our buying habits.
This happened monthly to keep my fingers on the pulse of things.
“Come in,” I called, shutting my laptop.
“We're ready for you,” Monroe said, poking her head through the crack in the door.
