“I was working.” His reply is noncommittal.
“From my room?” I open an eye to peek at him. “What happened to your room?”
“You’re not there.” He walks over to sit down beside me and opens his laptop, the device humming softly as it powers up.
I glance at him, Megan’s words echoing in my mind.
“You make no sense to me. I’m going to the bedroom.”
I’ve only just gotten up when his hand wraps around my wrist, and he yanks me back. With a startled squeak, I fall into his lap, and Ethan proceeds to wrap his arms around my waist, his eyes still on the laptop screen. “Stay.”
My eyes widen, and I stare at his face, his very frustratingly handsome face with its perfect angles and warm amber eyes. “Excuse you? What do you think you’re doing?”
“Holding you,” he answers idly, as he reads a report on the laptop.
“Let me go.”
“No.” His reply is short and calm, brooking no argument.
“This is not?—”
“If you use the word ‘appropriate’ or any formation of it, I’m going to have to remind you of how you attacked me last night.”
My lips part as I try to form words, cheeks burning. “I—That was not—I told you I was drunk!”
He shuts down his laptop and leans back on the couch, pulling me closer against his solid chest. “So does this mean that every time you drink, I should expect you to be so aggressive? No complaints here, but I would just like to be prepared so I can keep some alcohol ready?—”
I scowl at him. “It was a one-time thing, and get over yourself.”
Wriggling out of his hold, I stomp off into the bedroom, and when I hear him follow, I lock the door. “Go back to your own room. We’re done here.”
I can hear him chuckle from the other side of the door. “I have to take a video call. The makeup artist will be here in a few hours. We leave by seven.”
I hear the front door close and breathe a sigh of relief. Flopping down on my bed, I scrunch my face when I remember what we got up to in here.
“Agh!” Rolling over, I gaze at the ceiling, conflicted.
I should never have come here. I should never have gone to the fair with him. I should never have slept with him. What was I thinking? I gave the man an inch, and he took six miles. There is no way he’s going to be the slightest bit professional when we return to New York.
“Why have you changed so much?” I mutter at the ceiling, addressing the absent Ethan. “Why do you make me question myself so much?!”
Groaning again, I turn around and scream into the pillow, the fabric muffling my frustration.
It doesn’t do anything to relieve the tension within me, but the masseuse that Ethan has sent up to give me a full body workup definitely does. Her skilled hands unknot the tightness in my shoulders and back. The makeup artist arrives soon after, and I’m nearly nodding off as she does up my face, the gentle brush strokes lulling me into relaxation.
I don’t see the point of getting so dressed up. I’ve always done my own makeup, but when I said as much to Megan, she just gave me a long look, which was either filled with disapproval or disgust; I have yet to decide.
Fortunately, with my new haircut, a quick blow dry saves me time, and I slip into my dress with ease once my hair and makeup is out of the way. I tuck the dress’s tag inside the collar. I have no intentions of keeping any of the things Ethan bought me. I’ll return them tomorrow morning.
When I look at myself in the mirror, it’s like staring at a stranger. The makeup artist used a light hand on my face, but with the haircut and the makeup, the dress looks vastly different than it did when I tried it on.
The dress is a forest green, mermaid cut, accentuating every dip and curve on my body, the forest green fabric shimmering subtly in the light. My teeth sink into my lower lip. This is a fundraiser, and it won’t be my first time attending one— but in a dress like this?
I’ve usually worn knee-length black dresses with some slight jewelry. It’s not the best choice, but it works. A dress like this, it’s eye-catching, and I feel out of place, like I’m playing dress-up in someone else’s life.
A knock on the door has me startled. I hurry over, gratefulthat the heels I got aren’t so high. As soon as I open the door, the wind is knocked out of me.
Ethan’s adjusting his cufflinks as he stands outside my room, and it gives me the time to stare at him, admire the way the fabric of his tailored black tuxedo molds against his broad shoulders and lean figure. My breath catches, heat crawling up my neck as he finally looks at me, his eyes roaming over me, slow and possessive. His gaze dips down the length of my dress, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.
