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“I overheard my cousins talking at dinner once about how it’s hot in dressing rooms and there’s someone always knocking on the door bothering you and they never have your size and things like that. I tuned most of it out, but some stuck. Not bad for a virgin bachelor?” I smile, all my good humor back at her visible jealousy.
“Hmmph.” She tries to act unimpressed. “We should be careful when the stuff arrives. What if Mindy sees? She might think we’re doing it to show off.”
“Babe, I don’t really give Mindy any thought, and you shouldn’t either.”
“She’s smart and pretty. That’s a scary combination. I always think people should only be allowed one trait.”
“Since I don’t think Mindy’s pretty or smart, seems like she might be getting the short end of the stick. Now, is there anything in particular you want from the stylist? I told her to bring dresses in pretty colors, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted short heels or high ones. And what kind of jewelry would you like? Gems or pearls? Maybe we should go without. The less jewelry you have, the more Aunt Gia will want to fix you up.” I pull out my phone and send off a few notes to Trident.
“Shoes too?” Harlow seems overwhelmed.
“Thought all women liked shoes.” I hold up my hands. “That’s what my cousins say.”
“You better have a whole boatload of female cousins or I’m calling bullshit on your ass.”
Chapter Fifteen
HARLOW
“Itake back every word I said last night,” I whisper faintly as what seems like twenty female heads turn in my direction as we walk into Aunt Gia’s living room—or reception room as the black-suited man called it. Cal said that was Nelson, Aunt Gia’s man of affairs. I have no idea what that means. Right now, my lost job is the least of my worries.
Aunt Gia’s house is enormous, even by city standards. The reception room is bigger than Grams’ entire apartment and spans the length of the house from the street to the back yard. It’s split into four seating areas, and the crowd of relatives fills up two of them.
When the stylist arrived, they had four racks of clothing and an army of assistants carrying boxes and garment bags. They had shoes and dresses and even undergarments in more colors than I knew existed. We started with the undergarments because the stylist insisted that the key to a beautiful gown was a foundation garment, and honestly I had no idea that’s how celebrities looked so good with their clothes so smooth and well-fitted.
I ended up getting a dress in silk organza with a three-layer tulle petticoat. It was cream with pink colored flowers printed all over. A corseted bodice molded around my torso and cinched in my waist. The cups were too big, but there was a seamstress on the team, and she whipped out a sewing machine and did an alteration in my dining room.
The whole time Cal sat on my sofa and watched the entire dressing and undressing, fitting, modifying, and finally, the finishing.
I twirled in front of him feeling like an actual princess in my mesh kitten heels with the embroidered flowers and the layers of silk and tulle swishing around my legs. He clapped for me, ordered everyone out of the apartment, and then carried me to the bedroom where he lifted my skirts and proceeded to bend me over the mattress and pound me from behind. I can still feel the imprint of his hands through the silk around my waist. It had been as good as when he woke me with his mouth between my legs this morning. Both times I could feel how much he needed me. He has some kind of hunger for me. Yes, I am focusing on the great sex instead of my impending doom. I can worry about that later.
I’m glad he brought in the stylist and the dresses and that I’m wearing a party gown fancy enough for a wedding because every woman in this room is wearing something gorgeous. It’s like we’re all attending a party at the Met instead of a dinner at a relative’s house.
Cal takes my sweaty palm in his dry hand and leads me forward. “Aunt Gia, this is Harlow Sinclair. Harlow, my aunt, Gia Remmington.”
I shake her hand and suppress the urge to curtsy. Aunt Gia is a tiny woman in a black dress with diamonds so bright and plentiful you’d think we were at a Tiffany showroom. Every finger on her hand has a rock the size of my thumbnail. Her ears are weighed down with pear shaped diamonds that make a tinkling sound when she moves her head.
“So beautiful, but of course, our Calix has exquisite taste. Let me introduce you to everyone. I meant to have only a few people, but everyone was so curious about who snared our dear boy.”
I clutch Cal’s hand tighter and send him a silent plea not to leave my side. Aunt Gia remains seated while everyone else gets up and comes to greet us, like some kind of odd reception line. No one is unkind or judgmental, though. After the first five, I forget everyone’s names. It’s too much.
Finally, Aunt Gia leads us into dinner.
“I had meant for the two of you to sit across from each other,” she says, pointing to two chairs on either side of the table.
“That won’t be necessary,” Cal says and sits me down next to him. “Karen can sit in my chair. Karen’s head of marketing for our global company corporation. Harlow works at an ad agency as a junior creative.”
I almost choke on my water. Shit, I didn’t realize I’d have to fake my job credentials at this dinner.
Karen is a tall blonde who looks like she walks the runway instead of working in an office. Her dress is dark green and form-fitting with ruching on the shoulder and waist. Her jewelry consists of a simple diamond pendant and matching earrings. A tennis bracelet circles one wrist and a diamond encrusted watch. Her style is beautiful but subtle. On top of that, she has a warm smile.
“Tell me what kind of campaigns you worked on.”
I try to respond normally despite my insides roiling. “We're rolling out a new consumer product right now, and we just finished up an eco-friendly laundry scent pods campaign.”
“Very diverse.” She nods approvingly. The conversation pauses as the waiters, actual waiters, bring in salads and soup for everyone. “When did you start?”
“I'm a new hire so I just moved out of probation into a permanent position.” I’m sick to my stomach with the lying but what can I do?
