Page 77 of Dirty Boss

“Yeah,” Vaughn said, pulling back. His arms were still around me, but his head was out of reach for kisses. The streetlights glinted over his hair, his cheeks slightly red from the wind. He was beautiful. And I was distracted by it, which is why his next question made me jerk: “How much money do you need for your dress for the gala?”

I blinked. “Sorry?”

His shoulders dropped. “You’re still going with me, right?”

“The Noble Foundation Gala?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I’m going.”

“Good.” His smile was a flash of white teeth. “So what do you need to get a dress? All that talk about finding the perfect one sounded expensive.”

“You don’t have to—” I stopped. He kind ofdidhave to pay for my outfit, since I was still pretty close to destitute.

But Vaughn just frowned at me. “Well, I’ll reimburse you, obviously. You can just submit the purchase the normal way.”

My brows jumped, and my heart dropped. “Are you—is this—” Familiar fears rushed at me—that he was pushing me away, that I’d misread the situation—but I forced myself to take a deep breath. “Is this a work event?” I asked, not liking the way my voice cracked when I asked the question. “I thought… I thought you wanted me there as your date.”

“I do. What do you mean?”

“It’s just—if you’re paying me…”

It felt dirty. It felt like being used as a prop, which I kind ofwas, but it hadn’t felt that way when he’d asked me, but?—

“Hey,” he said, tilting my chin up. “I just didn’t want you to worry about the cost of the dress.”

My shoulders dropped. Vaughn was being thoughtful, not dismissive. Sighing, I nodded. “Right. Okay. Thank you.”

“Get a dress, shoes, whatever. Charge it to the company. I’ll cover it.”

I nodded, feeling silly. And itwashelpful, because the gown rental companies I’d been trawling had a whole lot of nothing. A ton of gorgeous gowns, of course, but nothing that the keen eyes of my former peers wouldn’t immediately identify as untailored, ill-fitting, and cheap by their standards.

But did Vaughn really mean it? The people at the gala would be wearing outfits that cost thousands. Tens of thousands. He probably thought I needed a few hundred bucks. That would cover the shoes—maybe.

I never should’ve agreed to this.

Vaughn kissed me softly, then pulled back. “I told Billie I’d be back before nine.”

“Go,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He kissed me one more time, then hailed a cab and opened the door for me. I smiled at him as he closed the door, then exhaled and leaned against the squeaky leather seats.

Being taken care of like this took some getting used to. I had to stop assuming the worst in Vaughn. He was a good man, and he cared about me. Everything he did had proved that to me. Now I just had to stop doubting myself—stop doubtinghim—and enjoy our relationship blossoming. Sure, it was fast, but it was also good.

But this out-of-control feeling was a little too familiar. It was how James had made me feel when we’d met. When he’d taken me out on the back of his motorcycle. When he’d kissed me and made love to me and told me I was special, right before he dumped me.

As I leaned my forehead against the cool glass of the back seat window, I wondered if I was making the same old mistakes all over again.

TWENTY-SEVEN

VAUGHN

My fittingwith Koval went well. The tux was coming along, and he bullied me into also ordering an overcoat for the big night. I asked what the point of that was when I’d take it off within three minutes of arriving, and he and Alba squawked at me until I backed down. Then I asked him if he sold women’s clothes, and his judgmental, all-seeing eyes had slid to Alba. She’d given me a long look and shook her head. Koval had huffed and gone back to pinning the partially completed sleeve to my shoulder. The hunt for the dress continued. I still didn’t quite understand what she needed. It was a dress. How hard could it be?

Instead of parting ways when we left the shop, I tugged on Alba’s hand. “There’s someone I want you to meet,” I told her, and watched the smile bloom over her face.

That’s how we ended up in my living room, surrounded by a mass of dolls and children’s toys. Billie disappeared into the kitchen to prep some food for the week for Charlotte, which left Alba, me, and my daughter in the living room, free to play. I’d pulled her out of kindergarten for the day, hoping we could have some fun.