Page 24 of Protected By My Playboy Billionaire

A small gasp escapes my lips as I look into the mirror. I’ve never seen my body look like this. It hugs my curves in all the right places, and despite the revealing cleavage, it screams opulence.

“What do you think, Lil?” I step out of the dressing room to show her.

“Oh, El!” She gasps in awe. “Adrian won’t know what hit him, I’ll tell you that much.”

I giggle and go back to the dressing room to change back into my jeans before I change my mind. After I’m done and the dress is back on the hanger, I walk back out, holding it up in the air. I carefully place it on the counter and turn towards the cashier.

“How much is it?” I almost don’t want to ask.

“Three,” the cashier chimes in with the price tag.

“Three hundred?” I ask, puzzled, and she shakes her head with a giggle.

“Thousand.”

“Oh,” I mumble, feeling guilty. I turn back to look at Lilly. “Lilly, I can’t. This is too much. It’s stupid.”

She, however, isn’t having any of it. She storms up to me and places a hand on her hip and the other on my shoulder.

“If Adrian insists on dragging you to this event, he can foot the bill for this dress too.” She looks at me long and hard. “Do you even know how much money your babysitter is making? That dress isn’t even pocket change for him.”

“But it’s definitely not pocket change for me, Lil.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Elana. For once in your life, live a little. Adrian Morgan gave you his fucking black American Express. You would do it injustice by not spending three grand on a dress.”

Lilly always knows what to say. I feel the corners of my lips rise and my hand alreadysliding into my twenty-dollar purse to retrieve the billions of dollars casually resting inside one pocket.

I turn to the cashier and flash her a smile. “I’ll take it.”

Chapter eleven

~ADRIAN~

I cinch my belt and pull open the drawer housing my collection of ties. I roll my shoulders in an attempt to loosen up the fabric of the tuxedo that clings to me, constraining my movements. I’m going to rip this thing. With a deep sigh, I look down at the bowties nestled in the left corner of the drawer. I retrieve two and walk over to the full-length mirror in my walk-in closet.

I haven’t worn a bowtie since the charity ball hosted by Victoria’s father. Now, his company is launching a new fragrance that I couldn’t care less about. I’d always wondered why Victoria chose to work with me over her father. I stopped asking myself that questionthe moment I met the guy. Not that I’m complaining. Victoria is an asset I’d rather have on my side.

Standing before the mirror, I hold the red bowtie up to my neck. Yeah, that’ll do. With a few flicks of my wrist, I secure it around my collar and put the black one back in the drawer. My grandfather taught me how to put one on the night of my prom since my father wasn’t present to teach me. I blink the thought away as I slip a matching linen handkerchief inside the tuxedo pocket and turn to face the mirror again. With a final adjustment of the bowtie, I cast a critical eye over the outfit, satisfied with the reflection staring back at me.

Thoughts of Elana dance through my mind as I run a hand through my hair. She should be done with choosing an outfit for tonight. I hope she’s put my card to good use and picked something appropriate. A subtle smile tugs at the corner of my lips as I imagine her gracing the event in another duck dress. God forbid.

I reach for my phone and send Ethan a quick text, letting him know our plans. Sending Ethan updates has become routine. We used to talk regularly, butnow, it’s evolved into a daily occurrence. The ding of a new message pulls my attention back to my phone.

Have fun. I have a date with that girl from the office I told you about.

A small smile quirks across my lips as I read Ethan’s message and then type out a reply of my own.

Seems like you’ll be the one having fun tonight. Spare me the details.

We’ve been thick as thieves since childhood when we used to pull off ridiculous stunts that only got us into more and more trouble. When we were nine, we had convinced Mr. Jenkins, the old neighbor, that his garden was infested by snails. We collected them each morning and dropped them on his porch right before he stepped out for the morning paper. Mr. Jenkins spent weeks getting rid of the ‘infestation’. This was the first of many pranks that landed us in a shit ton of hot water and ended with both of us being forced to issue formal apologies to the entire neighborhood.

I shake my head with a smile and put my phone back into my pocket. Ethan has been morethan a good friend to me. He never left my side, even when things became… difficult. He never failed to reach out, even when I had isolated myself from everyone in pursuit of becoming an entrepreneur. Despite me saying no to almost every plan he offered, he never stopped calling and never gave up on our friendship. I knew he would drop everything and be there in a heartbeat if I ever needed him. That is something I’ll never be able to repay, but I’ll try my very best.

I descend the staircase, the soft glow of the chandeliers reflecting on the polished floor as I make my way through the living room and into the kitchen. With each step, I half-expect to find Elana perched on one of the counters again, but to my disappointment, the kitchen is empty. Bypassing the island in the middle, I stop in front of the wine cabinet. Seems I’m in the mood for reds tonight.

I uncork a bottle and pour myself a glass, briefly contemplating pouring one for Elana, too, but she's never shown a preference for wine during her brief time here. Maybe I should make her tea instead? I scoff and take a second glass from the cabinet. As I pour us both wine, my thoughts drift to the messagesElana showed me earlier today. If the fucker sending her warnings is indeed her ex, I’ll relish in the thought of breaking each of his fingers.

I’ve given the number Elana sent me to a specialist who can track it. It’s not entirely legal, but that’s not a concern where the right amount of money is involved. I take a sip and place the glass on the island, tapping it absentmindedly with my finger. Does Elana have any intentions of showing up anytime soon? I’m tempted to go back upstairs and drag her out of the room myself, but the memory of my last unannounced visit there tells me to stay exactly where I am.