Page 16

She has a point.

“Just open it,” she says. “Maybe they delivered to the wrong person. You can send it back.”

“Right,” I say, delving into one of the bags. I pull out a tissue-paper-wrapped package. When I break the sticker seal, I instantly wish I hadn’t opened this in front of Poppy.

It’s the Oscar de la Renta dress I wore on Saturday night. The one Ben sliced off me because he was too impatient to undo the buttons.

He told me he’d replace it. It feels like popcorn is exploding in my stomach, and I try to ignore it. I’m definitely not excited about a guy replacing a dress he ruined. It’s just the decent thing to do. Right?

I close the tissue paper and put the dress back in the bag. “Oh, they’ve made a mistake. I told them if they had my dress in the size up, they should send it to me on Friday. It’s too late now.”

Poppy stayed over at the hotel on Saturday night because she was working on Sunday, and we had a couple of rooms vacant. It’s good to experience the hotel as a guest occasionally. It meant Poppy didn’t know I hadn’t gone home on Saturday night. And even though we had dinner together last night, I didn’t mention Ben. I don’t know why. Normally I’d tell Poppy everything, but I was still processing. I’m still processing what happened on Saturday night.

“Your dress fit you perfectly,” Poppy says.

“You don’t think it was a little tight?” I ask. I feel bad for lying to my sister, but I can’t get into it with her. She’ll think that the reason I don’t want to ask Ben to try to help with the Boston deal is because of the mind-blowing sex. And she’d be right.

“What’s in the other bag?” She leans over and peers in. “Looks like shoeboxes.”

Shoeboxes? I wore my shoes back home on Sunday morning. There’s no need for him to send me shoes.

“Oh yeah, there were a few options where they didn’t have my size,” I lie. “The sales associate must really want that commission, huh?”

“Great service from them,” Poppy says, heading to the door. “I left the pastries in the boardroom. I’m going to rescue them.”

When the door closes behind her. I peer into the three shoeboxes in the second bag. They contain the same shoes I wore on Saturday but in different colors. What’s that about?

I grin to myself. He’s just trying to get me to think he’s charming.

He doesn’t need to try so hard.

I root around in the bags, which also contain some beautiful underwear, but there’s no note. No indication that Ben was the person who had all this delivered to me. But it couldn’t be anyone else.

I suppose it would be rude not to thank him. And I guess I could mention that the Boston hotel project has run into difficulties. I could even admit how Worth was suggesting we call him.

There’s no way I’m going to ask him for help. But I could just put that bait on the hook and see if he bites.

SIX

Ben

I’m late to meet Deacon at the gym on Monday morning, and when I finally arrive, he’s already in the changing rooms after having a shower.

“Sorry, mate. I got caught up in something this morning.”

Deacon shrugs. “Did you also get caught up in something yesterday morning?” he asks.

I narrow my eyes in confusion. “Yesterday?”

“You and Avril seemed very chatty at dinner. I wondered if she had a sleepover that you got caught up in yesterday?”

“Oh,” I say, nodding. “I see. You want me to cook you breakfast?”

“You’re deflecting.”

“I’m offering you food.” I pause. “And deflecting.”

“French toast?” he asks. I’m grateful to him that he doesn’t try to get me to talk about Avril. I don’t want to be the guy dishing on my conquests. That’s beyond gross.