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She nods. “Yes.”
“Okay. Just so we’re both on the same page—you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. I have a few hours of work to do.”
“Oh. Okay. I should check in with work, too.” She takes another sip of coffee. “Braden?”
“Yeah.”
Her cheeks are that delectable shade of pink again. “I’m going to need something to wear home.”
I resist a smile, though the memory of shredding Skye’s little black dress is worth a face-splitting grin. “Of course. Find out where Tessa got the black dress, and I’ll have it replaced. You can wear the cardigan I gave you last night.”
“Okay… What about pants?”
I nearly smile again. “I guess I didn’t leave your dress in working condition as a skirt.”
“No, you didn’t.”
I stand. “I’ll find you something. Next time, bring a change of clothes.”
She widens her eyes slightly. Is she surprised? I’m nowhere near done with Skye Manning.
“In fact,” I continue, “bring over several things. Or if you want to leave me your sizes, I’ll have some stuff delivered.”
“That’s okay. I have plenty. I can bring some over.”
“Good,” I say, my voice going darker, “because I plan to destroy a lot of them.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Work and a ten-mile run fill the remainder of my Sunday—except for the call I make to my
tailor after Christopher leaves to take Skye home. Rather than wait to find out where Tessa bought the dress—since I may or may not be able to find the same one, especially if it’s not from the current season, which I’m betting it isn’t—I take the matter into my own hands.
“Miguel, it’s Braden Black.”
“Good morning, Mr. Black. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got a project for you, if you’re free today.”
“I’m always free for you.”
“Great.”
Miguel Moore and I have an arrangement. I pay him ten times what he gets from anyone else, and in return, he drops everything and sews his ass off for me with a twenty-four hour or less turnaround. It started back when I’d made my first hundred million, and Sasha, who was just a pup at the time, chewed up my tuxedo. I had an event the next day, and a rental wasn’t going to cut it. I put out a plea on social media and Miguel answered. His work is top-notch, and over the years, we’ve kept up the arrangement.
I plan to take advantage of it today.
“I need a dress.”
Miguel laughs. “I’m guessing your usual measurements? Or is it for a young lady?”
I chuckle lightly. “For a young lady, thanks. I need you to work your magic. I have the tag from the back of the dress and some photos of a woman wearing it at a gala last night. Other than that, it’s in tatters.”
“Must have been a fun night.”
Right. And none of his business. I clear my throat. “I’ll have what’s left of the dress couriered to you right away. I’ll need two exact replicas of the dress created. Just a minute, and I’ll text you the photos.”
A moment later, Miguel says, “Got them. It looks like a basic mini sheath with spaghetti straps. I can replicate it no problem.”
