Page 24 of Healing Hearts
“Nobody wears pants to a charity benefit.”
“So you’re planning to wear a dress?” Meera quickly covered her mouth with both hands. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to say that, sir.”
Sir? Fuck. Brax struggled to maintain a blank expression as his cock twitched under his desk, and he almost walked back the request. Meera in pants was distracting. Meera in a dress would be trouble. He much preferred emailing her from the other side of a wall, but he had to stick to his guns. What if they had a repeat of the JJ Wardle incident? Five years ago, JJ had accidentally texted his wife instead of his mistress just as dinner was about to begin, and the former had locked herself into a bathroom stall, sobbing inconsolably. Luisa had sat with her for over an hour, talking through the options. The last Brax had heard, Mrs. Wardle was driving a new top-of-the-line Audi and screwing her tennis coach.
Plus Debra Finlay would need someone to hold her hand. She put her heart and soul into raising money to support other parents with EAST Syndrome kids in addition to working as a housekeeper on the second floor, but event planning wasn’t her area of expertise. If a speaker showed up late or one of the guests changed their menu choice at the last minute, she’d get stressed. Somebody needed to support her.
“You already picked up my suit.” Brax motioned to the tux he’d retrieved from the closet and draped over a visitor chair. When his next videoconference was over, he’d take it upstairs to his apartment. “Don’t you remember? And yes, you need to wear appropriate attire. I expect you to be at my side for most of the evening.”
“Most of the evening? How late will this event finish?”
“Eleven? Midnight? Does it matter? Your contract specifies that your hours are flexible and overtime is required.”
“Well, my contract says nothing about dresses, and I don’t own one.”
Either she was a liar, or her closet had befallen a recent tragedy—a fire, a flood, an ex with scissors… Meera was made to wear beautiful dresses. Brax might have been avoiding her for the entire week, but he wasn’t blind. Far from it, when it came to checking out women’s assets. That was part of his job. His clients expected their drinks mixed to perfection, their food delectable, and their hostesses—and hosts, because The Dark was all about equal opportunities—sexy as hell. In terms of looks, Meera would fit right in, but he couldn’t imagine a firebrand like her handcuffed to a bed.
Not downstairs, anyway.
Maybe upstairs.
“If you’re incapable of finding a dress yourself, speak to Teresa in Operations. Lose those shoes as well.”
Now she put her hands on her hips. Then she realised what she’d done and dropped them to her sides again, fists balled.
“What’s wrong with my shoes?”
What wasn’t wrong with them?
“They’re plain, frumpy, and scuffed.”
The door slammed behind her as she marched out, and Brax sighed. Meera was angry again.
Which was probably for the best.
CHAPTER 6
THE ASSISTANT
My new job came with health insurance, but did it come with dental? Because I was about to crack a tooth.
Frumpy? Frumpy? Braxton Vale thought I was frumpy?
I caught sight of myself in the gilded mirror opposite my desk and took in the low ponytail, shapeless white shirt, and pants a size too big. Thrift store shoppers couldn’t be fussy. Okay, he was probably right, but he didn’t have to say it out loud, did he? That was just rude. And my shoes were only scuffed because I’d tripped over a step when I collected his tuxedo from the dry cleaner earlier. At least he hadn’t commented on the novelty bow tie. I’d chosen an abstract pattern that reminded me of Van Gogh’s The Starry Night, but now I wished I’d bought the one covered in tiny dicks instead.
Who was Teresa? Why would she have a spare evening dress on hand? And where was I meant to find more shoes? Friday afternoon, and I felt like crying. By tiptoeing around Mr. Vale, I thought I’d survived my first week, but now he’d pulled the rug out from under me. I never used to be this fragile. But my father’s ultimatum—marry Karam or else—coupled with Meera moving overseas and three horrible jobs in a row had left me riddled with tiny cracks that were just waiting to break wide open.
I’d also promised to call Meera at eleven tonight. She left for work at seven a.m., and this weekend, she was digging more swales because a storm was forecast for Monday. If I went to the benefit, I’d miss speaking with her, and I needed to hear her voice. Plus I wanted to check she was okay after the fight with Alfie. He’d come back home, at least. Meera had messaged me on Wednesday to say things were still awkward, but he’d apologised and claimed he’d snapped because he was tired.
I knew the feeling.
Why had I asked Mr. Vale if he was planning to wear a freaking dress? The comment had just slipped out, and I needed to remember I wasn’t at college anymore. The freedom to speak my mind was a luxury I couldn’t afford, plus there was the fact that Mr. Vale had undergone a sense-of-humour bypass, if his stony expression was anything to go by.
“Hey!” Charlotte waved from the doorway. “It’s Selena’s birthday, and a group of us are going out for drinks tonight. Wanna come?”
“I can’t.”
“Hot date?”
