For a moment, she manages to focus enough for our gazes to lock. Her breath smells of tequila and lime, her lipstick is her usual bold red, but the heavy black eyeliner makes it clear she’s in costume.
“Were we terrible? Should I be mortified? I had to drink just to get on stage. That’s why I’m slurring. I don’t usually overimbibe. Not my style.” She side-steps like the floor moved beneath her feet, and I pull her against me again. Just to steady her. Not because I missed holding her upright.
She gasps, face tilted to mine. Then she looks quickly around the ceiling, and I realize what she must’ve seen. My eyes were glowing. My wolf showing. She’s looking for some logical cause, like a colored light shining on them.
“Time to go, Windows.”
“Windows?”
“That’s your new nickname. For the window dresses.”
She laughs but puts her hands on my chest and pushes away. I release her instantly. I’m not the kind of guy to strong arm a woman if she doesn’t want it. “I don’t need a ride. I’m going home with someone.”
A sharp spike of jealousy goes through my gut. My nostrils flare, and my mood turns black. “Who?” My question comes out a snarl.
Madison blinks, looking uncertain. She doesn’t answer me right away, and my possessive instincts are taking over.
It’s none of my business. I have no right to ask. But I have to know. “Tell me. Now.
Who are you going home with tonight?”
Brick
A wrinkle appears between Madison’s brows. She’s meeting my eyes, in the way only she can, searching my gaze for the truth. “Why do you want to know?”
That’s a billion dollar question. “I need to know you’re safe.”
Her pupils grow larger. “Why?”
I can’t answer her. I don’t even know.
The lead singer of their band appears at her side. “Oh my God, is this the Big, Bad-“
Madison pokes her in the ribs to shut her up. She thinks I don’t know what she calls me.
The girl waves her hand at me. “You’re the boss, aren’t you? Did you see our show?”
“Mr. Blackthroat, this is Aubrey, my roommate.”
“Roommate.”
“As you can see, I won’t be going home alone.”
Ah.
I almost lost my shit there for a moment over her going home with her roommate. What the hell is wrong with me? The tension in my neck and shoulders eases, and I unclench my fists.
“We’re besties.” Aubrey hooks an arm through Madison’s and tilts her head at me, wrinkling her nose like she’s trying to figure me out.
“Anyway,” Madison breaks in, shooting her roommate a look I can’t interpret, “I don’t need a ride. Or a bodyguard.” Madison narrows her eyes, which makes her tip back and lose her balance. I catch her elbow again. “Were you acting as my bodyguard tonight? Is that why you stayed?”
“I didn’t stay,” I insist, which is foolish, since she’s already caught me in the lie.
“Fine. You didn’t stay.” She smiles like it pleases her that I’m an idiot.
I need to walk away.
Leave.
I don’t know why I’m having such a hard time.
I force myself to stand and reluctantly release her elbow. Then I take her guitar strap off her shoulder. “Want me to take this so you can enjoy yourself?”
Her pretty lips form a little round “O” of surprise. Then she recovers quickly. “You see?” she says, poking my arm. “You are nice. You just don’t want anyone to know it.”
“I’m the farthest thing from nice you’ll ever meet, Ms. Evans. Don’t forget it.”
With that parting shot, I carry her guitar out of the place and walk to my car.
I need to go to the Berkshires to let my wolf out. The need to run, to hunt, to kill, nearly blinds me.
I should fire Madison Evans. Right away.
Before I cross the point of no return.
* * *
Madi
“Your big, bad boss is totally into you,” Aubrey says, turning a spoonful of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream upside down, so she can lick it when she puts it in her mouth.
We’re sharing a pint for dinner. I shove my spoon in the carton and dig deep. “He literally admitted to being turned on by the sight of my skin.”
“And you should’ve seen the way he was looking when he had his arm around you. I mean, he was nothing-nothing
-like what you described.”
“I said he was beautiful.”
“You said he was beautiful but a nightmare on wheels. That guy last night? Total gentleman. Hot, rich gentleman. You should go for him.”
I give her an exaggerated look of horror. “Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend Aubrey?”
She laughs. “What?”
“Um…rich asshole? No thank you.”
“Let’s examine the facts. Rich asshole who seems to hate everyone but you. That’s kinda hot.”
I roll my eyes and snatch the ice cream carton away from her.
She starts ticking off on her fingers, starting with the thumb.
“Gets all hot and bothered when you wear peek-a-boo dresses…insists on driving you to your gig because he doesn’t want other men seeing you in your sexy outfit…stays and acts as bodyguard-or” -she uses a new finger even though it’s an or not an and
– “stays because he wants to see how amazing you are as an 80’s girl-band-member, and finally” -she moves onto the other hand- “Takes your guitar with him so you can stay and have a good time.” She finishes with an
I rest my case face. “That’s hot.”
Tingles race across my skin-a flush of recognition at what she’s saying.
I roll through all the rude things he does. How poor Indira was terrified of him. How quick he is to make unreasonable demands and berate all manner of small mistakes.
Aw, hell. Aubrey’s right. That just makes it hotter that he might be soft on me.
“Okay, but it doesn’t make him redeemable as a human being. I mean, I would never date him.”
“Well, it is complicated because he’s your boss,” Aubrey concedes.
“Even if I weren’t his executive assistant, he wouldn’t date someone like me.”
Aubrey’s broad smile fades. “What do you mean, someone like you?” She’s offended by my description on my behalf.
“Rich guy? Full scholarship girl? I already know how this one ends. Same way my mom’s relationship with my dad did.”
Aubrey shrugs. “Well don’t get pregnant. And don’t fall in love. But otherwise? I say, go for it. It’ll make you un-fireable. And you can put it in your memoir.
Fucking the One Percent: the Madi Evans story.”
I let out a reluctant laugh. “You’re crazy.”
“Crazy fo-or you,” she sings in a Madonna voice.
I add the back up vocals, “Bah, bah, bah, bah,” and we laugh together.
The doorbell rings, and we both shriek.
“Special delivery for Madison Evans.”
“Don’t answer,” Aubrey whispers. “It might be a serial killer.”
“Stop it,” I whisper back before telling the delivery person I’ll be right down. It’s weird to get a late night delivery, so I am extra cautious. A young man in a neat navy uniform greets me on the stoop, holding my guitar and a dry cleaning bag. Did Blackthroat get my coat dry cleaned?
I thank the delivery man and head back inside.
“I finished the ice cream,” Aubrey says. “What do you want for our actual dinner?” She sees what I’m holding and wrinkles her nose. “Did your boss just drop that off?”
“He had it dropped off.” I unzip the dry cleaning bag to remove my coat and immediately realize that it’s not mine. It’s the same cream color, but this one is real wool, with peplum tailoring and sleek gold buttons.
I check the label.
Chanel.
I stare at it, trying to comprehend what the gift means. Part of me wants to take offense-this rich asshole thought my jacket was a throwaway that he needed to replace? But that’s just my pride talking. No, this gift was thoughtful. Something Brick Blackthroat pretends not to be.
Shivers of excitement run across my arms and down my legs.
“I told you he was into you,” Aubrey calls. She’s rummaging around in the fridge. She hasn’t realized my boss sent me a whole new coat.
“Yeah.” I head to my room to hang it up before Aubrey sees. If I tell her, we’ll both speculate on why Blackthroat sent me this gift. If I keep it a secret, it won’t matter why. I can savor this moment for what it is.
In the dark of my closet, the cream wool seems to glow. The wool is luxe. The lining is real silk. I allow myself one more lingering touch before closing the closet doors.
Madi
Friday, I duck out for a quick lunch-in my new coat-when a new appointment pops up on my schedule.
Fitting,
Zoe’s Couture with an address on 5th Avenue. Am I supposed to drop by to pick something up for Blackthroat? I head to the address just in case, texting Indira in case she knows what it’s about.
No idea, she texts back.
Weird, but the only person who can add things to my calendar is Blackthroat, and what the boss wants, the boss gets.
That’s how I find myself ringing the bell at a discreet door tucked between a spa and a jewelry store. There’s no shop name on the door, just a number and a brass sign announcing ‘By Appointment only.’ The man who opens it is slender, his purple hair power clashing with his red velvet suit. My eyebrows climb into my hairline, but he says, “Madison Evans?” and waves me to follow him. “Right this way.”
This must be a fashion stylist’s private boutique. I’m probably here to pick up Blackthroat’s outfit for the ball tonight. I can’t see him wearing a velvet suit, but maybe his nighttime attire is less conservative.
But when the long, narrow hallway deposits us into the showroom, all I see are dresses. Sheaths and ball gowns in jewel tones.
“I’m Damien, and I’ll be working with you today. Champagne?” my guide offers me, even though it’s barely past noon.
I shake my head, absorbing the peacock bright array of gowns. “I think I’m just here to pick something up.”
“Oh no, honey,” Damien laughs. “You’re here for a fitting. Your boyfriend booked the whole midday fitting for you.”
“What?” I squawk, startling Damien. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Excuse me, I just assumed. We work by referral only. Normally we wouldn’t do this so last minute, but Ruby Blackthroat is a huge client. Huge, huge,” he emphasizes with widened eyes and spread hands.
“And she set this up for me?
“Yes, I believe on her brother’s request. Not your boyfriend?”
I almost laugh out loud. If Blackthroat heard someone call him my boyfriend, he’d set his gaze to death ray and incinerate them on the spot. “He’s my boss.” I cover my surprise as I turn in a slow circle, breathing in the subtly perfumed air. The place smells like money. “I’m supposed to pick out a dress?”
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