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  Whoa. Okay. She hadn’t even bought me a drink.

  Now with me in my heels, black lace thong and matching lace, strapless bra, she whipped out a measuring tape.

  She quickly sized me up. “Bene,” she said in that thick accent, “you are a beet fawt, but I think we have a few dresses for you.”

  A bit fat? I was a size six. I shot her a sour look, but she didn’t care.

  “But your teets are nice, si?” she added.

  “Jeez. Thanks. Did you and Mr. Cole go to the same school of compliments?”

  “No,” she said sharply, looking at me with a peculiar frown. “I went to di fashion school.”

  “Never mind.”

  She turned away and rushed to the rack at the far end of the room. “Yes. I think deez will work nicely.” She grabbed a black sequined thing, a red silky dress, and a pink satin gown with a beaded cream cinch around the waist.

  She handed me the pink one first. I kicked off my heels and stepped into it. She tried the zipper, but it wouldn’t go up.

  “You are too fawt. Next dress.” If she called me fat one more time, I was going to bite her.

  “What are you? Like a size ten?” I asked, wanting to point out the obvious. Of course, there was nothing wrong with a size ten, but still.

  She shrugged. “I am not di one asking for a dress one hour before di big show.” She opened up the back of the black one, which was strapless and looked to be formfitting with eyelets in the back instead of a zipper.

  The door swung open, and I heard that deep, familiar, masculine voice. “Miss Snow, are you rea—”

  Oh crap. I turned my head, and Mr. Cole just stood there staring at my nearly naked body. I could’ve sworn I saw his Adam’s apple do a little bob. I liked it. I liked his eyes on my body. Which was why I let him look.

  Margharita prompted me to step into the dress, which I did. She then went to work on the hooks and eyelets in the back. Mr. Cole’s eyes slowly moved to my face.

  My breath hitched. A morbid part of me, the one that couldn’t help looking at car accidents as I drove by, waited anxiously. What would happen when he looked at my face? Would he be able to handle it without any discomfort?

  God, this situation kind of sucked. Okay. No. It flat out sucked.

  His eyes met mine, and then he quickly turned away from me. “Wear that one. I’ll wait outside.”

  My heart did a little dive. Being around this guy was like riding an emotional roller coaster. Up, down, fast, slow, spin in a loop. I couldn’t quite seem to stop myself from feeling one way and then another.

  I straightened my spine and lifted my chin. Don’t let it get to you, Lily. You knew this was the deal. I had to keep reminding myself that he couldn’t help it. And as horrible as he behaved sometimes, he was trying to fix his problem.

  “Suck it in, girl. Suck it in,” Margharita barked, trying to fasten the last hook, which hit me mid-back.

  I did as she asked, feeling the fabric squeeze my rib cage. “Eccellente!” she chirped. “Di fawt is in!”

  Ohmygod. I was about to give her an earful, but then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and forgot what I was going to say. My breasts pushed up into voluptuous pillows at the top, almost like a corset effect, the waist darted in to give me a classic hourglass figure, and the hem hit me just above the knees, making my legs look long and graceful. I felt…so damned sexy. Me. Lily Snow felt really sexy.

  “Wow. Thank you, Margharita.”

  “It is nothing!” She handed me a pair of shimmery black satin heels with a strap that went around the ankle. She quickly helped me get them on since I couldn’t bend over so easily. The dress was really frigging tight.

  Once the last buckle was on, I thanked her and scurried off, trying to keep my composure in the three-inch heels.

  When I exited the door, Mr. Cole was standing there, talking on his phone. Then he stopped talking and just stared, blinking at my breasts and hips and legs and everything.

  “Now that is a dress worthy of your body, Miss Snow.”

  The moment that passed between us was difficult to articulate. There was this strange hollowness in my chest when he looked at me. I guess you could call it a sadness or an emptiness. And the look in his cold, hard eyes made me all too aware that he felt the same. But not about me. About himself—his inability to get past this boat anchor around his neck. At least, that’s what I guessed. But the two of us just looking at each other, seeing each other once again, profoundly affected me.

  “How is it possible that the only person in the world who really sees me, can’t stand to look at me?” I asked.

  The expression in his eyes softened. “I did look. And you are stunning.”

  “Thanks.” I didn’t know if he meant it, but I wanted to believe he did. I looked down at my feet, my heart pounding away inside my chest.

  “Now if you don’t mind. We have a fashion show to get to.” He marched out of the building, leaving me to my own devices to navigate the door and stairs.

  He’s still an ass. But he was seriously starting to grow on me. “Uh…thank you for the dress!” I called out.

  Going to the fashion show reminded me of eating a bowl of chocolate ice cream: so, so good, and over way too fast. And like my favorite dessert, it was addictive—the buzz in the room, the excitement and glamour. Over. Whelming. But in an “I must be dreaming” kind of way.

  There were so many famous—at least I think they were—beautiful people at the show, many of them rushing to greet, kiss, hug, or snap off a photo with the infamous bachelor and sex symbol Maxwell Cole. It was a feeding frenzy of photographers and fashion reporters, who knew the moment he walked in the room that this show was the secret reveal for the new fall makeup line. Of course, given the amount of press, I suspected the news had been leaked.

  And as I hung back, away from the lenses and crowds that gathered around him until we took our seats, I noticed an ease about him. The way he smiled and carried himself with confidence was utterly magnetic. This was his element, surrounded by all the beautiful people who didn’t make him sweat or panic or feel helpless.

  It was the first time in my life I remember feeling jealous. Truly and utterly jealous. Not of him, but of everyone in the room he looked at and touched as if it were nothing.

  I didn’t want to acknowledge these shallow feelings, but I was only human, imperfect in more ways than I’d ever understood. And I’d been burying my emotions, lying to myself for so long that it felt normal. Only now, being there in that room made me realize how tainted I was on the inside.

  So what are you going to do about it?

  It was a question I put out of my head for another day, because when the lights dimmed and the loud, pounding techno music started, my mind transported to another world. Gorgeous, tall women with long slender bodies floated past me in twenty-thousand-dollar, hand-beaded dresses worthy of the Oscars, Cannes, or any other glamourous event. Before I blinked, it was over.

  Like I said, ice cream. Sweet. Delicious. Never enough.

  After the models concluded their sassy struts, Maxwell Cole joined Babs on the stage. The crowd roared, cheered, and clapped. A million bulbs flashed, lighting up the room in a constant stream of lightning bolts.

  Maxwell Cole put his arm around Babs, a middle-aged woman with a kind face, but no glamor queen herself, especially standing next to the enigmatic Mr. Cole. He then looked down at me and winked.

  I had a fan-girl moment, remembering the first time I’d seen a picture of him in a magazine. It had made my heart race with gnawing need, like how a girl feels the first time she goes to a rock concert and sees her idol on stage. It’s a sort of all-consuming, magical attraction at a very primal level.

  The show ended, and while I waited for Mr. Cole by the limo, I got to chat with Keri’s boyfriend—a very handsome black guy with a super cute smile who’d actually gotten the job through Mr. Cole. I wondered how he and Keri made it work since he was based out of New York. I guess when
people are in love, they just make it work. I wondered what that felt like: “making it work no matter what.” Would I ever get to love someone that much?

  Finally, Mr. Cole said his goodbyes to a few more people standing around outside, and I got into the backseat ahead of him.

  “Wow,” I said. “That was fun. Thank you for taking me to this.”

  He glanced at me. “You’re welcome,” he said, sounding shocked by my gratitude. Had I really been acting like such an ungrateful turd that a thank you was a rare thing? I’d need to try harder.

  “Well, now I know why you were smiling earlier. You looked like you really enjoyed it.”

  “I do. I especially enjoy knowing that we’ll be getting great publicity from this event, which costs me almost nothing, but will help us sell a billion dollars of makeup next quarter.” He glanced at me. “But that wasn’t why I was smiling earlier.”

  Hmmm… “Okay. Don’t keep me in suspense, Mr. Cole.”

  “I think it’s best that I do. I wouldn’t want to sour your evening.”

  Of course, that only got my wheels turning faster. “You’re evil.”

  “I prefer shrewd and calculating.” His voice hinted at humor, but I wasn’t sure. “Speaking of, you’ll be meeting two very important customers tonight. One is Franco Morrano, the other is Krissy Walters, the head of purchasing for Libby Loo.”

  Wow. Okay, so Libby Loo was this really fantastic retail chain for older teens and twenty-somethings, sort of like an H&M, but less messy. Franco Morrano was the CEO of makeitless.com the biggest online makeup website in the world. I knew because I bought stuff there all the time for their discounts.

  “Oh no,” I said. “I didn’t have time to prepare anything.”

  “There’s nothing to prepare. You smile, shake hands, pay a few compliments, and then tell them you’ll call next week to book time on their calendars in one month.”

  Okay. That sounded easy. “Sure. No problem.” And it would give me something to do at this party, where I’d surely feel a little awkward.

  “And word of warning, Miss Snow?” The limo pulled up to some hotel I didn’t know. The red carpet swarmed with photographers.

  “Yes?” I asked as the door opened and he got out, bending down to quietly warn me.

  “Franco gets a little free with his hands when he drinks. Steer clear of him later on.”

  “Is he cute?” I said, completely joking. Mr. Cole’s eyes told me he did not find that funny.

  Okay… I exited the limo as gracefully as I could, hanging back a little as the press had their fill of Maxwell Cole from behind the ropes.

  Our limo pulled away and another pulled up. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a blonde in a bright red dress step out.

  Holy sacred fashion cow. It was Adeline Taylor. Supermodel turned actress. The moment she hit the carpet, the photographers started splitting up, going after her. Then she walked right toward me. I was a little starstruck and didn’t know what to do.

  “Excuse me?” she said with a snotty tone.

  Oh. I was standing in her way? No. I wasn’t. But the woman could move one foot and go around me.

  I gave her a look but didn’t move. She rolled her eyes and then glared as she went around, pasting on a fake-as-hell smile the moment she laid eyes on Mr. Cole.

  “Max, baby!” she squealed, which got his attention. He turned and seemed extremely happy to see her, taking her hand immediately and placing a kiss on the top. Meanwhile, the photographers moved their attention to the next celebrity, an Italian actor, I think. Honestly, I couldn’t take my eyes off of Mr. Cole as he leaned in, saying something to the woman that made her burst out laughing. They then walked on ahead, leaving me trailing behind like an invisible pet.

  Wow. Well, at least I knew where I stood with him, right?

  I put on my work hat and lifted my chin. I wasn’t pretty, but I had self-esteem. And healthy eating habits. So there.

  Once inside the packed, dimly lit ballroom buzzing with lights and loud music, I searched for Mr. Cole, but couldn’t see him.

  Great. Thanks for leaving me all alone at the most intimidating party in the world. I made my way to the bar and grabbed a glass of champagne. Sipping slowly, standing on the edge of the crowded room and feeling like a duck out of water, I watched the people flowing in. Some were dressed a bit more casual than others, but everyone looked fabulous. And so uptight. Weren’t they here to have fun? Or was this really all just an excuse to get some publicity? There were photographers everywhere, like ants at a picnic.

  “Lily?” I heard a strange man’s voice.

  I turned and found a short older gentleman, handsome with black hair and a lopsided smile, staring at me.

  “Yes?”

  He extended his hand. “I’m Franco Morrano. Max said I’d find you over here. He said, ‘She’s the blonde in the sexy black dress with the tight body.’”

  My eyes flared, and I nearly spit out my bubbly. “Sorry?” No way would my boss say something like that. Would he? I looked over my shoulder and then the other. I still didn’t see Mr. Cole anywhere.

  Franco snorted. “He wasn’t lying. You look…pretty nice. Let’s go dance.”

  “Um…” Shit. From the subtle happiness and slur in his voice, I could tell he’d already been drinking. I wondered how much time I had before his magic hands would make an appearance and I’d have to go hide in the bathroom.

  “Well, I think I need another drink first. I’m not much of a dancer.”

  “I gotcha!” He snagged two glasses as a waiter just happened to float by with a tray. For the next forty minutes, I watched Franco pound down the champagne while he talked to me about online consumer trends and shopping habits. He mentioned that he’d been fighting with Mr. Cole about the fact that they never had enough product to sell at a discount. I tried to keep the convo light and casual since I wasn’t up to speed on any of the issues. I only knew that Franco’s company moved a few million dollars of product for C.C. each year.

  “Well, how about that dance?” he asked, now thoroughly trashed. I really wondered why with a room full of gorgeous models he’d want to dance with me.

  “I really need to use the ladies’ room,” I said politely.

  He shook his finger in my face, slightly swaying. “But you come right back, young lady.”

  Dear God, no. I was going to take my sweet time. Maybe take up knitting while I was in the loo. I’d always wanted to learn.

  I turned to find the powder room, and Franco gave me a swat on the ass. I yelped and then immediately bit my tongue. That sonofabitch. If he did that again, I might not be keeping my job. Breaking your customer’s arm would definitely be a career-limiting move.

  On the other hand, if I was going to do this job, and do it well, I needed to learn how to start dealing with people from the good and the bad to the creepy and vulgar, like Franco.

  Or I let the boss handle this guy. But where the hell was Mr. Cole?

  I kept an eye out for him as I weaved through the glamorous partygoers toward the ladies’ room.

  Nada.

  The man had ditched me?

  After listening to several women vomiting in the stalls, and trying my best not to get anything on my dress as I went up to bat, I practically ran from that bathroom. Those poor women. What would possess them to do that to their bodies on a regular basis?

  Maybe the same thing that possesses you?

  No, I didn’t scarf and barf—I liked my food going one way only—but I had been known to punish myself with extra running when I felt bad.

  I exited the bathroom and heard a familiar chuckle to my right. Mr. Cole had that Adeline Taylor woman against the wall in a dark corner behind some large potted plants. They were intimately close, his lower torso pressed against her body as she laughed and sipped her drink.

  I knew I had no right to be jealous. But for the second time that night I was.

  He must’ve noticed someone staring because he glanced in my dire
ction at the precise moment that I saw her slide her hand over his groin.

  My jaw dropped, and then I snapped it shut, turned, and walked away.

  It was too much. Not that I couldn’t handle everything that was happening, but I couldn’t handle it all at once. I needed to get back to the hotel and gather myself before I said or did something I’d regret. Sometimes the heart—an inherently reactive creature and immature at times—needs to burn off its steam so the mind can step in with a grounding kick in the pants.

  We are not in a relationship. He’s my boss. We have a strange and disturbing relationship. This is all.

  I headed for the door and heard Mr. Cole calling my name. I looked over my shoulder and waited for him.

  “Miss Snow, where do you think you’re going?”

  “I’m suddenly not feeling so well. Thought I’d go back to the hotel.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “You’re running away.”

  “No.”

  “Really?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Yes. Really,” I lied, feeling irritated that he could see through me so easily.

  “I’m sorry, but you can’t leave until you shake hands with Krissy Walters.”

  “Well, where is she?” I asked. I would’ve introduced myself, but I had no idea what she looked like and Mr. Cole had been too busy with Adeline.

  “She generally comes late to any function where there’s press.”

  “Oh.” I shrugged. “Well, I guess I’ll wait, then.” I turned toward an empty table and Mr. Cole grabbed my hand to stop me.

  “Miss Snow, about last night—”

  I tugged back my appendage and held it out. “Please. I don’t want to talk about it. I’m fine. Just go back to your gorgeous actress girlfriend and enjoy yourself.”

  He shook his head. “I’m beginning to think I was wrong about you.”

  I frowned. “Why?”

  “I thought you were the sort of person who always speaks her mind. Fearlessly.”

  “Some things are better left unsaid.” Fucker.

  No. You did not think that. He’s done nothing wrong.