Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“Hello, Ms. Evans. I’m Elise Wang, your personal stylist from Zoe Couture.” She’s already rolling one of the racks through the door. The henchmen help her, rolling the other two in behind it then exiting. “Mr. Blackthroat sent me over to get started on your wardrobe.” She flicks a glance over my figure and begins to pull items from the racks.
I blink. “My wardrobe?” My stomach bunches up. Is this part of Blackthroat’s makeover to make me more acceptable to his social strata? “I don’t need a wardrobe.”
Screw him. If I have to stay here as his prisoner, he can look at me in the same yoga pants and sweater I’ve been wearing since Ruby picked me up in the limo to save Brick two days ago. If he wants to see me in something cuter, he can let me go home.
Except…my chest aches when I remember that we will not be returning to that routine of me dressing to kill and coming into work to torture him. I’m still fired from Moon Co. He’s not my Big Bad Boss anymore.
He’s not even my boyfriend. He’s something else. Something I don’t understand since I’m not one of them.
“Today is just an introduction–an opportunity for me to get to know your style and preferences.” Elise ignores my protest. “Then I’ll take your measurements and put together a complete wardrobe over a series of months or even the year as we move through each season.”
Elise hands me a pair of champagne pink and black striped wide leg pants. “These would look amazing on you. I think they might be your size. Try them with this.” She hands me a black knit top that’s strapless, except it has detached sleeves.
I’m not a clothes horse. Not by any means. But the clothes she thrust in my hands are exquisite. The knit top must be cashmere–it feels so soft–and the pants are clearly expensive designer-made, with a high-waisted cut that will make me look tall and leggy.
Okay, fine. Brick wants to buy me designer clothes? We’ll see his reaction when I take one of everything.
I take the things back into the bedroom and try them on.
Elise taps on the door a moment later.
“Come on in.” I survey myself in the mirror. The wound on my shoulder where Brick bit me stands out against my pale skin. Will it go away? My breath shudders in the memory of it. How we almost lost him. The importance of this mark to him.
To me, it now looks like a brand. I belong to Brick Blackthroat now. I’m his to lock up in his penthouse and throw away the key.
“Oh yes. I knew you were going to rock that. It’s a great look for you.” She has a heap of gorgeous items draped over her arm. She lays them on the bed. “What size shoe are you? That outfit would look great with black stiletto boots. I brought a few pair.”
“Size seven.” I turn and look at the clothing. It’s all high fashion stuff–probably close to a hundred thousand dollars worth just right there on my bed. If Brick thinks dropping six figures on my wardrobe will change anything about this fucked up situation, he’s wrong.
But I might as well enjoy the experience.
Part of me is still making an exit plan. But that’s an old mental habit from when he was my boss. When I was trying to protect my heart.
Now it’s too late. My heart belongs to him, and he’s something…different to me.
But what he is–what we are–isn’t clear. And I really don’t like murky, undefined situations.
I spend the next hour trying on clothes, letting Elise style me and then telling her which outfits I like best.
She leaves me with every single item of clothing on her racks that fits me, along with staples of silk panties, bras, pajamas, loungewear, athleisure wear, and casuals, and promises to return tomorrow with the things that she didn’t have in my size and additional items she wants to shop for now that she knows my taste.
When she leaves, I feel even more hollow than before she came. I walk to the giant wall of windows overlooking Central Park and look down.
The problem is not just the literal prison I’m in. I could certainly strategize my way out of this building.
The problem is one of my own making. One that wants to somehow keep Brick. To make something work with him. To have the bliss of the last two days without giving up my entire life and identity for it.
A key turns in the lock. I round on Brick, prepared to give him a piece of my mind, but I stop short with a gasp.
My boss is soaked in blood. His crisp white button-down shirt is stained at the side with it, and there are dark red streaks on his neck at the open throat.