Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“I need you to memorize the guest list while they’re doing your hair and makeup.”
Hair and makeup? That explains the appointment at the spa.
“Understood, sir.” I roll with it, like I’m totally accustomed to getting my hair and makeup done before I go to charity balls.
“This is a public event. I need you looking your best. You’ll be on my arm the whole night.”
“As your assistant,” I clarify because this is sounding more and more like a date.
“Yes,” he clips. “Unless you’re angling to get fired.”
“So my choices are to come to the ball as your plus one or get fired?” We’re dancing close to the edge of what HR will find inappropriate again.
“I’ll pick you up at the boutique.” He hangs up.
The mirror opposite me shows a Cinderella in a very nice coat, two seconds away from steam coming out of her ears.
You’ll never believe this, I text Aubrey. Tonight I’m going to the BFFB.
She calls me a second later. “Really?” Sounds of the espresso maker and chattering coffee-shop customers muffle her voice, but she sounds breathless.
She hates pomp and circumstance, but we used to drool over the photos of the BFFB. The foundation is primarily about environmentalism and land preservation, but each year they sponsor a few promising young artists–and rumor has it Aubrey is on the shortlist for the next grant.
“Last minute notice. Apparently my boss thinks my presence is necessary.” I drop my voice. “I’m accompanying him on his plus one ticket.”
“No way,” Aubrey sounds as shocked as I feel. “As his employee? Or his…” She doesn’t say date, but a quiver runs through me. Brick Blackthroat’s date. I like the sound of that. Too much.
“He said I would be there to act as his assistant, but… he’s paying for my dress. And hair. And makeup.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah. I’m at the boutique now.” I name one of the designer labels I saw.
“Are you serious? I love that designer! They did the costumes for the new jukebox musical, the one with all eighties bands. Maybe you can score some go-go boots for our act.”
“We already have go-go boots. I’ve got to go. Big Bad Boss requires me to pick a dress.” I’ve found a slash of red satin in the sea of jewel tones, and when I pull out the dress, I see it’s perfect. When I describe it to Aubrey, she cackles. “Do it. My God. I wish I could see his face.”
I walk out carrying the ball gown. Damien whirls to greet me and raises his brows when I hold up my choice. “I want this one.”
“Red? The theme is black and white.”
“Then I’ll stand out.” Blackthroat wants to slip me in. He can forget it. I’ll be there like I own the place. And I won’t let him forget it.
I let Damien take my coat and lead me to a dressing room, where I shimmy out of everything but my panties and let the dress pour over my head. It’s soft and stretchy. Drapes perfectly over my curves and falls to the floor where it flares at my ankles. But of course the best part–the only part that matters–is the peek-a-boobs. It’s a perfect window. This one isn’t tasteful and classy like the versions I wear to work. It is exactly what Blackthroat has been accusing me of–a full on framing of my cleavage.
Eat your heart out, Brick Blackthroat.
Brick
I text Madison the single word here when the limo pulls up in front of Ruby’s favorite dress boutique.
If this were a date, I’d get out of the limo to greet her when she comes out, but since it’s very specifically not a date, I stay in the limo and let Tony, my driver, open the door to the back.
As it turns out, it was forward thinking of me because I sprout a chub the moment I see her.
Fuck. Me.
I should fire her on the spot. After this morning’s phone call, she has it coming.
It’s the cut of her dress that slays me. Brick red–fuck–did she do that on purpose? With a cut-out window to her breasts, and this time, it’s a genuine peek-a-boob. The plunging triangle cutout ends well below her breasts and gives me a view of–holy hell–at least half of her breasts.
And what gorgeous juicy handfuls they are. As beautiful as I suspected.
Her bob, which is normally sleek and straight, has loose, beachy waves in it, and her make-up is movie-star worthy. Dark red lipstick that matches the dress and dramatic black eyeliner that extends behind the outer corners of her eyes.
I exhale through my nose as she gets in, so I don’t take in her scent at the same time I’m recovering from the sight of her.
“Are you testing me, Madison?” I snap.
She gives me her fake-innocent expression. “I’m sorry?”
I will myself not to look below her eyes.