Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Really, Cassandra? Putting your faith in him? He might be kind, but he’s still a member of the Thirteen. You, of all people, know what he’s capable of.
Maybe to others. Not to me.
Or maybe I’m a fool and about to have pie on my face.
I straighten my spine and follow Psyche and Hera to a remarkably charming sitting area arranged around a platform with a half circle of mirrors. A door off to the side must be the changing room.
Psyche looks around. “Juliette?”
“Here.” The rattling of a rack against the stained concrete floor precedes the tall Black woman who appears from between the racks. She used to be a model, and it shows in the way she carries herself, her simple but elegant black clothing, and the short, dark curls that leave her features on appealing display. I can’t begin to guess at her age, but she must at least be in her forties if she was around when the second Hera was. Possibly even fifties, since most designers don’t make names for themselves in their early twenties, especially when they were models first. Some models flicker and fade in the face of age, but time seems only to have polished this woman with something more than beauty. Strength.
She arranges the rack next to the changing room and motions long fingers at me. “Well, let me look at you.”
I hold my chin high as I approach and do a slow spin. When I face her again, approval lights her features. “I like your style. I can work with this.” She tilts her head to the side. “But first, what kind of vision do you have for this event?”
I hadn’t really thought about it, but the words come unbidden. “They’re going to talk about me regardless of what I do. I want to give them something to talk about.”
Juliette’s smile is knife-sharp. “Then you’ve come to the right place. Let’s get started.”
6
Apollo
I arrive at the Dryad fifteen minutes early. Whether Cassandra admits it or not, she’s got to be nervous about dinner for a number of reasons. She’ll be thrust into the very pool of people she’s spent twelve years avoiding. Not to mention this is where our fake relationship either launches…or crashes and burns.
We should have done a dry run somewhere private. Except that’s not logical either, because despite working together for five years, we’ve never been properly alone. Even though no one works in our immediate area—the closest is Hector with his office down the hall—we’re not really isolated. Cassandra has skipped every work party and after-hours event. Not that I blame her, but I can’t help looking for her during the ones I’m obligated to attend.
Now we’re supposed to be dating.
I can’t believe I even suggested this plan, let alone allowed Zeus to bully his way into ensuring it happened after her initial refusal. My reputation is more pristine that some of my peers, but this will be a black mark for certain. Or, rather, it will be confirmation that I’m no better than the others. Dating my assistant? How cliché. The gossip magazines will be salivating at even the slightest hint of scandal.
It’s still less a price than I’m asking Cassandra to pay.
“Apollo?”
I turn…and freeze.
Cassandra stands a few feet away. She wears her hair like normal, an undisturbed glossy fall of deep red. Her hair always catches my eye first. I’m still not sure if it’s natural or not. I suppose it doesn’t matter.
I try to keep my gaze on her face, on her artfully smoky eyes and dark-red lips. Truly, I do. But even as I tell myself to stop it, I can’t help sweeping my gaze over her.
In all the time we’ve worked together, I’ve gotten used to Cassandra in a particular kind of clothing. Yes, she wears pencil skirts that hug her wide hips and big ass in a way that has inspired more fantasies than I care to admit. But she also trends toward high-necked frilly tops that might hint at her generous chest but never more than hint.
Her dress tonight is worlds different. It’s a dark gray that’s almost black, setting off her pale skin and highlighting her hair. It’s also got a deep V in the front that shows off more than a hint of cleavage. So much more than a hint. I can’t stop myself from following the line of the fabric to her waist, where it flares in folds that make her hips seem wider than normal before narrowing down to hug her calves. It’s got a slight split in the front, probably to allow her to walk. Red heels complete the look. With those heels on, she might reach past my shoulder. The thought makes my chest thump painfully.
“Apollo.” There’s something in her voice. Not her normal snark or dry wit. No, it’s almost panic.