Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 43239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 216(@200wpm)___ 173(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 216(@200wpm)___ 173(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
As I’m posing near the window, the front door opens and Harrison steps inside.
He stops dead in his tracks, staring at me for what feels like forever.
“What do you think, Mr. Jones?”
Harrison doesn’t answer. He just stares at me.
His lips are parting as he slowly takes in every inch of my body, and when he reaches my eyes, he mouths, “You’re fucking stunning.”
“Yes, I’m thinking the same thing.” Frederick nods. “I didn’t charge you enough, so I’ll be increasing the price. Follow me to the closet, ladies. Let’s make a few changes to her wardrobe.”
They rush toward my bedroom, and Harrison walks toward me.
“So?” I ask. “You think I look like a woman someone would love to get to know?”
He doesn’t answer, and my cheeks heat as he trails his thumb along the edge of the bodice.
“Do you think Jackson will be impressed?”
“For an entirely different reason.”
“What does that mean?”
“I think he’ll like it a lot.” He avoids my question. “What do you think?”
“I wish my mom could see it,” I admit. “I think she’d be impressed that I managed to get all the frizz out of my hair.”
“Okay, out, Mr. Jones!” Frederick returns to the room, armed with white bags. “I’ve decided that we need to tone down the Chanel and incorporate some more Yves Saint Laurent and Tom Ford.”
“It sounds like you’re finding ways to get paid more.”
“Well, that, too.” He shrugs. “Out.”
TWENTY-FIVE
HARRISON
One Week Later
Eliza struts across my living room floor in a tightly fitted baby blue dress and nude pumps—the first of her new wardrobe outfits that are hanging in her closet.
She still wobbles here and there, but it’s nowhere near as noticeable as it was before, and the indiscretions are usually due to her turning.
Seeing her like this is fucking torture, and deep down I’m glad that Frederick the Christ has offered to oversee the etiquette sessions with me (for an additional fee, of course) until he has to fly to his home overseas.
“Well, I’m only using the term ‘farm’ because it’s easier to slip off the tongue than award-winning agricultural resort.” Eliza smiles, running her fingers through her freshly pressed hair.
Her accent is still sliding under the syllables, but her pronunciation is perfect.
“Watch your hands,” Frederick says. “I know you’re not used to having anything except a dry mop attached to that scalp, but no one else needs to see you play with your new strands when you’re talking.”
“She’s only done it twice,” I say, watching Eliza sip from a glass. “It’s not that noticeable.”
“If you were starting to keep count, then it is noticeable.” Frederick scoffs, clapping his hands. “Anyway, walk for us again, Miss Eliza. Pretend like you’re trying to seduce us into signing a business deal.”
She straightens her back and takes a deep breath before slowly walking toward me—no wobbles, no shakes, all confidence—and I’m slightly jealous that I’ll have to share her with an entire conference soon.
TWENTY FIVE (B)
ELIZA
Later that night
Frederick demands that I organize Harrison’s wine collection in order of year and taste, and that I listen to a short audiobook titled Seductively Seal the Deal at least three times.
But between the rate I’m struggling to handle the different versions of Bordeaux and the narrator’s breathy repetition of the phrase “a lady would never consider this act,” I’m ready for a break.
I last another hour before leaving and retreating to my room. I slip out of today’s heels and into a pair of socks. Tossing my earbuds onto my desk, I grab a few bottles of glitter and head to the living room to decompress.
“There’s no way you’re finished that fast.”
Harrison’s voice catches me off guard from the kitchen. “I was only with my client for thirty minutes when you started…”
I turn around to see him in a dark grey suit and matching tie—a fast change from the sweats and T-shirt he wore earlier.
“Do you really have to wear a suit to meet with your clients at this point—especially on short notice?” I ask. “I doubt they’d care if they ever saw you in normal clothes.”
“It’s part of the package when they sign a deal with me,” he says, closing a cabinet. “The suit shows that I take them seriously.”
“And what did walking around the condo half-naked say about how you take me?”
“I’m not answering that question.” He motions for me to take a seat at the bar.
I oblige, and he sits across from me.
For several minutes, we just stare at each other.
“You haven’t insulted my walking in over five days,” I say finally. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“Both.”
I arch a brow.
“Good because you’re improving. Bad because eventually, a lot of other men will see what I’ve seen from day one.”
He clears his throat and shifts gears before I can respond.
“Your brother called me this morning in a panic,” he says. “Well, his version of panicking.”