CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was official: I was the least sexiest woman on the face of the planet. Tearing through my closet, I searched in vain for an outfit that was cute, yet reasonable. I’d never been the type of girl to show off tons of skin, or wear heels that shot me so far in the sky I got dizzy from the lack of oxygen, but still, I had a pseudo-date with Donovan Stone (even if it was for work) and I wanted to look as presentable as possible.
One half of the closet was filled with clothes suitable for work. Professional, comfortable, financially responsible, but so far from sexy that those clothes were the antithesis of sexy. They belonged in a closet where sexy went to die. The other half of the closet was filled with my home clothes, comfortable, ratty, worn in and also the polar opposite of sexy.
Blowing out a breath, I ignored the fluttering of my hair around my face. Donovan had said that wherever he decided to go would be low key. He claimed that, although the contract with Cassock, Kincaid and Clark was a big deal, he didn’t feel a need to go big on the celebration.
He’d promised me these things with a smirk on his face – with a twinkle behind his eye that made me doubt every word that flowed over his full, soft lips. I was still deciding whether I should call Jackson to discover whether he was really out of town as Donovan claimed. There was no reason for Donovan to lie about Jackson’s availability, and yet, there was every reason to lie about it.
Since leaving the client’s office building that day, the question of whether Donovan knew about Dark Realities danced in my head. I couldn’t ignore the coincidence that Donovan would develop a game that closely resembled the one I was currently stuck playing. But he’d been quite convincing in his ignorance, in the questioning arch of his brow, in the lines of his face that spoke of concern for my mental health when I went sheet white during his presentation.
I wasn’t sure how I would discover the truth of his involvement, but I knew I couldn’t let the matter go until I knew for sure if Donovan was my so-called stalker.
Unfortunately, that was also a matter for another time. The most important issue for me at the moment was deciding what to wear out with a man I didn’t want to admit drew me to him like a damn moon circling a planet’s orbit. It wasn’t simply looks with him – although, in truth, that’s mainly what I had to base my opinion on. It was something else as well, the glimmer of humor always lighting his face, the cutting remarks that he delivered with a smirk so sexy I wanted to slap it away and then kiss the pain from his lips.
I’d never met anybody like him before and I found myself gravitating closer just because I wanted to discover all there was to know about Donovan Stone.
Grudgingly, I decided to go with a blue flowing skirt that fell to my knees and a plain white top that buttoned at the collar. It wasn’t exactly fit for a night out, but when faced with absolutely zero other choices, I decided it would have to do. If Donovan took issue with it, I was sure he’d make his remarks, but I highly doubted being out with his modestly dressed assistant would ruin his credibility among the wealthy and powerful. If anything, he could lie and tell them I was there to record whatever random thoughts and ideas he had for the next project that would earn him millions.
Because that’s what Donovan just walked away with when we left Cassock, Kincaid and Clark: Millions. As in multiple millions. As in more money than I would ever see in my lifetime – even if I lived to be a thousand years old. He treated it like a few pennies being dropped in a bucket, and it was that lackadaisical attitude that drew me to him more. How could anyone not jump up and down to learn their company made fifty million in one job? Fifty Million. For what Donovan told me was one year of work.
Sighing at the thought, I grabbed the outfit from the hangers and was on my way to the bathroom to get a shower and get dressed when my doorbell chimed from the adjacent room. Suspicion stopped me in place, my head slowly turning toward the direction of the living room. I hadn’t invited anybody over and Donovan wasn’t due to send his driver to fetch me for another two hours. Thoughts spun in my head mixing in with fear and trepidation. I hadn’t bothered to check my email after arriving home, only because I didn’t need the weight of my continued stalker overshadowing my evening with Donovan. Had I not responded to some command? Had I failed to read a message in time that spurred the stranger to my door?
Stalkers didn’t ring doorbells, but yet, I didn’t put it past him. He’d already been in my home. He’d already invaded my sanctuary and left his mark on my sense of safety.
Dropping the clothes on my bed, I inched across the floor, slowly approaching my front door. From my vantage point, I could see that all the locks were in place, including the chain that ran at the top. Still, I couldn’t help wondering if the person on the other side of the door had some magical way of forcing the locks open, of breaking the chain so that he could barge in and finally make good on his threats to own me.
Creeping up to the door while being careful not to make a sound, I gave in to my curiosity and looked through the peephole. An older gentleman stood on the opposite side, his eyes looking this way and that, his hands filled with a large blue box with white lettering. Narrowing my eyes as if that would make the image come into better view, I attempted to read the script, but was unable. The man was dressed in a black on black suit, his hair a light silver and his face lined with age. From what I could see, he wasn’t a threat, but you never knew in this day and age.
Unlocking the deadbolts, I kept the chain in place and opened the door enough to peek out and ask the man what he wanted. He smiled as soon as my eyes appeared around the crack in the door.
“Hello. I know you weren’t expecting me, Ms. Jennings, but I was asked to deliver this package to you as early as possible. My name is Theodore.”
My eyes narrowed more. “Who sent you?”
Perhaps the question came out more suspicious than I’d intended, but with the current situation in my life, I couldn’t afford to make one wrong step. There could have been a bomb in that package. Some kind of powder that would knock me out and make me an easy target for a stranger wanting to cart me away. There could have been a severed hand, or worse, some dead, mutilated animal with a message attached to it claiming I was next.
“Mr. Stone sent me, ma’am. He said he wanted this in your hands before he sent his driver for you this evening.”
Widening my eyes at the reference to Donovan, I relaxed just enough to look at the box again and read the name scrawled across it in white print. Carlisle’s Boutique was a well known, pricy clothing company in town – a company that required a background check, financial review and quite possibly a person’s first born in order to be let in the front door. Curiosity got me again as to what Donovan had sent.
Speaking more pleasantly now that I knew why Theodore was here, I asked him to hold on while I shut the door, unlatched the chain, and opened the door again wide enough for him to hand me the package.
It wasn’t heavy, but it also wasn’t light. I gave it a good shake, much to the dismay of the man now staring at me like I was a few sandwiches short of a picnic.
“If that will be all, ma’am, I should get going. Mr. Stone has other errands for me to run.”
My gaze lifted from the box to his face, my lips pulling into a forced smile. “Thank you for delivering this to me.”
He simply nodded and practically ran off down the hall, most likely wanting to get as far away from the crazy lady as quickly as possible.
Shrugging off that horrible first impression, I stepped into my apartment, shut the door, locked the locks and secured the chain before carrying the box to my bedroom and setting it on my bed.
After a minute or two of simply staring at the box, I reached to lift the top, my breath catching in my lungs to see the contents.
Silver-blue fabric filled the confines of the box, a handwritten note addressed to Ms. Jennings sitting atop. Grabbing the note, I opened it to see masculine script filling the page, the black ink in sharp contrast to the white paper.
Ms. Jennings,
I’ve decided that low key is not the proper way to celebrate the new contract. As such, I’ve changed our plans for the evening and realized you may be unprepared, especially if your work attire has anything to say for your fashion sense. Please accept this gift as my token of appreciation for your help today at the presentation. My driver will be there promptly at eight to escort you to our destination.
Donovan Stone
Shaking my head, I had to laugh at how Donovan didn’t fail to deliver his criticism of my fashion choices while doing something that should have been considered a good deed. After setting the note on a bedside table, I lifted the material from the box to discover it was a formal gown, the beaded bodice shimmering beneath the single bulb light fixture above my bed. Strapless and with a slit that appeared to run up to the hip, the dress was too much for me, a piece of clothing that didn’t belong hanging in the same closet as all the bargain apparel that filled it. The gown must have cost a fortune, and I was unsure of how Donovan had guessed at my size. Not wanting to give that question too much thought, I carefully laid the gown on the bed. After showering, I approached it again wrapped in a towel, my breath blowing out on a single gust as I dropped the towel and prayed the gown fit.
Not only did it fit, it fit perfectly, as if the design had been intended for my body alone. Running into the bathroom, I wished I had a better mirror to see the full effect, but I was stuck with standing on my toilet in order to see what the bottom half looked like, and then jumping down again to stare at the reflection of the top.
I felt beautiful for the first time in my life – truly beautiful – and I couldn’t help the smile that stretched my lips.
Not wanting to waste the opportunity to live one night in the type of lifestyle I would never be able to afford, I was careful in my application of makeup and the styling of my hair. Because the dress was strapless, I decided on an updo, small bits of hair purposely left loose to curl softly at the sides of my face.
The hours must have moved faster than I realized because by the time I was done setting the last soft curl in place, the doorbell rang from the living room. However, this time, I was filled with excitement for the evening, rather than dread that whoever stood on the other side of the door intended me harm.