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Cam has his hand over his mouth trying to hide his smile. He too seems to be waiting for Jake to say something. What we get is a dial tone.
“Well....” Cam chuckles. “That shut him up.”
“Indeed it did.”
“You should use little sexual innuendoes like that more often when you want to render an asshole speechless.”
“Perhaps I will.”
“I bet that line would work on an even bigger asshole than Jake.”
“There’s a bigger asshole than Jake?”
I look at him confused.
He grins.
Then it hits me.
There is a bigger asshole.
“Grandfather.”
And there’s no fucking way I’ll ever say something like that to him.
Surely.
Maybe.
Lying.
I totally would.
And I probably will.This girl?
The one in the mirror?
The really good looking one staring back at me?
Yeah.
She’s not Penelope Hart.
But whoever this girl is…well….
She’s fine as hell.
The “dress” Jake had altered especially for me, is a sheath column, V-neck, gold sequined gown with a court train. It hugs curves I didn’t even know I had. My C cups look like D cups. My ass looks like a Kardashian’s. The two slits that start mid-thigh on either side of the dress show off my legs that look longer and more toned thanks to the matching six inch strappy heels.
And this color is definitely my color. My freshly-waxed, olive skin glows against the gold fabric. Add that to my long black lashes, natural glossed lips and simple, yet elegant, side ponytail hairstyle David Michael hooked me up with, and voila!
That girl.
I strike a pose.
Snap a selfie.
Send it to Emily.
Wait for a reply telling me how stunning I am.
I get a middle finger emoji.
So jealous.
I know how to walk in heels. And a dress with a train. The first rule is to not look at your feet. But that’s exactly what I’m doing when I crash into Jake’s chest in the hall. His hands grab my arms to steady me and, have mercy.
His touch is warm and strong and a fire ignites in my panties—if you can call the little strip of lace I’m wearing under my dress panties.
My gaze travels over him.
He’s dressed in a tux.
A black one.
With a bow tie.
Not much different than the suit he normally wears. I mean, why do women get all bent out of shape when they see a man who always wears a suit, wearing a tux? Other than that weird thing that goes around their waist that looks like a back brace, isn’t it the same damn thing?
Still, he’s smoldering. All blue-gray-green eyes and dark hair. Tall and broad and cocky and brooding and studying me with a heated expression—my heels. Dress. Breasts. Neck. Face. Eyes.
“D-do I look okay?”
He clears his throat and takes a step back, suddenly stoic. “You’ll do.”
I’m not even mad. I grin because I know he likes what he sees. And he’s just too much of a cocky bastard to admit it.
“We need to go over a few things.”
I do a little heel-kick river dance, snap and point my finger guns at him. “What’s up?”
“First. Don’t ever do that again.”
I do it again.
He’s not impressed.
He stares at me like I’m stupid until I compose myself, wipe the smile from my face and nod. “Got it.”
“Don’t answer any personal questions about us. When someone asks, and they will, how you know me, just keep it simple by saying we’re old friends. If they pressure you for more, politely excuse yourself. Don’t give anyone your real last name. If someone asks, say Smith. Or Jones—“
“How about Swagger?”
“Penelope….”
“Okay, fine. What else?”
“Steer clear of my grandfather. Hopefully, he’ll be too busy with everyone else to have much time to corner you, but I can’t promise he won’t make time. He’s curious about you, for some fucking reason.” Jake’s brow furrows in thought as he mindlessly tucks a tendril of hair back from my face.
“Is that all?” I’m a little breathless and he must notice.
He pulls his hand back and locks his gaze on mine. “This party is important. So I need you to rein in the crazy a little bit. Can you do that? Please?”
I beam. “Look at you. Sayin’ please and shit.”
“Don’t say that either.”
“What?”
“And shit.”
“You really need to work on your southern accent.”
“Well, I don’t have the best teacher.”
“Fine. No and shit’s. Anything else?”
“Yeah. Can you dance?”
I do my river dance again.
He pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Hey….” I pull his hand away from his face. “I’m kidding. I assume you mean ballroom dance. And yes. I can do that. Among other dances. Like the tango. The electric slide. The watermelon crawl—“
“I get it. Do you have any questions for me?”
“Yep. What exactly is it that you do for a living?”
He seems surprised. “You don’t know?”
“I know you’re the CEO of Swagger Corp, but I have no clue what that is.”
“Do people in Mississippi not pay attention to the stock market? Nasdaq? Dow? You ever heard of that?”
