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I stop fighting back the tears of rejection at his last statement. “Wait, what?”
“I’m trying to tell you that you’re a bad idea, Jensen. But I can’t seem to convince myself you’re also not a great one.”
My head lifts, catching the fiery blaze in his eyes. “So, you don’t want to rip up our contract and go on your way?”
A sardonic laugh echoes throughout the store. “I’m far from being done with you.” He spins me around, our chests colliding. His lips dip to press against mine as the bell to the boutique rings and an array of voices fill the room, but I don’t care that we’re in public. That the customers who just walked in will witness us boldly kiss. I don’t care that—
“Oh my God, Jensen?”
I freeze in Damien’s arms.
There’s no hiding the rigidness in my body from Damien at the sound of Sylvia’s voice.
“Jensen Stone, is that you?”
I inhale a deep breath and pull away from Damien. I ignore his questioning stare, but don’t miss the flash of confusion, and perhaps anger, in his eyes. “Wow, fancy meeting you here,” I say, trying to figure out how I’m going to talk my way out of this one.
“Sure is, considering this is definitely not your kind of place.” Sylvia laughs, along with her entourage. I recognize Stephanie and Brooke, but the other two are unfamiliar to me. “Speaking of place, what happened to you last night? You were supposed to introduce me to—”
“Why wouldn’t this be a place for her?” Damien steps forward, placing his hand on my lower back.
Fuck.
I wish he would stay out of this. Maybe leave and let me handle the mean squad.
Sylvia’s eyes light up, fully acknowledging the person next to me. “Oh my, and who are you? I didn’t realize Jensen knew such…such…yumminess.”
Oh, give me a break.
My eyes can’t roll farther into the back of my head. I take a step away from Damien, not wanting Sylvia to get wind of who he is. “No one who concerns you,” I reply. Too bad she ignores me.
“Well, never say never.” She walks right up to him, practically pushing me out of the way, and sticks out her hand for him to take it. “Hello there, handsome,” she purrs. Damien doesn’t move a muscle to grab for her hand. “My name’s Sylvia. You must be Jensen’s new friend. The one we’ve all been dying to meet. She’s been keeping you all to herself. But you know what they say about destiny and us meeting like this.” She eliminates even more space between them, her voice lowering to just above a whisper. “I assume Jensen’s already mentioned me, and my interest?”
Her hand goes up to touch his chest, and my natural instinct to karate kick it away is in full effect, but Damien beats me to it and snatches her wrist before she makes contact. “I asked you a question.” He squeezes tighter, but it does the opposite of scaring her off. It eggs her on.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sir.” She giggles, and Damien drops her hand as if it’s on fire. “Well, we are in a dress shop, aren’t we? Pricy one at that. And come on” —she turns to me—“we all know this is out of Jensen’s realm. Honey, you’re too…how shall I say, scrawny.”
Her entourage bursts out laughing, and my cheeks flare crimson with embarrassment at the insult right in front of Damien. My mind starts racing with a million scenarios at once. Murder in a dress shop. Clawing her eyes out. Letting her win and ball my eyes out for once again allowing her to make me feel so inadequate.
Before I have a chance to do anything, Damien encroaches in Sylvia’s space. Even with her heels on, he hovers over her. “What a vile mouth you have on you, little one.” He leans over her, and latches his hand around a loose curl, putting her hair between his fingers. “One thing is correct. This place doesn’t fit her.”
Sylvia’s smile is a kick to my stomach. I pull away from Damien, knowing this is my cue to leave before I break down and cry, but his hand grabbing mine stops me. Damien drops the curl in disgust and reaches for something inside the pocket of his coat jacket.
“Excuse me, can I help all of you?” An older woman approaches, clearly an employee of the store.
“Yes, you can.” Damien pulls out a business card and hands it to the seamstress. “I don’t see anything in this store worthy enough for my girlfriend. I must say, I thought this was a high-end boutique. I want you to reach out to your in-house seamstress and have her call my private line. Have her come to my office and exclusively measure and fit her with the finest fabrics. Stop at no expense. She deserves the best.”
