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What was Lavinia thinking anyway? The first thing any business owner sells is themselves. What impression does it give for Olivia Jaeger to be working here?
“Afraid I might be right?” she taunts.
I roll my eyes. Please. The only thing I’m afraid of is wasting time.
But I stand there, letting my hair fall down my back again, and watch her. I’m not sure why, but I kick off my heel and set the ball of my foot on her knee.
Prove it, then.
She stops. Tipping her head back, she looks up at me, her honey-brown eyes unblinking.
“I can’t bend over in this dress,” I tell her.
Fisting the skirt in my hands, I start to pull it up, past my knees and up my thighs to where the garter secures the stockings.
She holds my gaze for another moment, and then she reaches up, unfastening the clips.
Her fingertips brush the skin on the inside of my leg, and my flesh pebbles, chills breaking out everywhere. I suck in a breath, and she darts her eyes up to mine, as still as me.
Don’t stop.
I lock my jaw, and she stares at me, the heat spreading across my cheeks.
“I don’t have all day,” I chide, trying to hide my reaction.
Her chest rises and falls slowly, and then she peels the stocking down my leg and off my foot, followed by the other one, both of my shoes lying strewn on the floor with the nylons.
Walking to a nearby shelf, she scans the heels and grabs a pair, pointing to the chair near the mirror.
Indulging this, I step off the riser and have a seat as she plops down on the floor and searches for my right foot under the dress.
I hike up the skirt again as she slips the heel on, almost amused that she refuses to look. I know she wants to. My legs are just as nice as hers. The only difference is she likes to look at ones that don’t just belong to her.
It’s amazing she’s endured me as captain of the lacrosse team this year, especially when she’s probably the better player, and I haven’t made anything easy on her.
But that’s how it is. Effort, focus, hard work…they mean very little when you’re lucky like me. Saints don’t mix with swamp trash.
I gaze at her as she straps the heels on me, the tiny mole on her face, between her ear and the hollow of her cheek, bringing out the gold in her skin. I’d never noticed that before.
She puts my foot back down, and I draw in a breath, standing up and heading back to the riser again. The dress rubs against the sensitive skin of my legs, now bare, and it’s as if every inch of my body is alive and aware of itself.
Almost like I’m naked in my bed, only feeling the sheets.
I grow warm.
Holding up my skirt, I look in the mirror, the gold heels with the thin, jeweled straps making my skin glow, and I fight not to smile, because they feel and look worlds better than the other shoes.
However…
“They don’t go with the dress,” I tell her. “But I’m hardly surprised you’re so bad at this, given the shit you wear.”
I reach around my back, trying to untie the corset as she stands there with her hands on her hips.
“You’re right,” she says. “You need a new dress now.”
I almost snort. Well, we agree on that.
Unable to reach the laces because the corset is too tight for me to move, I twist around, planting my hands on my hips.
