"Please." She stands, hands on hips. "I've been coordinating Atticus's schedule for three years. I know when he doesn't go home at night."
I bite my lip, caught between embarrassment and a strange desire to confide in someone. "Is it that obvious?"
Her expression softens into a warm smile. "Only to those of us who've been watching you two dance around each other for years." She fusses with the dress's shoulder straps. "For what it's worth, I think it's about time."
"It's... new," I admit, relief flooding through me at acknowledging the change. "We're still figuring things out."
"Well, you look beautiful," Jenna declares, stepping back to assess her handiwork. "And he won't be able to take his eyes off you."
"That's the plan." I smooth my hands over the silk, admiring how it feels beneath my fingertips. "But what if I look like I'm trying too hard? This isn't exactly a hometown girl outfit."
"That's the point," comes a new voice as Marisol Bennett enters with a velvet jewelry box. "You're bridging worlds. The dress says, 'sophisticated enough for Blackwood galas' while your natural warmth says 'Hope Peak through and through’."
"When did you two become fashion philosophers?" I ask, laughing despite my nerves.
"When our favorite Operations Manager started dating the CEO," Marisol replies, opening the box to reveal a delicate silver necklace with a small emerald pendant. "Brynn's contribution to the ensemble. She said it's 'something borrowed' for good luck."
Emotion wells up unexpectedly. "You guys..."
"Don't cry!" Jenna warns. "Your makeup is flawless and we don't have time for touch-ups."
Marisol fastens the necklace around my throat, the pendant resting perfectly in the hollow of my collarbone. "There. Now you're ready for dinner with the formidable Vivienne Morgan."
"And her equally intimidating son," Jenna adds with a wink.
"Atticus doesn't intimidate me," I protest automatically.
"No, he just makes you blush every time he walks into a room," Marisol teases, adjusting a strand of my hair. "How long has this been going on, anyway? The chemistry between you two has been obvious since day one."
I think about last night, Atticus's hands on my skin, his lips trailing fire down my body, the way he'd whispered my name like a prayer as we moved together by the firelight. Heat blooms low in my belly at the memory.
"It's complicated," I hedge. "We've been best friends for years, but this... development... is recent."
"How recent?" Jenna presses, clearly invested.
"Very." I check my reflection one last time, amazed at the transformation. "But it feels like it's been building forever."
A gentle knock at the door interrupts our girl talk. Jenna opens it to reveal Marcus, looking slightly embarrassed to be intruding on what's clearly a private moment.
"Ms. Parker," he says formally, though his eyes widen slightly at my appearance. "Mr. Morgan asked me to inform you that he'll be meeting you in the lobby in ten minutes."
"Thank you, Marcus." I gather my courage along with the small clutch Marisol hands me. "I'll be right down."
After he leaves, Jenna and Marisol exchange significant looks. "You're going to knock him dead," Marisol assures me. "Both of them, actually."
"Just remember," Jenna adds, "Vivienne Morgan respects confidence. Don't let her intimidate you."
"And for God's sake, enjoy yourself," Marisol finishes. "You deserve some happiness, Sloane. Even if it comes with corporate complications."
Their support fills me with a warm confidence as I make my way toward the lobby. The HQ building is quiet now, most of the staff having left for the day. My heels, higher than I usually wear, click against the polished floors, echoing in the empty hallway.
I pause at the top of the staircase leading down to the lobby, gathering myself. Through the glass walls, I can see Atticus waiting below, his back to me as he gazes out at the snow-covered landscape. He's changed into a charcoal suit that fits his broad shoulders perfectly, the red tie I gave him providing the only splash of color.
Drawing a deep breath, I begin my descent.
He turns at the sound of my heels, and the expression that crosses his face as he sees me is worth every minute of nervous preparation. His eyes widen, lips parting slightly as his gaze travels slowly from my face down the length of the emerald dress and back up again.
"Sloane," he breathes, the single word conveying volumes.
