Alone. Clean. Safe.
Except I’d held her hand in a parking garage and my skin didn’t revolt. Except I’d stood four inches from her mouth and my brain didn’t scream. Except I’d watched my brother lean against her desk and make her laugh and the feeling that went through me wasn’t rational or logical or anything I could file under a category I recognized.
It was hot. It was primitive. And it was aimed at Miles, who was my brother, who was harmless, who was being friendly to a woman he’d known since university, and none of that context made the feeling smaller.
And you wouldn’t like that, would you, dear brother?
No. I wouldn’t.
Damn. I really needed to talk to Adler.
CHAPTER 12
Anna
The dress arrived on Saturday afternoon.
I was on Miley’s couch in sweatpants, eating cereal out of the box and watching a baking competition I didn’t care about, when the doorbell rang. The delivery guy handed me a garment bag, a smaller box, and asked me to sign. I signed. He left.
Miley appeared from the kitchen, spatula in hand. "What is that?"
"I don’t know."
"Open it."
I unzipped the bag and we both went quiet.
Blue. Deep midnight blue—the color of a sky seconds before it surrenders to black, shifting darker and lighter with every fold of the fabric. Silk. I ran my fingers across it before I could stop myself—cool, impossibly smooth, heavy enough to pool in my hands. It hung from the hanger like something liquid that had learned to hold a shape, catching even the dull apartment light and turning it into something worth looking at.
The smaller box held a necklace. Delicate gold chain, a single blue stone that caught light from every angle. And at the bottom of the box, a card. Small, cream-colored, written in neatcapital letters I recognized from the red-pen corrections on my documents.
FOR THE GALA. SINCE I HAVE THE SUIT, IT SEEMS ONLY FAIR YOU HAVE SOMETHING EQUALLY ADEQUATE. YOU ARE REQUIRED TO ATTEND SO THAT I DO NOT SUFFER ALONE. — J.H.
I read it twice. Then I laughed, because it was so aggressively him. Stiff and formal.
The panic arrived.
He wanted me at the gala. Tonight. The Miami Gaming Awards.
The fitting room incident, I’d been trying not to think about it. His chest under my fingers. The drive back, both of us staring straight ahead, the silence so awkward in a way I couldn’t name.
I wasn’t ready for this.
I pulled out my phone. Opened his contact and started typing:
Mr. Hunter, I appreciate the gesture but I’m not sure it’s appropriate for me to attend as your?—
"Why is your boss sending you a dress?"
I looked up. Miley was standing over me with her arms crossed, spatula pointed at my face like a weapon, her eyes darting from me to the note.
I gulped. "I don’t know."
"You don’t know?"
"He wants me at the gala tonight. Probably… as his assistant. For work."
"For work." Miley repeated it, giving me a ridiculous look. "He sent you a silk gown and a necklace. For work."
