I slip the dress over my shoulders and remove the offending underwear, noticing some adhesive cups on the hanger. I press those to my ribcage, elevating my breasts. Weirdly, they fit like they were made for me.
After I’ve finished dressing I turn to a floor length mirror in the corner of the room and my mouth falls open.
For the first time in my life, I lookexpensive.
My legs appear insanely long, even though I’m standing flat-footed on the floor. The cut at the shoulders makes my arms look slender. The ruching at the waist pulls me in, exposing curves that are normally hidden beneath hospital scrubs.
Ordinarily, a dress like this would make a woman look easy, even cheap. But the expert cut and the way the silky soft fabric catches the light gives off a totally different vibe. It’s sexy, yet it somehow makes me appear untouchable.
A knock comes at the door. “Are you decent?”
“Y-yes. Come in.”
Vivienne enters the room, pausing briefly to assess my appearance. She nods once, with what looks like reluctance, then she opens a closet door and lifts out a pair of heels. I spot the Louboutin red sole as she holds them out to me.
“Put these on.”
I stare at them blankly. She wants me to wear four hundred dollar shoes? That’s outrageous. Exactly what job am I going to be doing?
“I… I can’t wear those,” I murmur.
“Of course you can,” she snaps, shoving them into my stomach. “Our staff wears only the best.”
She steps back and mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like, ‘whether they deserve to or not.’
Swallowing back another protest, I slip my bare feet into them, instantly extending my legs by four inches.
She walks up behind me as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Then she gets to work on my hair, pulling at the strands, yanking me this way and that, until it’s gathered somehow elegantly at the back of my head, some wavy strands tickling my nape and collarbone. Then she sprays something into the air with a huff and a cloud of glitter settles over my hair like a summer rainfall.
Snapping open a small box, she steps in front of me and starts to work on my face. Her fingers move quickly, applying an array of creams, powders and shimmery substances to my skin. Thankfully, she’s more gentle with my face than she was with my hair.
“You’ll be hosting this evening,” she says, bluntly. “The first person our guests will see on arrival.”
“I—I don’t know how to host,” I say, trying to keep my lips still as she applies something to them.
“Hallie will explain everything,” she says.
I swallow, then bite back nerves as I ask her the one question that’s been preying on me since Enzo Agostini walked out of the apartment.
“Do you know how long I need to work here for?”
She presses a finger to my chin closing my mouth, then sweeps mascara over my lashes. A minute passes before she responds.
“I’m not involved in the hiring of new girls,” she says, eventually. “That is the realm of Il Diavolo.”
“Of what?” I ask, before I can help myself.
She stops, a hand frozen in the air, her gaze snapping to mine. “Diavolo Sovrano. The boss,” she says slowly, as if trying to summon the recollection from the depths of my soul.
I look back at her with yet more blankness on my face.
“Il Diavolo selects each of our girls. There is a reason he wants you here.” Her gaze rakes over me again as if searching for that reason and coming up short. “It’s a privilege to be chosen, Miss McAllister.”
Chosen?A small thrill skitters across my shoulders but I refuse to allow the flattery of that statement to alter my pulse.
“Doesn’t… Um, doesn’t ‘diavolo’ mean ‘devil’?”
I detect a faint smirk at the back of her throat. “Yes, it does.”
