Page 120 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

That was when I understood. I looked at the garment bags again, at the careful labels, at the satin-wrapped hangers and the small matching boxes beneath them. Octavia hadn’t pulled a few things from existing stock. She had gone hunting for me.

Because she knew I had a “patron” now.

I followed her into the dressing area, while Rafe stayed out front with Max, examining a display of cufflinks as if they had offended him.

“Octavia,” I said, lowering my voice.

“No.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to be noble. I could feel it in the air. Very irritating.”

I stepped onto the little platform as she unzipped the first garment bag. “He’s not my patron.”

“Of course not.”

“That sounded nothing like agreement.”

She took out a black silk dress with a deep green embroidered jacket and held it up to me.

“He’s paying because he is the reason you require clothing appropriate to be surrounded by people discussing money and pretending they aren’t,” she said. “That part is simple.”

“Exactly.”

“The part where he looks at you like he’s trying very hard not to look at you is less simple.”

My face heated. “He does not.”

Octavia gave me a pitying little smile. “Darling, I have sold evening wear for first dates, fake dates, divorce dates, revenge dates, and one memorial luncheon that became a reconciliation by dessert. I know when a man is trying to behave.”

“It’s professional.”

“I’m sure he is suffering professionally. Arms up.”

I raised my arms, and she slid the dress over my head. The silk felt cool against my skin, fluid but not fussy. Octavia climbed onto her little stool behind me to work the zipper.

“He’s my client,” I said.

“You’re an intern. Interns don’t have clients. He’s the firm’s client.”

“That distinction doesn’t help as much as you think.”

“It helps me.” She tugged the zipper up. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing.” I looked at her in the mirror.

She smiled at me, not teasing now. “I’m not saying chase him. But don’t lie to yourself so thoroughly that you trip over the truth when it finally stops in front of you.”

The zipper reached the top.

The dress was lovely. Black silk, clean lines, not quite floor-length. Paired with the cropped green jacket whose embroidery looked vintage without veering costume, it made me look composed and a little expensive in a way I didn’t have to apologize for.

Octavia adjusted the shoulder seam. “Well?”

I swallowed. “I hate when you’re right.”

“Everyone does. It’s my burden to bear.”