Page 52 of Our Chaotic Love Affair

He looked at it for half a second before shaking it. “Took you long enough.”

“I don’t come cheap, Bancroft.”

He smirked. “Clearly.”

I snatched a slice of gouda. “So, what’s with all the clothes and glam squad?”

He crossed to the door and opened it. I heard him say something brief and professional to the team waiting in the hallway, and then they were back. They strolled in eyeing me, but not like I was crazy. They were sizing me up. I knew that look. When I was trying to help Melody pick an outfit, I did the same thing.

Another rack was wheeled in from what I assumed was a service elevator. Shoes in clear boxes stacked on a rolling cart. A jewelry case that opened to reveal things that probably had their own insurance policies.

I stood in the middle of it and felt something light up in my chest that I was absolutely not going to let Cash see.

I was used to being on the other side of this. The one with the camera, capturing someone else in their moment. I was the one pulling clothes from racks and handing them to Melody to try on. I was the one rejecting dresses before Melody ever saw them. I’d built a career out of being the invisible hand that made other people visible.

But right now there were four professionals moving around me with measuring tape and expert eyes. The racks were full of things meant for my body. The jewelry was for my hands and neck and ears, and Cash was somewhere behind me letting this unfold.

The star of the show.

I pressed my lips together to contain the smile and reached for the first dress.

CHAPTER 19

CASH

I’d made a tactical error. I’d assumed that “conservative black-tie gala” and “Cleo Quinn” were a negotiation I could win. Cleo was the star of her own show, but I needed her to fit into my world for just a few hours. My carefully constructed world that included designer labels and elegant dresses.

It should have been easy, given the amount of money and resources I was throwing at the situation. I’d been wrong.

The first dress came out and it was perfect. Deep navy, structured, elegant. The kind of thing that belonged in the room we’d be walking into tonight and communicated exactly the right combination of wealth and restraint. Not too sexy but just enough to make men look twice.

Cleo stood on the small platform the team had set up and looked at herself in the full-length mirror with an expression of profound disappointment.

“No,” she said.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

“It’s a costume.”

“It’s a dress. It’s appropriate for the event. It’s Dior. I believe it’s from the fall line that hasn’t even come out yet.”

“It’s what someone who doesn’t know me would put me in.” She turned to the lead stylist, a woman named Giulia who’d been professional and unflappable up to this point. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Giulia said with the diplomatic composure of someone who’d been in this exact situation before.

I was going to have to make sure I tipped the team well. They already signed NDAs, which carried a hefty price if they broke it. I wasn’t taking any chances. Summer had had fuck-you money and she used it to pay the price for breaking the NDA without breaking a sweat.

That was my mistake and I wasn’t going to ever make it again. Well, I hoped I wouldn’t have to. I wouldn’t hire another woman to pretend to like one of my brothers ever again. Cleo was different. The situation was different. Cleo could be trusted.

She disappeared into the adjoining bathroom once again. I could hear her muttering and complaining to the woman that was in the bathroom with her.

Giulia cast glance my way that said it all. I would have better luck putting a designer gown on a tiger.

Cleo stepped out again. She was wearing a burgundy, off-shoulder, floor-length gown. It was very Grecian goddess. Also perfect. Also classic. Also exactly what the evening required.

Cleo also wore the same expression.

“Still no,” she said. “I’m not wearing this out of this room.”