Page 75 of A Perfect Fit

I hang up, realization crashing on me that Isabelle means more to me than what I’ve admitted to myself. There’s no time to dwell on it, though, because I’m supposed to meet her now. I do a final quick check of myself in the mirror, then head out to the elevators.

Isabelle’s not here yet, so I respond to a new text from Lucy, who’s also wishing me good luck tonight.

“Hey.”

Placing my phone away, I turn around to see Isabelle walk toward me, a shy smile on her face.

The moment my eyes land on her, my mouth turns dry, and it’s as if the world temporarily comes to a halt, everything else around me blurring into the background.

There are many adjectives one can use when describing something that is astonishing, like a beautiful painting or scenery. The word breathtaking is an interesting one because it implies that something’s so amazing or beautiful that it could render you out of breath—something I always considered an exaggeration at best.

But as I stare at Isabelle, entranced, I instantly understand what it means to feel like your breath is being taken away.

She’s wearing that lilac dress she showed me at her apartment. The one she designed for her fashion show.

The material flows to the floor like a waterfall of tulle, and the sweetheart neckline reveals the slightest glimpse of her cleavage. Her hair’s curled into soft waves, and the dangly gold earrings she’s wearing catch the light with every movement.

I’m aching with the need to kiss her again, to pull her into my arms. I don’t even know how I went from wanting to only beat her at everything in high school to craving more time with her eight years later and not being able to get her out of my mind, but all I know is that she’s my dream woman, and⁠—

Fuck.

My eyes widen at what I’ve just admitted to myself.

Isabelle’s my dream woman.

Chapter Twenty

ISABELLE

Jackson’s standing very still.

If it wasn’t for the fact that I could feel his eyes taking me in and staring at me with such an intensity I’d never felt before, I’d be questioning whether he was frozen on the spot.

My heart pounds madly against my chest as I slowly walk toward him, eyeing him from head to toe, a single, three-lettered word springing to mind.

Hot.

The black designer suit he’s wearing looks like it was tailor-made for him, and he’d easily give any fashion model a run for their money. Not to mention that fresh cologne he sprayed on, which makes me want to bury my head against his chest.

This isn’t the first time I’ve seen Jackson in a suit, but things feel different tonight. There’s something in the air, which I can’t quite exactly put my finger on.

“Hey,” Jackson breathes. His eyes sweep over me again, and when he speaks, his voice is a velvety caress, wrapping around me. “You’re wearing the dress you showed me at your apartment.”

I only vaguely remember me drunk-showing him some of my designs the night of the reunion.

“Is that good or bad?” I slowly ask.

A fiery gaze flickers in his brown eyes, so fervid that I find myself unable to break eye contact with him.

“That depends on how you’d feel if I told you all the things I wanted to do to you right now.”

Oh. My. God.

Jackson’s said some flirty things to me recently, but he’s never said anything like this before.

My body buzzes with anticipation, and my breath hitches. The thing is … I want to hear exactly what he wants to do to me. And then I want him to do them to me. One by one.

“You look so beautiful tonight,” Jackson adds, his voice ever so suave. He takes another step forward.