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I think not, Evelyn.Dress next,I tell her, trying to remember which designs I had selected for her to try on. Frankly, I don’t give a damn as to the style or color. All that matters is that she fits the atmosphere of the club—an environment about as far from Evelyn King’s comfort zone as the earth is from the sun.
Ten minutes later, I’m interrupted from business once again as three photos arrive in sync. In one, Evelyn is wearing what I assume is the most conservative of the selected gowns—a black cocktail dress with a modest neckline. I write it off based on her neutral expression alone—too safe. The next one seems promising—a cream dress with a hem that brushes her knees and a scooped neckline to display those breasts she apparently loves to hide. Her frown is an encouraging sign. But the third option…
I notice her posture first. She stands stiffly, her arms held tightly to her sides, her blue eyes wide with a mixture of revulsion and discomfort. The gown is red, sinfully tight with a plunging V-shaped neckline—part of the new collaboration with an emerging Italian artist set to debut next year.
And if you cut off the head, this woman doesn’t resemble Evelyn King.
This one,I tell her. Sure enough, she replies before I can set my phone down again.
Is this an official assignment?I assume that’s her cheeky way of asking, “Is that an order, Sir?”
It is,I reply.Put it on my tab and return to the office.After a moment’s pause, I add,And yes, I remember the Perigrine meeting at one,using her obsession with schedules to my benefit for once.
When minutes pass without a response, I attempt to prepare for that damn aforementioned meeting. I’ve barely begun to rise from my desk when Ann appears in the doorway. “Your next appointment is here, Sir.”
I force myself to nod. “Show him into the board room.” Ann takes off, and I stall by smoothing my papers into a pile, straightening the edges. It is a moot point, as Evelyn will likely come in after me and tidy up what I’ve already done. Still, the task prolongs the moment I’ll have to face that damn Perigrine alone. The flagship store is in another borough, and in this traffic, Evelyn won’t arrive in time to catch the meeting.
Which is fine with me. Without her there to nag about blood glucose levels, I might actually get some bloody work done.
Ten minutes later, I’m seated across from Andrew Perigrine, the majority shareholder in one of the most prominent PR firms in the states. He’s droning on about numbers, stakes, and statistics rather than jumping to the main reason he required to meet with me—a merger. I draw my mobile from my pocket to check my messages while the bastard rambles. There’s the quarterly report from the finance office to scour. Ann’s sent me an updated list of my latest appointments for the next month.
And Evelyn King is glaring at me through the screen.
A polite man might delete the picture of her—though Evelyn will most likely comb through the device later and do it herself. That fact alone makes her humiliation fair game at the moment. I can’t decide if she’s lost weight or if her posture makes her seem so thin. I could encircle one of her thighs with my hand. Not that I’d want to.
Not that she’d let me.
“Did you hear what I said, Bellamy?” I glance up to find Perigrine watching me with one eyebrow raised.
“Something about the prestige of your clientele?” I say, taking a stab in the dark.
“Oh. Well, yes.” Placated, the man continues to rattle off his company’s many accolades while my gaze returns to the screen of my mobile. And Evelyn bloody King.
My last message had been more than clear, and I know her well enough to suspect that she won’t outright disobey a direct order. However much it makes her seethe, she’ll wear the damned dress. Rubbing that fact in was merely for my own enjoyment.
Did you buy the red one?I ask.
Her reply is so crisply phrased that I can practically hear her clip the words out loud.I feel the black would have been a better choice… but yes.
There’s no reason not to take her at her word—but my thumb seems to strike the next keys of its own accord.Proof.
She’s silent for five whole minutes of Perigrine’s blather. I’ve begun to turn my attention back to the actual task at hand when her reply finally illuminates the screen—a snapshot of a white clothing box she must have balanced on her lap. Folded inside is the red dress and nothing else. I assume the arrangement is for dramatic effect. Evelyn King isn’t happy. But she’s also dutiful to a fault.
And the undergarments? Where are those?I expect a quick photo in response, but all that appears are eight little words I never expected.
Change of plans. I’m better off without them.
“And then we’ll… Bellamy?” Peregrine stops short as my mobile crashes loudly onto the conference table. I can’t even salvage the scowl I can feel my mouth curling into.
Trust Evelyn King to have the last bloody laugh.
CHAPTER5
evie
My heart skips a beat as James brings the Mercedes around the front of Atelier Noir headquarters. When I eye the imposing, gray building, I feel the same apprehension I felt the very first day I showed up, wearing a blouse two seasons out of style with a smudge of lipstick on the corner of my sleeve and a month’s worth of poor sleep evident beneath my eyes. In the three years since, I thought I’d finally left that girl behind—trading her in for a newer, harder model who didn’t take shit from anyone, not even Graeme Bellamy himself.
With one swipe of his platinum credit card Bellamy almost took it all away—along with my underwear. All because of some fucking meeting with Adrian Riley, one I was obviously not privy to know anything about. If I were smart, I would have demanded a raise then and there as compensation for this latest humiliation. No bother—somehow, someway, I’ll make him play.
