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“Can’t. I’m going out in a bit.”
“I thought the club was closed this weekend?”
“It is. But I’ve got plans.”
“Tinder hookup?”
“Not tonight. Just going to a party.”
“You’re being cagey. Why?” He turned his full attention on me. “Your default setting is oversharing. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I lied. “Just had a long week.”
He made a sympathetic face. “You definitely did.”
“I’ve got to go get ready. Do you need the bathroom?”
“Nope.” He looked back down at his phone.
Feeling like a giant bag of dicks, I carried the boxes into my room and put them on my bed. I hated lying to Aiden, but I couldn’t tell him anything without breaking the terms of the NDA.
Quinn had spent hours going over the contract with me, explaining every single clause and term in a way I could understand. Evan had been telling the truth. Nothing in the contract mentioned any sort of sexual contact outside of reasonable PDA while in public.
An hour after I signed the contract agreeing to Evan’s terms, he sent me a list of events for the month and asked me to confirm which ones I could attend.
The annoying thing about his schedule was that he didn’t give any details beyond the date, time, and dress code. That was it. I had no clue what the fuck I was walking into tonight, just that it was black tie and I had forty minutes until I was getting picked up. Bastard didn’t even bother to let me know if I should eat ahead of time or not.
He also wanted my measurements and shoe size, and a list of any medical conditions I might have, including allergies and dietary restrictions. And he requested copies of my bills so he could prepay them. I still hadn’t figured out how to tell Aiden that we weren’t going to have to pay rent for six months. Luckily I had a few weeks until it was due to come up with some kind of believable explanation.
Even though I was ravenously curious about what Evan had sent me to wear tonight, I left the boxes on my bed and went into the tiny bathroom to take a shower and get ready.
The last week had been a whirlwind, and not the good kind. On Monday morning everyone who worked at the club got a text saying we were all fired and they were closing Crimson down for good. I spent most of the day texting with the twins and Kai trying to figure out what the hell was happening. I also texted Gray, even though I wasn’t supposed to upset him because he had a concussion and getting him upset was bad for his brain.
Two days later we all got a text from Biggs calling a staff meeting. Yesterday we found out that Biggs and his wife bought Crimson and were overhauling the entire club and business model to try to undo all the illegal shit Corey and Ray had done.
The bad thing for the other guys was that the club would be closed for three weeks, which meant no money. But it worked out well for me because that gave me three free weekends where I didn’t have to juggle events and work.
Shaking off my reverie, I climbed into the shower and focused on getting ready. The hot water in our building didn’t last long, so dillydallying wasn’t an option unless I wanted to get blasted with cold water before I was done rinsing.
Once I was out of the shower, I did my skin and haircare routines, then wrapped a towel around my waist and padded into my room.
The boxes sat on my bed like that beating heart from that poem I’d had to read in high school. The boxes themselves were fancier than anything in our apartment with their silky finish, gold edging, and black satin ribbons tied in elaborate bows. Anyone who knew anything about high-end fashion would recognize that these came from a place where they didn’t bother putting price tags on the items. If you had to ask, you couldn’t afford it.
Carefully, I slipped the ribbon off the bigger box without messing up the bow and pulled off the top, revealing matte black tissue paper held together by a gold sticker with Stefano Ricci stamped on it.
Holy shitake mushrooms.
I’d assumed Evan would send me a suit, but from Stefano Ricci? One suit from their new collection was worth more than my entire wardrobe.
Not wanting to destroy the tissue paper, I gingerly peeled the sticker off and moved the flaps aside.
Inside sat a single-breasted, slim-fit black suit, a white dress shirt, an ice-blue tie with tiny flecks of silver that sparkled in the light, a package of black socks, and another of black boxer briefs. He’d also included a pair of shiny black dress shoes and an elegant gold watch that cost more than I’d made in a year of dancing at Crimson.
He really had thought of everything.
Once I was dressed, I checked myself out in the full-length mirror on the back of my door.
“Damn,” I breathed. I loved the clothes, but the clothesreallyloved me. The suit was perfectly tailored to my frame, and the silky shirt didn’t have a single wrinkle or fold in it considering it had been in that box for at least a few hours. The shoes were butter soft and felt like little clouds on my feet. Even the underwear were more luxurious than anything I had in my closet or drawers.
