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GAGE
“Um.” Violet clears her throat, her already big eyes wide as headlights. “Maybe I could call your date. The one who canceled on you. And convince her to un-cancel.”
For the millionth time today, I resist the urge to tell Violet Miller in no uncertain terms that this isn’t going to work out. I remember Violet being a shy girl with a terrible dye job. She’d worn her fake red hair in a sort of frizzy bob, plus her lack of height and giant hazel eyes always reminded me of Little Orphan Annie.
That isnotwho showed up in my office this morning.
Now she’s gone back to her natural brunette, and she’s wearing it longer, so it falls all silky and thick, grazing the top of her breasts in that wildly inappropriate sundress she’s wearing. The daisies and full, 50s-style skirt would be bad enough—this is a serious workplace, for serious people—but I’m fairly sure she’s wearing the wrong bra for that square neckline. I keep catching glimpses of nude lace near the dress’s straps.
I can’t believe she had the nerve to talk back to me in front of the other employees and brag about showing up late. And now she’s throwing a hissy fit about something as simple and ordinary as attending a networking event on behalf of the company.
If I didn’t owe Tom so much...
“I don’t need you to convince someone else to go to this event. I needyouto go,” I say firmly.
She looks as alarmed as if I’d asked her to kiss a toad.
Understanding dawns and I realize why she must be so worried. Tom mentioned that Violet’s low on funds right now. “To be clear, I’m paying for all costs associated with this event, if that’s your concern.”
“Nope,” she says, her voice coming out a little strangled. “That’s not actually what I’m worried about.”
Any patience I have evaporates. “Then put on the damn dress, Violet. Your attendance at this event is mandatory. We leave in...” I check my watch, “thirteen minutes sharp.”
For a tense second, we stare each other down. And then she flushes, grabs the dress, and ducks out of the room.
Peace at fucking last.
* * *
Ten minutesinto the silent auction, I start to wish I hadn’t demanded Violet’s presence at the event. We’re standing in a gorgeous hotel ballroom, making small talk with some people I know. Having Violet on my arm, in that dress, has done wonders to deter those bored society dames who fancy themselves as matchmakers.
Unfortunately, she’s also driving me to distraction. That dress clings to and highlights every lovely curve of her body. Breasts, hips, ass, thighs. Add in the deep, vivid lipstick she put on in the car on the way over, and it’s enough to make me feel like a teen watching my first R-rated movie.
I shift uncomfortably, trying to focus on the Wall Street trader making small talk with me.
I don’t know why Violet’s presence is affecting me so much.
My original date, Mandy, wears stuff like this all the time. And I certainly find her attractive—we spent a few months in a mutually beneficial friends-with-benefits arrangement last year before she went and fell in love with someone else. We’re still friends, nothing more, and now the benefit is that she’s my plus-one for events like these. She enjoys being fancy for a night, and I enjoy the company.
The point is, I’m no stranger to beautiful women.
But when Violet dresses like this it’s...different.
Maybe it’s because I’m used to only thinking of Violet as Tom’s little sister.
Yes, that must be it.
It doesn’t have anything to do with the light perfume Violet’s wearing, that makes me think of soft kisses and spring. It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with that hundred-watt smile of hers.
No one smiles like that at events like this.
It’s all polite nods, and tight lips, and fake grins.
But Violet’s smile is real. She’s a distracting, misplaced ray of sunshine in this cold, wintery room.
Hank, the Wall Street trader, wraps up his boring monologue about trading foreign currency as we make our way to the dining tables.
“So, Violet,” Hank’s wife Katarina says, clearly bored with shop talk, “How long have you and Gage been together? You make such a lovely couple.”
