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"That won't be necessary," Brady shakes his head. "My stylist is set up in the conference room. She has a rack full of business attire in your size."
"How did you know my size?" I blurt out.
That's totally irrelevant at the moment but, for some reason, it's the part I'm hung up on.
"I called your mom," he deadpans.
My mouth drops open. "Seriously?"
Brady laughs as he stands from his chair. "No. Angie checked the size of your jacket when you left it on your desk yesterday."
"Oh, Angie also knows about this." Mortification has reached its peak level. Just kill me and put me out of my misery.
"She's the one who suggested it," Brady rounds his desk and stops beside me, his eyes landing on my bare legs. I nervously gulp as his gaze trails up my thighs.
"I appreciate you doing this," I wave a panicky hand through the air, "but I will get my own clothes today after work."
"No," Brady's eyes snap to mine. "Geneva is already here. And she's already been paid for her time."
Anger bubbles beneath my chest and I quickly jump to my feet. "You told me I'm not a charity case, so stop treating me like one."
Brady is so close, I could reach out a hand and place my fingers on his chest. Or slap him.
"You aren't," he answers. "I've paid Geneva the same amount to update Angie's wardrobe before."
"I'm not your business partner or your charity case," I argue. "I can get myownclothes. I don't need your help."
"I know you don't," his jaw tightens. "Which is why you can pay me back for the clothes."
"Just like I have to pay you back for dinner?" I raise my voice a little. "Is there a running tally for how much all of this is going to cost me? Because if you haven't noticed, I have nothing. Zero. Zilch."
"You're upset," he shoves his hands into his pockets.
I run a stressed hand through my hair. "No, I'm not upset. I'm annoyed that I keep owing you. I owe you for eating dinner at Angie's husband's restaurant and I now will owe you to dress me appropriately because I can't manage to find clothes that make you look good."
Brady shakes his head. "That's not...I didn't mean..."
"What?" I challenge as I step closer, anger giving me the gall to go head-to-head with him.
"I need you to dress differently, but it's not because I'm embarrassed by you," he calmly states.
"Then why?"
"Because I can't stop thinking about you," he grits his teeth. "Everything you wear exposes every curve of your body and I can't concentrate. So, if you don't want me to break any of your ground rules, please see Geneva. We will settle the bill later on after you've gotten a few paychecks under your belt and you're financially stable."
His lips are so close, I could stand on my tippy toes and kiss him. Or headbutt him.
I take a step back and exhale. I'm not sure working for Brady is worth this. Worth the humiliation and mortification. I'm not sure if it's worth listening to him say all these things that make mefeelthings.
We set ground rules to avoid situations like this.
So, why couldn't he just be honest with me?
"I didn't want you to know I was struggling so much," he quietly voices. "That you being near me is hard for me."
"You don't think this is hard for me, too?"
"I don't know, Iz. You've always been hard to read. Not that I blame you, especially given the circumstances surrounding our relationship."
