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He gazes around at my dingy apartment. “Nice place, by the way.”
“You really are a liar.”
“I’m not lying—you’ve done a lot with it.” He nods toward the gauzy curtains I made for the windows to disguise the fact that said windows look out onto nothing more interesting than the brick wall of the building opposite, and to the vintage glassware I scavenged from thrift shops, lined up on the open shelves so the sun shines through and makes colored patches on the opposite wall. “That’s pretty.”
I think about mentioning the cockroaches, but they’re disgusting, and I already spit croissant on Sullivan’s sleeve.
His eyes fix on my outfit instead. “Do you need to get dressed?”
“No.” I frown. “This is what I’m wearing.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
He hands me the last bag he was carrying, which looks like a shopping bag but the kind that’s so thick and heavy, with so much scented tissue inside, that I know it didn’t come from anywhere as pedestrian as Forever 21.
“What’s this?” I take possession of the bag gingerly, like he’s handing me a bomb.
“Better clothes,” Sullivan bluntly informs me. “Time to level up your game—if you want to swim with the sharks, you can’t dress like a minnow.”
“You don’t even know my size!”
His dark eyes rest on my body. “I’m pretty sure I do.”
I hustle out of the room, clutching the shopping bag to my chest. Goddamnthese pink, pink cheeks making me look like a virgin in a Victorian novel.
I’m not a virgin. Unless half a year without sex resets the factory settings.
And I’m not a prudish Victorian, either—just really easily embarrassed. I’ve never liked attention. Which is why I prefer the back of the kitchen to a front of house position.
In fact, if I’d known more about Angus, I never would have applied for the job at Galactic. If I’d realized how famous he was, and how much time I’d spend next to him, surrounded by cameras, I probably would have run for the hills.
I’ll admit, it’s been kind of fun traveling around with him, getting a peek at this world I never knew existed. But it’s a lot like pressing my nose against a bakery window—a feast for the eyes, while my stomach’s still growling.
I’m tired of looking. I want to eat.
I slip into my bedroom, which is about two feet away from the kitchen. I can still hear Sullivan moving around, looking at my stuff. I hope he doesn’t pick anything up and find a cockroach underneath.
The scent of expensive perfume hits me as I open the bag. I tear the tissue and find not one but several outfits neatly folded inside.
One of those “outfits” is a one-piece bathing suit with a plunging neckline and a matching flowing robe in the same jungle-ish print.
I march back out to the kitchen, holding up the bathing suit.
“Is this supposed to be for today?”
“I think so,” Sullivan says. “Unless you have a different yacht party planned for later in the week.”
“I’m not going to wear this around myboss.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not appropriate!”
“Trust me, Theo,” Sullivan shakes his head. “That T-shirt’s not appropriate—for life. You should burn it.”
“Well, I’m not going to wear this around Angus. He’ll think I’m trying to—seduce him or something.”
“First of all,” Sullivan says, “that’s more clothes than most of the women around Angus will be wearing. And second, you shouldn’t be so afraid to stir things up. You need to take your power back with him. You’ve been too predictable, too amenable. Right now, you’re his little mouse. You need to show him that he’s dealing with a tiger.”
