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Grabbing, I sit up and read the message.
D: I’ll pick you up for dinner at seven.
Seven? What the fuck am I supposed to do until seven?
As if he can read my mind, Dominic sends another text.
D: Feel free to do whatever you like today. Just stay away from the Blackjack tables--I’ll be watching. I’ll see you this evening. Wear something nice.
My eyes glance to my ratty backpack, which contains nothing more than holy jeans and baggy t-shirts. I have nothing that is even remotely nice.
There’s a knock on the door, so I hop up to answer it. When I do, three women pushing large wardrobe carts walk by me, entering the room.
“Uhm, these aren’t mine,” I protest.
But it does no good. They push the carts to one side of the room and start to walk back out.
“Whoa!” I cry, stopping one of them. “What the hell is all of this?”
The woman looks at me. “These are courtesy of Mr. Delgado. He wanted you to have choices, and I think you’ll find everything is in your size.”
With that, she scurries out the door. I walk over to the clothes and run my hands over all the fine fabrics.
The carts appear to have everything on them. There are beautiful expensive dresses, some long and some short. There are some jeans and lovely blouses. Hell, there’s even pajamas and assorted lingerie. The entire top row of the carts is lined with shoes—heels, boots, sneakers.
And every single thing is perfectly my size.
Oh, the man is good.
Well, I know what I’ll be doing with my time. It will take me all damn day to find something to wear.
* * *
Earlier, I told myself I would leave for a bit to get some fresh air, but this comfortable bed and giant TV have kept me firmly planted in this room. I’ve done nothing but nap and watch crappy reality television, and it’s been lovely.
I rarely have time to relax at home. I’m constantly working or sleeping.
Oh, and did I mention the bathtub? I took an hour-long bath while watching TV. Does it get any better than that?
Now that I’m all fresh and clean, it’s time to pick something to wear. Feeling a bit overwhelmed, I decide to focus on just the dresses. That will probably be my best bet. Dominic seems like he’d want something with easy access.
I lay out five choices on the bed and take my time trying on each one and modeling them in the mirror. They’re all gorgeous.
But there’s one that screams sexy.
It’s a solid black number that hangs down to my feet, but there’s a slit on either side up to my mid-thigh, showing off my legs. The material hugs my hips and makes my ass look amazing.
But the true highlight for me is the way the dress looks in the front. It hangs open between my breasts and goes all the way down to my belly button.
The dress shows off my tits—despite how small they are. The perk to tiny boobs, though, is that I can get away with wearing no bra, which is good because I don’t know what kind of bra I could wear with a dress this revealing.
Next, I pick underwear. I decide on a tiny black thong that won’t show any panty lines.
I finish the look by applying a little bit of makeup that I had stowed away in my backpack, and I try to tame my crazy curls, but there’s no point. They’re still wild and unruly.
Just as I slide on my strappy stilettos, there’s a knock on the door.
Right on time.
