I stood there for a moment, toying with the material, watching the way the gold appeared and disappeared when I ran my hand over it.
Then, finally, as I heard the first set of doors opening and closing in the driveway, I spritzed on a little perfume, slipped into my shoes, and made my way toward the stairs.
That was where I found Fitz, greeting his first guests with handshakes and hand claps on shoulders, offering them smiles that didn't come frequently to him.
He was just turning to invite the men into the living room where the band and drinks were set up when his gaze lifted, and he saw me.
I swear, the look on his face right then damn near knocked my breath out of me. There was a fluttering in my chest at the way his hungry gaze slid over me, settling on my face with something that resembled awe in his eyes.
"And who is this?" one of the men there asked. The two of them were non distinct in the looks department. Just two men in their forties with very average builds and bone structure that suggested they were related.
I knew his kind immediately. The kind of rich guy who thought his power and position in life somehow made his leering glances and roving hands less creepy. He was a walking sexual harassment case in the making.
It was something other men tended not to notice, or not acknowledge, but as I made my way down the stairs, knowing I couldn't be rude, Fitz stiffened as he eyed his clients or business partners or whoever they were.
"Robert, Mack, this is my house manager, Wynn. Wynn, Robert and Mack Cloyton."
"House manager," Robert said, offering me his hand, and I had no choice but to shake it. "That is an interesting job title. What does such a job entail?"
I could hear the innuendo in his tone. And despite it being true that I'd been messing around with Fitz, I didn't like the suggestion. Like the only use I served in the household was spread thighs and an open mouth.
"Wynn oversees the rest of the staff, does the household shopping, plans events, and generally makes it possible for me to focus on work," Fitz informed the men before I got a chance to figure out how to explain.
"Interesting," Robert said. "Sounds like something I could use. Do you have any spare time for more work, Wynn?" he asked, and I swore I needed a shower to wipe off the slime his words left all over me.
"I'm afraid I keep her busy," Fitz said. "And she works on her art in her free time."
I didn't intend to have my head whip over to watch his profile, but I couldn't help it. I was a little surprised he even remembered that about me, let alone acknowledged that I spent a chunk of my time working on it. I'd been less than thrilled to find out that most people figured that being an artist meant I scribbled in notebook margins, or could whip out a human-sized canvas in a couple of hours. It was rare to find someone who actually took not only art but the artist and the process seriously.
"Shame. That is a shame," Robert said, shaking his head as his eyes dipped to my chest.
"There is a full bar in the living room, gentlemen," I announced, offering up a tight smile as I waved an arm toward the room. It was a civil dismissal, one they couldn't turn down, so they shuffled off to go get drinks that would likely make Robert even more slimy as the night went on. I made a mental note to avoid him.
"They were... charming," I drawled when they were gone and Fitz and I were alone.
"They're the CFO and CMO of the company I am attempting to buy."
"Attempting?" I asked, waving a hand around his home. "It looks to me like you could afford it."
"It's more that it is an old family business. And the CEO is having a hard time handing it over."
"So you're schmoozing him."
"Something like that," Fitz agreed. "You might want to avoid Robert after he ties on a few," he told me, shaking his head.
"I have already made that mental note. I have no interest in getting groped," I told him, purposely, and very slowly, running a hand across the highest part of my stomach, just under my breasts, turning the black fabric gold.
"Fuck," Fitz hissed under his breath, almost too low to hear. "That's an interesting dress," he said more loudly.
"Isn't it?" I asked. "Try it," I suggested.
"No," he said, and I watched as his hands actually balled into fists like he was struggling to keep himself from doing it.
"What's the matter?" I asked. "Don't trust yourself?"
"Wynn..."
"Just imagine," I started, shooting him a sultry smirk, "me walking around all night with your hand mark on my dress."