The Little Black Dress (Love in Las Vegas)

37. What is Wrong with You?

Sophie

I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I’m actually nervous to meet Jared’s mom. I insisted on coming home to change after work, and Jared reluctantly agreed after his assurances that I looked amazing didn’t change my mind.

I’ve been standing in front of my closet for ten minutes, and I still haven’t decided what to wear. Should I go casual with a pair of jeans and a nice top? Or do they dress for dinner? Shit, do I need a ballgown?

“Okay, breathe Sophie.”

I know I’m being ridiculous. This isn’t the Victorian era, and people don’t “dress” for a dinner at home. But I also don’t want to go too casual. I could text Jared, but I don’t want him to know how badly I’m spazzing out right now.

My gaze lands on a plastic garment bag, and my lips curve up. Pulling it out of the closet, I hang it on the door and gently tug down the zipper.

My lucky little black dress.

And yes, I believe it’s still charmed.

If I hadn’t lost that painting to Jared, I never would have met him. I’d still be working for Mr. Hatfield, and I wouldn’t have spent the last several days having the best sex of my life. Sex that is, quite possibly, leading to more.

Just as I always suspected, this dress brings me only good things. And I’m really fucking glad I didn’t burn it.

Because I’m meeting Jared’s mom tonight, and I’m going to need all the luck I can get. I really want to make a good impression. I don’t know why it’s so important to me, but it is.

Slipping off the robe I’d put on after my shower to do my hair and make-up, I toss it onto my bed and pull the dress off the hanger. Stepping into it, I pull it up my body, loving the way it feels against my skin. Once I’ve got it adjusted and zipped up, I study my reflection in the mirror.

I look good. I feel good, too. Tonight is going to be amazing.

My phone chimes, and I rush into the bathroom to grab it from the counter where I’d left it. The message is from Jared, saying he’d be here in fifteen minutes, and I should meet him out front. My brow wrinkles as I read the message a second time.

I’m not one to usually read tone into text messages, but something about it just seems…cold. Distant. And he wants me to wait on the curb for him instead of coming up to get me? It’s not that I mind, exactly. It’s just…that doesn’t seem like Jared.

I shake my head and breathe deep. I’m probably reading too much into it. It’s already six-thirty, and he doesn’t want to be late to his mother’s.

I’m sure that’s all it is.

Slipping on my lucky red heels––there’s no such thing as overkill when it comes to luck––I grab a black clutch and stick my phone and my lipstick inside. Stepping out into the hall, I close my door and lock it before tossing my keys in there, too, then I head for the elevator.

When I step out of the building, Jared’s car pulls up to the curb beside me. I pause for a second, because he got here in half the time he said it would take, which means he was most likely speeding. The car idles for a moment, and when I realize he’s not going to even get out to greet me, I open the door and bend down to look at him.

“Hi,” I say, giving him a smile.

“Hey. We need to hurry, or we’re going to be late.”

My head rears back at his words, spoken in a flat tone I don’t recognize. I open my mouth to call him out on it, then snap it closed. I slide into the passenger seat and barely have the door closed behind me before he guns it, pulling away from the curb much too fast. I fumble with my seatbelt and somehow manage to get it clicked into place before he veers out into the street.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“What do you mean?” he replies, never taking his eyes off the road.

“You’re acting weird, and you’re driving like a maniac,” I say, fighting to keep my voice even as he swerves to pass another car before jerking us back into the right lane.

“I’m fine,” he says, then heaves a sigh and eases off the accelerator a bit. “Better?”

“Sure,” I say, swallowing against the lump forming in my throat.

I tell myself he’s just nervous, introducing me to his mom. Deep down, I know it’s a lie. That something is seriously wrong here. But I’ve already committed to this dinner, Mrs. Hart is expecting us, and I can find out what crawled up Jared’s ass and died later. And shove my booted foot up there to dislodge whatever it is, if need be.

We don’t speak again until we pull up to the house, which is…nothing like I expected.