Bound (Mastered 1)

“The cast from Magic Mike is making a sequel and this time it’s all g*y  p**n ?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, pervert. Amery is going to the Colorado Sports Banquet this Saturday as Ronin Black’s date.”

“Shut. Up.”

“I’m dead-ass serious.” Emmylou leaned forward and mock-whispered, “She had no idea it’s a big deal.”

Chaz put his hand on his stomach. “I might actually have to sit down.”

Amery narrowed her eyes at her overly dramatic friend. “How do you know about this event? You are the least sporty guy I know.”

“I know about it because everyone who’s anyone in Denver goes to this event. It’s not only about sports; the event is elbow to elbow with philanthropists. This event is so exclusive the catering staff and servers are subjected to serious military-style background checks.”

“Why have I never heard of it?”

“Because you live under a rock?” Chaz suggested sweetly.

Emmylou swatted him. “Be nice, because you know what Amery attending this event means . . .”

“What does it mean?” Amery demanded.

“Shopping trip,” they said simultaneously.

Then Chaz said, “Girl, I’m on this. This is what I live for.”

“This isn’t a costume party,” Emmylou drawled. “Amery needs to look classy.”

Chaz gave Emmylou’s outfit—a floral chiffon baby doll dress, worn over ripped pink leggings, and her Doc Martens with flames on the toes—a sneering once-over. “I guess that leaves you out of the shopping excursion.”

“I swear if you two don’t knock it off, I will buy a dress at Kmart and call it good.”

They both gasped. “No, no, no. We’ll work together, we promise, won’t we, Emmylou, my love?”

“Absolutely, Chaz, my turtledove,” she cooed back.

Amery made gagging noises.

“Wait, it’s Monday, right?” Chaz said. “You know what’s open today?”

“Natasha’s.”

“At the risk of being outed as ignorant again, what is Natasha’s?” Amery asked.

“A vintage and designer clothing boutique. She owns stores in ten states and only takes the highest-quality pieces in exchange for store credit—no cash. But the kicker is, if you drop off your item here in Denver, it won’t be resold in Denver. It’ll be shipped to one of the other nine stores. And it’s only open two days a week.”

“She moves that much merchandise?”

“That, I’m not sure of. I do know it adds another layer of exclusivity.”

“So it’s a Goodwill for rich people. Except with fewer store hours.”

“Exactly.”

Chaz didn’t recognize her sarcasm.

“Go on.” He shooed her toward the stairs. “Since this is a fashion emergency, we’ll close up shop.”

Emmylou said, “I’ll grab my purse and my keys.”

• • •

TWO hours later, Amery stared at the rack of dresses, more than a little discouraged. She must’ve tried on two dozen outfits, from funky to chic. A couple looked good, but none looked great, or gave her that wow factor she wanted.

Emmylou and Chaz had ganged up on her with the help of Niles, the nattily dressed salesman. They brought her long dresses, short dresses, even a couple of Halston pantsuits from the 70s that were retro enough to be hip.

Since they were convinced they knew what style suited her better than she did, Amery hadn’t checked the merchandise. But while Niles and Chaz were advising Emmylou on professional outfits, Amery snuck out of the dressing room.

She’d been a bargain shopper all her life and immediately headed for the sales rack. Rather than sticking to her size, she checked the selection a size smaller and a size larger. Sometimes clothes were mismarked, and other times tiny adjustments fixed fitting issues.

Her friends were overly hung up on designer labels and tended to overlook design, while Amery gravitated toward simple styles. The pieces they’d brought to her were anything but simple. One dress had feathers around the hemline. Feathers, for god’s sake. Feathers reminded her of being forced to gather eggs on her grandparents’ farm—she’d had enough flying feathers to last her a lifetime, thank you very much.

She flipped through hangers slowly, weighing the pros and cons of each piece, while keeping an eye on the price. She spied a dress half dangling off the hanger. It was a black silk sheath, simple looking at first glance, but then she noticed the fabric overlay was threaded with silver. When she tilted the dress, it gave the illusion of movement like lightning. The beaded hem made a cool clicking sound as the clear round beads connected with the silver tube beads around the bottom edge. Although it was shorter than she normally wore, she figured the extra weight of the beads would keep the dress from riding up.

The woman next to her eyed the dress and Amery draped it over her arm and returned to the dressing room.

Even before she’d zipped it up she knew it was “the” dress. She didn’t care if Emmylou or Chaz didn’t like it; she felt glamorous. As if she might not embarrass herself on Ronin’s arm, because, guaranteed, the striking-looking man would turn heads in whatever he wore.

“Amery, darling, I’ve found . . .” Chaz’s eyes raked over her.

“Hey, could you zip me up?”

“Where did you get this?”