“There you are!”
Both Nick and I jumped in our skin, like guilty school children caught holding hands, as Louise-the-Bavarian-storm-cloud burst into the room. She paused a moment, upon seeing the two of us standing so close, before her eyes narrowed in even greater judgement.
“I ask for the dry-cleaning ten minutes ago.” She whipped an accusatory finger into the air—jabbing it in between us. “If you two are finished with whatever unfug is going on in here, I do not like to ask twice!”
Unfug wasn’t good. Unfug meant mischief in German. Nick and I had learned a long time ago, that whenever Louise said unfug—it was a bad sign.
And so, the three of us dispersed. All heading in separate directions.
Louise—muttering what sounded like profanities in every language east of Poland.
Nick—muttering about being trapped in a house with vengeful women.
And me—muttering about needing to find some clothes to replace my wilted dress.
“You can wear some of mine.”
I looked up in surprise, to see Nick watching me with a surprisingly gentle expression. A hint of that signature twinkle had returned to his eyes, and in a moment, all was forgiven.
It was quick. Especially given the heat of the argument. But it wasn’t all that shocking.
The two of us had been through too much together to be derailed by a simple fight. It would take more than words in a linen closet to drive a wedge between us.
My lips curved up in a tentative smile that was graciously returned.
“Yours? You think we’re the same size, do you? Or gender?”
He flashed me a rueful grin, before heading off down the hall.
“Wear some of Gemma’s,” he called over his shoulder. “She won’t mind.”
Chapter 8
TEN MINUTES LATER, I was standing in the skimpiest cocktail dress I had ever seen. The kind of dress that just might fall off in a gentle breeze. Give up and surrender without putting up a lick of fight. Two wide silk straps cut at a diagonal down the front of it, leaving triangular cutouts through which you could see my back and hips. The shoulders were also bare, and save for a delicate little zipper holding the whole thing together—it was hanging on by a prayer.
“Gemma,” I muttered under my breath, “why did it have to be Gemma?”
Gemma Arlison was an ironically-named diamond heiress who Nick had dated off and on for the better part of two years. She had become a regular fixture at the house (along with about half a dozen others), and as such, she still had leftover clothes in several of the closets.
Things had finally ended for good when Nick saw for himself what the rest of us had been telling him for months. The girl didn’t have a brain. Just very, very large breasts. (He had a habit of confusing the two.) They had split, as amicably as was possible, and not two weeks later—she had married a billionaire oil tycoon from Texas. I think Nick was actually hurt.
To be frank, I really didn’t have the giant curves to pull this kind of dress off. While her ample bosom had stretched the fabric to its limit, the silk hugged comfortably around me, clinging like a second skin. A shimmering sapphire kind of skin that exactly matched the color of my eyes.
“Why couldn’t he have dated the kind of girl who would wear an entire dress?” I groaned, rotating in front of the bathroom mirror in dismay. The huge cutouts revealing wide portions of my ivory skin were particularly troublesome. Especially considering it was winter in New York. “Maybe she also left a coat in here...?”
Sure enough, an ankle-length trench coat was hanging just inside. The kind that was tailor-fitted to make me feel like I was in a designer version of the Matrix. There was even a pair of sparkling Louis Vuitton stilettos to match.
I swept up my fountain-curled hair when I was done, securing it in the kind of tendril-draping updo it did so well, and touched up my makeup from the night before. When I was finished, I stepped back to survey the finished product.
“Not bad. A little fucking formal for a day at the office, but not bad at all.”
By the time I wandered back downstairs, I was actually feeling quite confident indeed. At least, I was until I ran into Nick in the kitchen.
The second he saw me, a very peculiar expression flashed across his face. He dropped his eyes immediately, but couldn’t manage to hide his smile.
At once, my stomach was sick and my hands were clammy.
Oh gosh—I looked ridiculous! Why hadn’t I just asked to run home so I could change into my own clothes? You know—something that required more fabric than a scarf?!