God, he’s just so ridiculous.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything other than a suit.”
He glances down and rubs a hand over his chest. “Oh.” He laughs. “Yeah, I guess not, huh? They’re a requirement of the job, but this is more my speed.”
“Really?” I ask, quickly drawing my eyebrows together. I never would have guessed that. Suits seem to fit his personality so well.
He shrugs. “Nothing wrong with a good suit,” he asserts. “But I wouldn’t wear them every day if I didn’t have to.”
I nod, and then the two of us stand in silence for thirty seconds, just staring at each other. When my awkwardness seeps into fidgeting, I can’t hold my tongue anymore.
“So…what do we do now? Didn’t you say there were assistant things to be done?”
He startles a little and then nods. “Oh. Yeah. Assistant things. Follow me.”
I step up and into the fancy house, and he closes the door behind me. Unsure of where to go, I move to the side and wait for him to come around me to lead the way.
When he doesn’t, my eyebrows close the gap between themselves, and my patience takes a nose dive.
“Okay, I don’t know what’s up with you, but if you don’t show me where to go, we’re going to be standing here all night. I highly doubt that’s on the task list.”
“Right. This way,” he says with another laugh, waving at me to follow him up the sweeping, curved marble stairs. I step lightly, for fear my casualness might rub off on the finery, and do my best not to trip over my feet as I bounce my eyes from one ornate detail to the next.
Long, luxurious curtains swoop to the sides of the huge windows, and a detailed black railing cascades down the edge of both sides of the steps. A velvet sofa sits at the top edge of the landing, and I can’t help but smirk at the thought of someone actually using it. Like, Hey, I’m just going to hang out here and watch people go up and down the stairs.
Before I can get too focused on the couch, though, Cap rounds the corner and heads down the massive hall to the right with long strides. I have to break out into a slow jog to keep up with him, but when he stops at a door, I end up running into the back of him.
“Ah,” I groan awkwardly. “Sorry about that. You were moving really quickly, and then…you weren’t.”
“It’s all right,” he says with a smile.
And then, yet again, he just stands there.
“Are we going inside that room by any chance? Because if we’re not, I might need to use the bathroom.”
His chest rises and falls, like he’s taking a big, self-conscious breath. I shake my head to clear my vision because I know for a fact that Caplin Hawkins never does anything self-consciously.
When I focus again, he’s turning the knob and sweeping the door open into the room, but instead of stepping inside, he puts his back to the wood and waits for me to go first.
My steps are cautious, though I doubt I’ll find any large carnivorous animals inside, and my mouth goes dry.
I look back at Cap once more and then turn to the room, where three racks of gowns, two rows of high-heeled shoes, and a high-backed chair sit waiting mysteriously. Not to mention, a beautiful, smiling, gray-haired woman stands in the corner, near a large vanity with every type of makeup known to the free world displayed across the top of it.
My face turns scrunched with disquiet as I try to make sense of it.
Meanwhile, the heat from Cap’s body radiates noticeably into my back.
“Pick any outfit you want. And then Lucille will do your hair and makeup.”
My head whips around, my hair flying out and over my shoulder.
“I’m sorry?”
“For the party,” he says, like that explains any-fucking-thing at all.
“What about the assistant stuff?”
He nods. “This is it.”
“Racks full of free dresses, expensive as hell shoes, and hair and makeup?”
“Yeah,” he says, nodding again.
“But why?”
He smiles then, and I’m ashamed to say my heartbeat elevates. It’s something in the curve of his lips or the sparkle of his eyes. I’m not sure which. But Caplin Hawkins’s smile should be illegal in at least ten states.
“You’re always beautiful, but I thought, maybe with this, you’d feel that way.”
Confusion mars the skin between my brows.
“I don’t think I’m Cindy Crawford, but I’m not lacking self-esteem. What exactly are you trying to say?”
“Cindy Crawford?” he asks, avoiding the actual question. “That’s a little bit of an outdated reference, don’t you think?”
“Cindy is a timeless beauty,” I say through clenched lips. “Now, answer my question.”
He purses his mouth, and his eyes glaze with confusion. I’d like to say it’s fake, but I’m having a hard time knowing for sure. “What question was that exactly?”