The Billionaire’s Kitten

But I figured the heat had gotten to everyone, so nodding politely, I stepped up to a rack of clothes. Each one was perfectly hung, the hangers exactly two inches apart.

“No thank you, just looking,” I murmured, taking in the selection. Hmm, these were cute, pink dresses with a ruffly hem at the bottom. Gray likes me in feminine stuff, so he’d appreciate seeing me in this.

“Actually,” I turned back to the saleslady quickly. “I was wondering if you could help me find this in a bigger size? I’m not really a four or six.”

The woman stared at me pointedly.

“We don’t carry your size,” she said icily. “Nothing in this store is going to fit you,” she said, waving her hand about.

I goggled at her again. Was I hearing this right? Was this woman being absolutely, completely rude? This was so off the charts that it had to be make-believe.

“I’m sorry,” I said firmly. “I’m just asking for a bigger size. Maybe a sixteen or eighteen? If you could check in back, I’d be so grateful.”

But the woman shot me another freezing look.

“Like I said,” she hissed. “We don’t do clothes for big girls. Girls like you don’t belong in this store.”

And the blood drained from my body, leaving me weak yet frozen in place. Could this really be happening? It was like I was back in high school being taunted by the cool clique, the girls with the perfect straight blonde hair and ski lift nose. Once again, I was Fatty Katty, the pudgy girl with sweaty hands and coke-bottle glasses. My face flushed hotly and I was about to turn and leave, ashamed, when suddenly I realized there was no reason to take this treatment.

“Here,” I said, fumbling in my purse. “Here, let me give you my card so that you know where to charge my purchases.”

My husband’s black AmEx card glinted ominously under the light. And sure enough, there was Gray’s name right there on the front. GRAYSON CHANNING, in block caps, with absolutely no doubt who it could be. He’s a king here on the strip, everyone knows who owns the Milano.

Of course, the woman’s attitude flipped from night to day.

“Oh, and you are …?” she said, gushing and fawning. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you knew Mr. Channing.”

I looked pointedly at her.

“I’m his wife,” I said, enunciating slowly. “We’re married, and I’d like to shop here please. What was your name again?”

The woman mumbled something, stammering over her words while looking at the ground, so I leaned in closer.

“Claire, you said? Great, Claire. I’d like to get this dress in a fourteen, if you don’t mind,” I said speaking slowly. “I’d appreciate it very much.”

The woman scuttled off, my card gripped in her hand, but I wilted once she was gone. That had been so painful. I should have felt powerful and triumphant, showing her up the way I did, but the thing is I just felt sad. These catty games aren’t me, and tiredness and exhaustion overwhelmed my frame then.

So while yeah, I bought a pink dress and wore it out of the store, that was the end of my shopping expedition. I had no more energy to walk the strip, Gray’s card or no. I didn’t want to be a queen, I just wanted to be with him.

But opening the front door slowly, clearly my days were numbered because Gray was on the phone with someone, discussing our divorce. I heard him grunt the words, “fake,” “wife,” and “marriage,” and my heart plummeted all the way to my toes. Oh god, it really was over, the sinking feeling in my stomach seemingly bottomless. Tears pricked my eyes, a lump forming in my throat.

But I couldn’t face him just now. I couldn’t, it’d be too painful. So tiptoeing, I let myself in quietly, hoping to slip upstairs without making a sound, but no such luck. Gray hung up with a clack, and whirled to fix me that piercing blue stare.

“Just give me a minute to go upstairs,” I mumbled, head down. “I know you’re busy.”

Gray didn’t need me. He had his hotel now, and I was just an accessory, something to toss away once the deal was done. I made to scurry away, and vowed to start packing my bags. Why the hell did I buy this dress? It was just one more thing I had no place to wear in my old life.

But the alpha male had words for me.

“Where were you?” he ground out.

I mumbled something incoherent, head down.

“Where were you, kitty cat?” he asked again, deceptively cool. “And why are you wearing that dress? Did you have a date?”

I swung startled brown eyes to look at him before looking down at my purchase. It did look date-like, I admit, the pink material flirty and feminine.