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“Back up to the honey. I want—” I hang up. Not just because I’m short tempered today, because I don’t want to explain. I don’t even understand myself.

And then Honeyeh walks out of my bathroom and it’s completely clear.

Honeyeh is always beautiful. But like this, draped in red silk, she looks a million times better than any model I have ever seen. She looks like a Hollywood starlet from the 1950s, or a princess, or…

“It fits,” she murmurs, running her hands down her hips. Her hair is still in the low ponytail she wore for work and she’s not even wearing makeup, but holy fucking Christ…

“Honeyeh,” my voice is hoarse.

She points down to the shoes. “They’re a touch big but I’m sure they’ll be fine. If you just tell me how to style my hair, I’m sure I can borrow some makeup from my new friend Brittany.”

Borrow makeup? “There will be a styling team for you tomorrow.”

“Oh,” she cries, her eyes wide. “I’m sure I don’t need?—”

“Honeyeh.” We are not arguing this.

“Right,” she flushes again. “Great. I can just stay after work so that they can make me pretty.”

There is so much wrong with what she just said. Honeyeh is the kind of beautiful that a man fantasizes about. That he dreams… “You’re not reporting for work tomorrow. I don’t need you here until three or four.”

Her brow scrunches. “But if tomorrow night is overtime, then don’t I need to work regular time?”

She’s so stuck on working the actual hours and making the money by the rules. I’d admire her principles along with her heart if they weren’t keeping me from what I really wanted. Her.

“I need you to be your most rested and relaxed self tomorrow night. Besides, if you check the contract, you’ll see that any hours past five mean you get paid overtime.”

Her lips part in surprise before she dips her chin, running a hand over her belly.

Fuck. I want to put my palm over her stomach, spread my fingers wide as I pull her ass back into my constant erection.

“It’s a beautiful dress,” she says and then lifts her chin, those big gray eyes meeting mine. “I never imagined myself in something so lovely.”

I bite my tongue, wanting to tell her she makes the dress beautiful. I’m starting to act like a smitten asshole like Killian or Gris.

I’ve got to get myself under control.

I’ll work out. Maybe if I tire myself out enough, I’ll forget and I won’t even want to masturbate.

If I’m not careful, I’m going to tip over into obsession.

CHAPTER NINE

Honeyeh

I have never,in my entire life, been poked or prodded as much as I have this evening.

I sit in one of the guest rooms in Triston’s house, which I am now referring to as ground zero.

The benefit starts in an hour and four different stylists have been waxing, plucking, curling, and applying treatments for the last three and a half hours.

Finally, they bring out the dress. I slip off the satin robe I’ve been wearing, setting it to the side. The dress is held by two women so that the fabric, which has been carefully steamed, can be lowered over my head. The stylist is up on a step ladder. It’s a complete Cinderella moment.

The makeup artist gasps as she looks at me. “Even your undergarments are gorgeous,” she gushes. I look down with a nervous laugh. I’ve got on a strapless corset bra with a lacy pair of thong underwear, a garter and thigh-high stockings.

Triston replaced the shoes that were a little too big with a pair that fit perfectly. The heels are only three inches, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to walk nicely in four.

Which meant the dress needed to be altered…