Page 74 of Consumed By You

“I’m downstairs, Miss,”Dimitri says when I answer my phone the next day.

I shake my head at Benjamin’s audacity and tell him I’ll be down.

I hastily brush through my wet, knotted hair and pull on a black skirt and white blouse to match. I stub my toe looking for my black flats. Where the hell are they? I look at the clock; it’s been five minutes since his call.

I have to give up on the search and just slip my feet into some sandals. Finally, I pull open my door and sprint down the steps. Dimitri’s window is open and he smiles when he sees me.

“Hi, Dimitri. I’m so sorry I took so…” My words slowly die out when the back door of the car opens.

He didn’t.

I stare wide-eyed at the ridiculously smug-looking man holding the door open for me.

“What are you doing here?” I say, not moving a muscle.

Benjamin grins. “I had an opening in my schedule. I figured I’d come with you.”

“Dress shopping?Youwant to go dress shopping?”

“I’ve never done it before, but it’s probably not too bad.”

Oh, he’ll see how bad it is.

I scowl at Dimitri. “You betrayed me.”

A secretive smile forms on his face. “I was just following orders.”

“Yes, he was.” Benjamin gestures to the open door. “Can you get in?”

***

“How is it coming?” Benjamin asks from outside the spacious dressing room.

I grin to myself. “Already regretting it, are you?”

“No, it’s not too bad,” he mutters. His phone rings for the fiftieth time and he answers shortly, then reprimands someone.

“Wait, what? Tiffany, those needed to be done yesterday. What am I paying you to do? Stand around?”

Damn. I pray silently for that poor person. Angry Benjamin sucks.

“Either get them done and sent out before you leave today, Miss Gibson, or find other means of employment.”

I’ve finished dressing but frankly, I don’t want to leave the safe confines of my little room. I open the curtain and step out, knowing already I don’t like this one. It’s red and tight, but it’s too short. He’s sitting on the couch, leaned back, and he smiles.

“What do you think?” I ask.

“It’s pretty. I don’t know if it’s formal enough, though.”

“I agree.”

“That’s a first.” He smirks, running his fingers along his defined, stubbled jaw. I follow his mindless movements, completely entranced.

“Who was that on the phone?” I ask, and he rolls his eyes.

“My assistant.” He raises a brow. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m just glad I never got on your bad side there.” There’s a loud voice in my head that forces me to finish my sentence. “At least other than that time—”