Page 52 of The Holiday Clause

“Mr. Hawthorne, welcome to House of Pearl. Can I help you find something special this evening?”

“We’re in a bit of a rush. Is Liza around?” Liza was the manager.

“She’s in the back. I can get her for you.”

“Please do. Tell her Soren Hawthorne is here with a guest.”

The woman glanced at Wren, who fidgeted uncomfortably in her understated clothes.

A moment later Liza appeared, her heels clicking against polished marble. “Soren, to what do I owe the pleasure?” She kissed his cheek and smiled at Wren.

“Slight oversight. Wren and I have a reservation at Salt & Ember, but I sprung it on her last minute. She needs a complete wardrobe change.”

“I’m sure we can manage that.” Liza smiled at Wren with the practiced warmth of someone accustomed to last-minute transformations. “I’ll need your sizes and an idea of your style.”

The women disappeared to the back while Soren found a seat. The floor attendant brought him a glass of sparkling water with a twist of lime while he waited. They always took good care of customers, but Wren would get the elite treatment. Not only did the Hawthornes own the building, it was their fisheries that sourced the pearls used in all the jewelry.

“Liza asked me to give you this.” The store attendant slipped him a folded piece of cream linen paper.

“Thanks.” He unfolded the note and read.

She’s insisting on a budget.

He rolledhis eyes and suppressed a growl of frustration. “Tell her I said no prices. She gets whatever she wants. I’ll handle the bill.”

“Yes, sir.”

The floor attendant disappeared, and a moment later, Wren appeared, no longer in her street clothes and her expression far from happy. A sapphire silk dress clung to her curves like liquid starlight.

“Soren, this is too much.”

“I don’t want to hear it, Wren.”

“Well, you’re gonna. I’m not letting you buy me clothes.”

“Why not?”

“Because! I have my own money and my own dresses at home.”

Even barefoot, she looked ethereal—all long legs and graceful curves. “You don’t own anything like that.”

“Either I’m paying or the date’s off.”

He stood and closed the distance, surprise flashing in her eyes when he boxed her in at the counter. The scent of her skin mixed with expensive fabric and his pulse hammered against his throat. “No. You’re not. You’re going to get your sexy ass back in that dressing room and find some shoes. Then, you’re going to pick out a necklace, earrings, and a decent coat, and not say another word about the cost.”

“No, I’m?—“

He leaned in and lowered his voice, close enough that his breath ghosted across her ear. “Don’t fight me on this, Wren. You won’t win. Not this time.”

She appeared stunned that he could be so firm and unbending, but he refused to pussy-foot into this territory with her. If she wanted to experience what it was like to date him, he planned to hold nothing back.

“You can’t?—“

“I just did.” He gently took her wrist and gave her a nudge toward the dressing rooms. “Go.”

Her lips firmed, but she didn’t argue. Stomping off, she grumbled, “I’m not happy about this.”

He only replied, “You’re beautiful.”