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Chapter Twenty-Four


"So where do you want to go?" Nick asked, breaking the silence that had fallen after I'd asked what he thought he was to Cora. He hadn't answered, but he'd really thought about it, and that was really all I could ask of him.

I shook my head, "I'm good."

"There ain't nothin' you wanna look at?" he asked, surprised.

I shook my head, "I'm good." He raised his eyebrow. "I'm not big on shopping," I offered by way of an explanation.

Nick studied me a moment. "Is it about money?" he asked.

It was. I mean I had fifty-K from working with him, obviously, but I've never had that kind of money before and to be honest I'd pretty much budgeted it out so that I'd be covered for awhile with rent and food. I was stingy because I'd gone too long without money to be able to let it pass between my fingers lightly. But I wasn't about to admit that to him. "I'm good," I insisted.

Nick rubbed his chin, "Hmmm," he mumbled, "Well I think you need a uniform anyways," he announced.

It was my turn to raise my eyebrow. "A uniform, huh?"

He nodded, "Yeah. For the party. You know. I'm going to be all dashing and stuff, the last thing I need is my personal assistant running around wearing some boring old thing... You need a uniform. Something that compliments dashing." He smirked. The words were cocky, the tone was not. He held up his wallet as he spoke, shaking it to make a point, "Company expense."

"What company?"

"Nick Inc," he replied. "It's a big corporation."

"Uh huh."

"I'm CEO. And founder. Well, no I guess my parents would be founders."

"Conceivers."

Nick shuddered. "Don't really wanna think about that."

"No?"

"Not even a little bit," he replied, laughing. He sized me up as we walked, "Maybe we could get you some assless chaps."

I swung one of his bags at him, lobbing him in the back of the legs with it. He laughed and danced out of the way. "Vicious!" he shouted, "You're abusive!" He grinned. "We better make them leather assless chaps, to match the BDSM spirit you've got going on."

"Shut up," I laughed. "You and your obsession with my ass... I hate you for looking at it."

"Like you didn't know I'd look when you turned around," he rolled his eyes. "Please." Nick's eyes widened and he stared at me, head tilted, "Why... Samantha Catherine Roades, you did know I'd look at your perfect little ass when you turned around, didn't you? You were trying to seduce me!" He shook his head, "You were taking advantage of me in my drunken state!"

"Seduce you?" I cried, "Please. You wish."

Nick chuckled, but he didn't reply. Instead, he grabbed my elbow and firmly led me into a shop with a bunch of exotic, fancy looking dresses in the window. "C'mon," he said, "It's my turn to pick out shit for you to wear." He grinned as he yanked me in the door.

Now here's an FYI: I hate dresses. I hate them. My mother used to put me in them every day when I was a kid, and all I wanted in my entire childhood was a good ol' pair of blue jeans but Heaven forbid a girl wear pants in my mother's household. I was a tomboy captured in the world of endless tea parties. I used to poison my teddy bears by imagining someone had put drano in their tea. My mother called me deranged, I called me smothered.

I followed Nick through the racks of filly, sparkley, lacey frocks that filled the shop almost to bursting. He'd pause and hesitate every now and then beside a mannequin and study the dress it wore, then look at me and shake his head and move on. He hummed tunelessly as he walked, a man on a mission.

"Nick, c'mon," I said, stopping by a violet dress with tassles all over it like a 20s flapper girl that he was studying. "I'm not pretty enough for any of this stuff, let's just go."

"What?" He turned and looked at me.

I shoved my glasses up my nose again - they'd chosen the most excellent moment to fall and demonstrate their obnoxiousness - and said, "I'm not pretty enough for --"

Nick held up his hand, cutting me off, and reached for my glasses. He lifted them off my ears and he disappeared in a blurry haze. I stared up at him, trying to keep him in focus, but he was a vague shape of color before me. He leaned closer and said in a deep, throaty, breathy sort of voice, "You're gorgeous... Like a classic film star... You've got these... beautiful, full lips... and this hair..." He lifted one hand to the side of my face... slid it along my jaw, cupped my cheek... "And those.... those eyes...." He was quiet... and so close...

"Can I help you?"

Nick slipped my glasses back on and by the time I'd adjusted to the clarity of vision an the end of the moment, he'd already turned to the sales clerk that'd walked up. FUCK YOU SALES CLERK! my heart bellowed from in my chest. I couldn't believe we'd been so close - again! - and been interrupted for something as stupid as a freaking sales clerk!

Nick waved an arm back at me, "I need to see every dress that you have in the entire store that would fit the absolutely beautiful Miss. Samantha here."

The clerk looked at me. "Size eight, dear?"

"Six," I mumbled.

"You'll be an eight here, we run small." She turned and disappeared.

Nick looked at me. I could still barely breathe, and with his eyes aimed at me I felt like I could breathe even less. He was like visual asthma. He smiled, "I think you'll look beautiful in something green. It's my favorite color, you know."

"Is it?" I asked.

He nodded. "It'll match your eyes."

My mouth was dry.

The clerk came back a moment later with a rack full of size eight dresses and Nick started picking through them. I hung back. "What's the occasion?" asked the clerk.

"Party," Nick replied, "A big party..." Then he grinned, "Ahh... there it is." He stepped back and held aloft an emerald colored dress, form fitting, with satin bodice and rouched skirt that would hug the hips and cut short in the region of the midthigh. He turned and held it out to me. "Go put this one on," he said.

I took it. "I dunno..."

"I put on your stupid suit."

"The suit made you look dashing."

"You'll look dashing in that," he said, waving his hands at it.

"Girls don't look dashing."

"Whatever the hell girls look that's like dashing then," he said. "Goooo try it onnnnn!"

The clerk smiled, "Come with me," she said eagerly and she dragged me off to this curtained off room to the left. Nick plopped himself down on a bench as the clerk put the dress on a hook in the room and smiled, "Let me know if you need help with the zipper, dear," she said and she yanked the curtain closed as she backed away.

I swallowed and slowly undid my jeans. I shimmied the dress on and struggled to reach behind me, but, determined, I got the zipper all by myself. And then I looked in the mirror. My jaw dropped.

I couldn't believe it was me I was seeing. At least not from the neck down. The dress cupped my boobs just right and hugged my curves in a way that they'd never been hugged before and made my booty pop and my legs looked longer and leaner than I'd ever thought they could. I was floored. The tag was hanging over one of my boobs and I went to tuck it in and caught sight of the price.

"Holy mother of Jehosephat!" I shouted.

"Everything okay?" Nick called.

"It looks like shit," I lied. No way in hell was that price for real. No way in Hell.

The curtain suddenly was pulled back and Nick stepped in, letting it fall back in place behind him. I squealed and jumped back, tripping over my jeans on the floor and hitting the wall. Nick sized me up. "Holy fuck," he said. "You look..." He stared at me. "Wow."

I stared up at him. "Nawh," I said.

He nodded, "Yeah," he answered. He pulled open the curtain. "We'll take that one, the one she's got on," he announced to the clerk.

"But Nick, wait --" I said, I reached into the bodice and pulled out the price tag, "Nick --"

The clerk came over and snapped the tag off my boob. "Can I get you anything else sir? Maybe a bag or some shoes to go with it for the pretty lady?"

"Yes, let's see what you've got," Nick announced, waving me to follow him.

"Nick -" I squeaked, and I hurried after him and the clerk in my stocking feet - my sneakers and clothes left in the dressing room - "Nick..." I grabbed his elbow and pulled him closer. "It's a thousand dollars," I hissed.

He shrugged.

"Nick! A thousand dollars," I tried again.

He grinned, "Sam... I don't care," he said. "C'mon. We're looking at shoes."

I stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Seriously Sam..." he laughed, "You look like a million dollars in that thing. I'm getting a bargain." And he pulled me along to where the clerk was holding aloft a pair of flats that sparkled like they were made of pure gold.

And I had a feeling they probably had a price tag like they were, too.