The Alpha Billionaire Club Trilogy (6 page)

Now for some shoes. Beside the Louboutins, I spotted a pair of navy platform sandals with a flat bow at the toe and sexy ribbon straps around the ankle. They were sweet, sassy, and perfect for the dress. As I reached for them, I spotted the imprint inside the shoe. Kate Spade. Not quite as unattainable as the Louboutins, but still way above my normal shoe budget, unless I decided not to eat for a month. I slipped them on, fastening the buckles hidden beneath the ribbons. They were so cute. I was in love with these shoes. With the whole outfit, actually. I suspected I’d love the rest of what he’d bought me just as much. Resolving to push away my concerns and have some fun, I let Dylan take my hand and lead me from the room.

D
ylan brought
me to Veranda at the Four Seasons, where we ate outside by the pool at a secluded table for two. Once we were seated, he explained,

“We’ll have more privacy here than at the Delecta. And I wanted to see you in that dress out in the sunshine.”

“I’ve always wanted to eat here,” I said, taking in the elegant surroundings, quiet on a Friday morning.

“Why haven’t you?”

“I keep meaning to, but I get busy with work and things that have to get done and I don’t end up getting out much.”

It was sadly true. I’d taken the job in Vegas after college mostly because Haywood and Cross was a great company. Partly, too, because I’d thought being in Vegas might give me an opportunity to have some fun. Instead, I ended up living the same life I’d always lived if you substituted going to work for studying and classes. There was so much to explore in this city and I was an expert on my neighborhood yoga studio and grocery store. When this weekend was over, I wasn’t going to crawl back into my shell. I was going to try to experience life a little more, even if it wasn’t on the same level as hanging out with a sexy billionaire.

Picking up the menu, I tried to figure out what to get. I wanted something decadent, but I thought I should order the fruit plate, or the Quinoa Muesli Cereal. That felt like a waste in a place like this. Dylan took over, asking, “Do you mind if I order for you? Is there anything you won’t eat?”

“No, you can order.” I put the menu down, relieved. Dylan seemed to like me as I was, but I still felt weird about ordering a fattening breakfast in front of him. It was stupid. I knew that. I was an adult woman and I should be able to eat waffles or a Danish if I wanted one. I’m not sure if the leftovers of childhood ever go away. Too many years of my sisters critiquing every bite I put in my mouth still left me weird about eating in public. I needed to get over it.

The waiter returned and my mouth watered as Dylan ordered the Limón ricotta pancakes for himself and the tiramisu French toast for me. It was exactly what I would have ordered for myself if I’d had the courage. When the waiter left, I picked up my coffee and said, “So, the clothes? Did you go shopping in the middle of the night? Or do you keep special fairies on staff who do your bidding at all hours?”

“The second, in a way. Not a fairy, my assistant, Melissa.”

“The one I met at your office last night? I thought her name was Cheryl.”

“It is. Cheryl handles my office. Melissa takes care of personal things.”

“Personal things? Like what? Does she pick your dates up for you?” I was half-kidding and half sure he was going to say ‘Yes’.

“Not usually. Though she has made an airport pick-up or two for me.”

“You fly your dates in? Like a lingerie model with a shoot in Bali coming to Vegas just so you can take her out to dinner?”

This time I really was kidding. I swallowed my amusement when Dylan took a slow sip of coffee, his eyes steady on my face, but said nothing. Of course he flew in models to date. Women around the globe were probably begging for the chance to go out with him. Again, I wondered what he was doing with me. Finally, he said, “I don’t want to talk about any other women right now.”

“Fair enough,” I said. I didn’t want to talk about his other women either, especially after my embarrassing fit earlier. “So what else does Melissa do?”

“She coordinates my life. The past twenty-four hours aside, I spend most of my time working. I don’t have time to go shopping, make dentist appointments, or get my car serviced. I have to throw a number of parties and other social events that are mostly work and I don’t have the time, or the inclination, to handle those either. Melissa takes care of everything I can’t. Or don’t want to.”

“Okay, that actually makes sense. So when did she go buy all this? We only met last night. How did she know what to get?”

“I texted her to take a look at what you had, and if she thought I’d agree, she should open the boutiques downstairs and get you set up.”

“So she didn’t like my clothes?” I asked, not sure how to feel about a stranger going through my things and deciding they needed to be replaced. I wasn’t a fashionista, but I thought I did alright on my junior accountant’s salary. Dylan shrugged.

“Maybe. But Melissa likes clothes. She may have thought yours were fine, but taken the excuse to buy you new things anyway.” That made me feel somewhat better. If I had the budget to buy clothes like this, I’d jump on it, even if they weren’t for me.

“So you made her work late? What if she had other plans?” I knew I was being nosy, but the whole concept of him having a person who would jump to do anything he asked was fascinating to me.

“I pay Melissa extremely well to never have other plans when I need her for something. She’s on call twenty-four-seven and she makes enough money that she doesn’t mind her hours. Plus, she likes me.” He gave me a satisfied grin, teasing me.

“Yeah, I bet she does,” I said, smiling back.

“She’s happily married to a lawyer who works long hours, no kids, which is part of why she doesn’t mind me calling her in at odd times. She’s one of those people who needs to be busy.”

“Hmm,” I said, unable to relate. I suspected Dylan was like that, always on the go. Anyone who ran a business empire had to be. That was not me. I worked hard at my job, but in my off time, I was more than happy to lie around, reading a book and snacking on chocolate. Probably part of the reason I still hadn’t seen that much of Vegas.

The waiter returned with our plates, sliding in front of me a beautifully presented stack of the tiramisu French toast with a banana-apple compote and citrus mascarpone cream. Heaven. The scents coming off my plate were so delicious I wanted to cry with joy. Chocolate, espresso, cream, and powdered sugar scented the air. If it tasted as good as it looked and smelled, I was going to be a very happy woman. Dylan’s Limón ricotta pancakes with fig compote looked equally tempting. Reading my mind, and eyeing my French toast, he said, “I thought we could share.”

“Works for me.” He cut a bite of pancake with his fork and brought it to my mouth. The taste of sweet lemon burst across my tongue. Withdrawing the fork from between my lips, he scooped up a bite of my French toast for himself.

“This place is always excellent,” he said. We ate like that for the next few minutes. I fed him a bite, he did the same for me. The intimacy was new. I’d eaten breakfast with men before, but this felt like we were in our own little island, just Dylan and me, with nothing to worry about but enjoying our meal and each other.

Our plates were empty before I knew it. Dylan sat back with his coffee, studying me. I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, self-conscious again. Picking up my own coffee, I said, “What?”

“Just glad you ate all your breakfast. You’re going to need your energy today.”

“Why? What are we doing?” I hoped we were going straight back to his penthouse where he could strip this dress off and fuck me for the rest of the day. Not that I was greedy or anything, but I only had him until Sunday. I wanted as much of Dylan as I could get.

“We’re going shopping,” he said, drinking half of his coffee before setting the cup back in its saucer. He checked his watch and gestured to the waiter. “The shops should be opening by the time we get there.”

“Why are we going shopping?” I asked. Hadn’t he already bought me more than I could possibly wear this weekend?

“Because I want to take you shopping,” he said, as if that was the end of the conversation.

Maybe to him, it was. I wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea of Dylan taking me shopping. We’d made a deal - he would be my date, and I’d sleep with him for the weekend. At the time, it had felt like an even trade. Five orgasms later, I was pretty sure I was getting the best part of the exchange. Fantastic, mind-blowing sex with a ridiculously hot guy, and a date for the wedding from hell.

Not to mention the money he’d already spent on the clothes he’d asked his assistant to buy. They weren’t flashy, but I knew the designers well enough to know that there was at least several thousand dollars hanging in the closet upstairs, not to mention the dress, panties and sandals I was wearing at the moment. Part of me was dying to see what his idea of going shopping was, but it felt weird. It was too much for a weekend fling.

“I don’t need anything else. You’ve already bought me too much. We can go back to the room instead,” I said, hopefully. His smile sent a jolt of arousal straight between my legs.

“We’ll go back to the room. Later. First, I want to go shopping.”

“Why? Really, it’s not necessary.”

At that, he laughed. “Of course it’s not necessary. Does it have to be necessary? Or does it offend your accountant’s heart to spend money on something you don’t strictly need?” I looked away, too embarrassed to admit he’d figured me out. He laughed again. “Get over it. We’re going shopping. Please tell me you aren’t in the wedding.”

I shook my head. “No. Thank God. Cathie is the maid of honor and Christie has her friends as bridesmaids.”

“Then we’re at least getting you a new dress for the wedding. And making a stop at La Perla. Or Agent Provocatuer. Maybe both. And more shoes, I think.”

I was completely speechless. I bought my underwear from a catalogue. It was nice enough, I thought. He hadn’t seemed to mind when he’d stripped it off of me. But I’d never owned anything like La Perla or Agent Provocatuer. Dylan was right, the idea of spending hundreds of dollars for a bra, or a pair of panties, was beyond my bank account or my sensibilities. Besides, I was more than happy to skip clothes of all kinds for the rest of the weekend. Except for the rehearsal dinner and the wedding itself.

Dylan, in what I was learning was his typical style, ran right over my objections. He hooked his arm through mine and we walked through the hotel to valet parking, where his Maserati was waiting. A short drive later, we passed the car off to yet another valet attendant and entered the first floor of Neiman Marcus. I’d browsed here before, but I’d rarely shopped. I tried to slow Dylan’s pace so I could take in the displays, but he steered me straight to the escalators. Apparently, he knew where he was going.

T
he next thing
I knew I was standing in the women’s department surrounded by lovely cocktail dresses, listening to Dylan say,

“Tell Lola that Dylan Kane is here. She’s expecting me.”

The clerk nodded her head and said, “Yes, sir,” before she disappeared into the back of the store.

“Lola is my personal shopper. She’ll take good care of us.” He smiled down at me with something that looked like affection. My knees went weak. Still feeling a little vulnerable from my freak-out that morning, I reminded myself to be on my guard with him. We were just having fun. It didn’t mean anything.

“So Melissa doesn’t buy your clothes, too?” I teased. Dylan’s smiled, and the crinkle around his green eyes when he did made me wish we were alone.

“No. She doesn’t have the time. And Lola knows every square inch of Neiman’s. She could assemble a complete wardrobe in twenty minutes if she had to.”

“Dylan, you flatter me.”

I turned to see a mature woman walking toward us, her honey colored hair twisted into a loose bun, her smile friendly. Reaching out, she took Dylan’s offered hand, then leaned in to kiss his cheek. I couldn’t quite place her faint accent. Not Spanish, but close. She released Dylan’s hand and turned to face me.

“What have you brought me this morning?” Her eyebrows lifted, her expression expectant.

“Lola, this is my friend Leigha Carmichael. Leigha, Lola.”

I extended my hand, not sure how to read her. She wasn’t flirting with Dylan, which was a surprise and a relief. They seemed to share and easy, friendly camaraderie. It made me a little shy, though. If she was friendly with him, how would she feel about him buying clothes for some woman he barely knew? Would she think I was a gold digger? Before I could stress out too much about it, I found my hand clasped between both of hers.

“Lovely, just lovely,” she said to Dylan. To me, she leaned closer, as if telling a secret, and said, “You know, Dylan has never brought me a woman to dress. I’ve sent him some bits and pieces over the years, but has he ever introduced me to a young lady? No.” She shook her head, her flair for drama making me smile. “We’re going to have some fun today.”

“Oh, no, I think you misunderstood,” I started to say. Dylan’s hand over my mouth cut me off.

“Leigha needs a dress to wear to an evening wedding. Something appropriate, but I want it to be the best dress in the room. And we’d like to see anything else you have that might look good on her. Anything.”

From the emphasis he put on the last word, I was pretty sure he was asking her to pick out lingerie. I blushed at the thought. Dylan caught my pink cheeks and smiled.

“Lola is right,” he whispered in my ear. “We’re going to have fun.”

And we did, at least for a while. Lola ushered us to the back of the store, through a set of double doors and into a private lounge. After leaving us with a bottle of champagne and asking me a few questions about sizes and preferred styles, she vanished. She returned ten minutes and one glass of champagne later followed by an assistant who struggled to keep up. Hanging several dresses on a nearby rack, she murmured instructions to the assistant and sent her back into the store. To me, she said,

“Alright, miss. Up and into the dressing room please. I have a few selections for us to try.”

Putting down my glass, I followed her into the small room. On the wall, she hung two dresses. One was a color block dress with ivory scalloped lace on top, and black satin from the ribcage down to the high-low hem finished in eyelets. The other was its opposite, a confection of strapless black tulle and satin, embroidered all over with delicate silver daisies. Neither was a dress I would have chosen for myself, and not just because I was sure they cost more than my car was worth. As if she didn’t notice my hesitation, Lola said,

“The de la Renta first, please.” At my blank look, she smiled and gently explained, “The black and ivory, dear.”

She slipped out of the dressing room, giving me privacy to strip off the navy flowered sundress and contemplate the designer dress hanging in front of me. To my surprise, it slipped on easily, fitting itself to my curves as if it had been made for me. I did up as much of the zipper as I could and gaped at my reflection in the mirror. The dress was aggressively sexy. On another woman, one with a straighter, smaller body, it might simply be elegant. On me, it revealed the full curves of my breasts, made my waist look tiny and the hi-low hemline showed off the best part of my legs. I looked modern, edgy, and sexual. I was afraid to look at the price tag. A soft knock on the door startled me.

“Yes?”

“Do you need help with the zipper?” Lola asked.

“Please.”

She slipped in and circled around me, examining the fit of the dress. Without comment, she stopped behind me and pulled the zipper the rest of the way up. Her hands twisted in my hair, doing something that ended up with the thick mass of it piled on my head in a makeshift up-do, secured by a glittery clip she’d snapped into place. Dropping to her knees, Lola eased my bare feet into equally glittery gold heels. A moment later, I looked ready to stroll into a gala. Speechless, I stared at myself in the mirror. Lola stood beside me, grinning.

“I am amazing, am I not?”

I grinned back at her. She was gone ten minutes, and she came back with this?

“Amazing doesn’t cover it,” I said, squeezing her hand in a thank you. Even if I never wore it, getting to play dress up in Oscar de la Renta was the most fun I’d had in ages. Outside of having sex with Dylan.

“Let’s see what Dylan thinks,” she said. I followed her out of the dressing room, eager to see Dylan’s reaction. He didn’t disappoint.

As I stepped out of the dressing room, he rose, following Lola and me to the three-way mirror. Much as Lola had, he circled me, examining me. Unlike Lola, his eyes were possessive. Predatory. Standing behind me, he met my eyes in the mirror.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“Do you?” I thought it looked fantastic, but I wasn’t confident enough to say so out loud.

“You look gorgeous. Sexy. Powerful. I won’t be able to leave your side or the men will be all over you. But we won’t get it unless you like it.”

“I like it,” I said in a whisper, my head spinning from Dylan’s words. I thought I looked good, but the way he described me melted my heart.

“Then we’ll get it. And the shoes. Go try on the other one.” He kissed the side of my mouth.

“But-” If we were getting this one, I didn’t need another dress.

“Humor me,” he said. “If Lola brought two dresses, you should try on the other one.”

“Okay.” Lola trailed me to the dressing room. After helping me with the zipper, she discretely slipped out, saying,

“If you need help with the bustier, let me know.”

I glanced down at the bench beside the hanging dresses to see a black satin bustier. Looking at the other dress, I realized it was strapless. I’d need something more beneath to hold me, and the dress, in place. Carefully removing the ivory and black de la Renta I was wearing, I replaced it on its hanger before turning to the bustier.

Getting it on was a little bit of a battle, but I wasn’t ready for the svelte Lola to see me mostly naked. She’d been nothing but kind, and I had no reason to think she’d sneer at me. Still, I was too shy to ask for help with my underwear. In the end, I fastened most of the hook and eyes in the front, then wiggled it around and settled it in place. Lola could do the last few once I had the dress on.

And what a dress. If the black and white de la Renta was elegant and sexy, this was a grown woman’s fairytale. An underdress of black satin provided the framework for yards and yards of transparent, shimmering black tulle embroidered with delicate silver daisies. I lowered the zipper, peeking at the label inside the bodice. Carolina Herrera. Wow. I loved her dresses, but had never dreamed of even trying one on, much less owning one. Unable to resist, I looked for the price tag. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised to find it was missing. That was probably for the best. I didn’t really want to know what it cost. I could guess, and the guess was enough to freak me out if I thought about it too much.

Stepping into the gown, I pushed the cost out of my mind. I’d made it clear to Dylan that he didn’t have to buy me anything. He’d made it equally clear that he wanted to. Who was I to argue? I eased the dress up, tugging it gently over the curve of my breasts. When I had the zipper mostly up, I called softly to Lola. A moment later, the door opened, and she stepped inside. Fastening the last hooks of the bustier and the rest of the zipper, she smoothed the fabric over my hips and sighed.

“You look like a princess. All you’re missing are your slippers.”

Avoiding my reflection in the mirror, I took the sparkling sandals from her and slipped them on, admiring the crystal embellished straps and delicate bows setting off the silver spike heels. If Cinderella had a choice other than glass, she would have gone for these shoes. Apt, since I was turning back into a pumpkin in two days. Everything buckled, zipped and hooked into place, I risked a glance in the mirror.

“Oh, wow,” I breathed at my reflection. I looked like a princess. Both dresses were too formal for Christie’s wedding, and I’d never have a chance to wear either one again. But my heart squeezed in my chest as I saw myself in the dressing room mirror. I didn’t look drab, plump, or boring. My skin glowed against the shimmering black tulle, my grey eyes seemed lit from within, my full breasts curving beautifully but contained in the bodice of the dress, my waist nipped in, looking smaller than I knew it was. I met Lola’s eyes as I turned to open the door. Her smile told me I looked as good in the dress as I thought I did. Stepping out of the dressing room, I waited to see what Dylan would say.