Page 132 of Nothing to Fear

Yep, Roxie had given him special instructions to single her out. Not only did her friend welcome her like a long-lost sister, but she kept her close all night. Not just checking in every once in a while, Roxie was glued to her side. She spent more time with her than the woman did with her fiancé.

Her deliciously delectable fiancé who bled charisma over every person in a ten-foot radius. She’d been seated with Roxie and her friends, yep, they had their own table. Zairn wasn’t at that table, no, the affianced sat separately. In fairness, with the number of people there, there were a bunch of tables. Seating her friends at one was a saving grace because Roxie spent a lot of the evening flitting from one table to another, while Zairn sat at the head of his table admiring her from afar. Honestly, every time she looked his way, he was transfixed by the woman wearing his ring.

The meal itself was over, but no one was in any hurry to depart. They seemed to have the entire floor for festivities. One corner had been used for dinner. While plenty of people still satat their tables having wine and scotch refilled, others filtered through to the bar area.

“We have to get changed,” Freya said from behind her. “Are you ready, Savanna?”

Twisting in the chair, she found Freya wasn’t the only one waiting for her response. “Change into what? I don’t have anything to—”

“We have Roxie’s closet,” Toria, another of Roxie’s friends, said and grabbed her arm to pull her up.

“Where’s your grandfather?” she asked Freya. “Won’t he miss you?”

“Oh, Truman has a million friends through there. He knows I’m safe at Crimson. You’ve seen how he dotes on Roxie. He’s probably already disinherited me in favor of her.”

On a wave of women, she was carried to the elevator and up to a penthouse. Huge. Gorgeous. Full of light, from outside, from within, even the floor sparkled like it was diamond encrusted.

“Wow,” she exhaled, awed by the view of the city spread out beneath them.

“Yeah,” Toria said, snagging her arm. “Wait ‘til you see the rest of it.”

Their troupe rushed down a corridor and into a bedroom. Oh, hubba, the man in the center of the space fastening his watch under his open shirt was a better view than any stupid city. Hair damp, Zairn crooked a brow at Toria.

“What?” the woman asked on an innocent shrug. “I knew you were done.”

“I’d apologize, Casanova, but give the woman a break.” Whirling toward the voice, Roxie sat up slowly in a huge bed, clutching the sheet to her chest. Didn’t take a genius to figure out what they’d interrupted. “Toria’s been desperate to catch you in bed since before I even knew you existed.”

Expecting they’d excuse themselves, she edged backwards. Toria caught her arm to hold her in place.

“Behave yourselves,” Zairn said, going to his fiancée in, what had to be, their bed. Planting a fist on the mattress, he loomed over Roxie who draped one arm around his neck. “No shenanigans tonight, Empress.”

“Reminding me of my responsibility to our brand? You know I’d never make that promise. I will do whatever the night calls for, in this, our beautiful home.” Her smile brightened. “All part of the adventure of loving me, Scroogey.”

“And this is the woman I chose to bear my children,” he muttered, seemingly more to himself than anyone else.

“And I suck your cock. You always forget that one.”

“Mm hmm.”

He leaned in closer to kiss her and retreated, only to go back in for another kiss.

“Maybe we should just…” Freya caught her and Toria’s hands to lead them at her flanks into the closet. “Oh, Roxanna.”

Excitement got the better of Toria. “Time to suit up!”

“Why are we in here?” she asked. “Why are we changing clothes?”

“All part of the process,” Toria said, pulling various dress bags from the end of the closet to hang them on a rail facing them. “Roxie’s idea.”

“What’s Roxie’s idea?” When Toria produced a bag with her name on, she was startled. “Why is there one for me?”

“Because you’re Roxie’s girl,” Freya said, putting an arm around her to give her a hug. “She adopts us.”

“One by one, we’re doomed.”

Toria unzipped each of the bags one at a time, inside each contained the same dress, short, beaded Bardot neckline. Gorgeous. And, yes, of course, every one was red, rather, crimson.

“Astrid, Merci, Rainie,” Toria said, handing out dresses to the women.

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