Page 6 of Dirty Arrangement

Chapter Three

ALICE

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IGET NO SLEEP.

My dreams are plagued by a cruel smile and stroking fingers, a dark voice that commands my senses, controls my body. I should feel ashamed about fantasizing over my new boss. In the warmth of my own bed, I'm fucking excited. Thomas brings out such a wicked-hotness in my blood that smothers the rational part of my brain warning me to keep my head clear. To stay away from him.

He's wormed himself into my subconscious. No one has ever done that to me.

Why does he have to be such an asshole?

I'd tried getting rid of my pent up arousal by masturbating. Each time I touched myself, Thomas would enter my fantasy. Not even thinking about Chris Hemsworth could keep my new boss out of my head.

Now, exhausted, I glare at my beeping alarm. I take a quick shower, my hair still damp as I jog the short distance to the bakery. The sky is a muted, miserable excuse for blue as I approach my building.It isn't really mine anymore,I remember.

Unlocking the doors, I slide inside and flick on the lights. I'm about to start my normal routine when I spot a package on the counter. The box is medium in size, not much bigger than the boxes I use to pack up my pastries. I eyeball it like it's a rabid raccoon. Iknowthat Thomas left it here. No one else has keys to the bakery.

Gingerly, I touch the smooth lid, trying to find an excuse to not open it. There's a little note on the top. Peeling it open, I read the simple message in bold, handwritten letters.

Alice

You know what to do.

My teeth clamp on my bottom lip. Snagging a pair of scissors from the counter, I cut a precise slit through the tape. My hands are trembling as I put the scissors aside and pull the box open. “Now way,” I whisper. Lifting out the pink chef's coat, I give it a shake, turning it side to side. Thomas was serious when he said he'd be choosing what I wore. But this... this is ridiculous. I have nothing against girly things, but I take pride in the traditional white chef coat. HowdareThomas expect me to put this on.

I'm so pissed off I rip at the jacket in an attempt to destroy it. The stitches don't pop. As goofy as it looks, the material is well made. I resist my urge to grab the scissors. Why did Thomas think this would make the bakery more successful?

Wondering if the jacket will fit, I peek inside at the collar.Why is there no size listed?That's when I notice the interior material is a bright magenta, shiny like melted candy. It feels exquisite under my fingers. Slippery and smooth.

In the bottom of the box, I discover the rest of my outfit; a tiny baker's hat, pink as the coat with a hint of glitter sealed into the cloth, and some black shoes with a short heel.

I sigh mentally. What am I going to do? If I don't wear the new outfit, and Thomas shows up, he might throw my contract in my face. Didn't I say I'd do anything to keep my bakery?

Gritting my teeth, I march into my private restroom. The outfit I threw on after my shower is stripped away in a blur. I have to get this over with—I have so much work to do. As I'm brushing my hair from my eyes, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the sink. My curves aren't just from working around sugar all day every day; I've always had a softness to me that playing soccer as a kid did nothing to put a dent in. But I don't mind, I'm proud of my body. Whatever confidence issues I might have had have been erased with the aid of loud and proud women all over the media, each of them helping to remind me I'm beautiful.

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