Page 14 of Filthy Promises

“That’s my girl,” she says with satisfaction. Then her voice drops into a guilty register. “Now, tell me exactly what he looked like.”

“Natalie!”

“What? I’m just trying to get all the facts.”

Despite everything, I laugh. “All I saw was muscles. Lots and lots of muscles.”

“Hm. Disappointing. No glimpse of the Akopov family jewels?”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait! Pause. Slow your roll. What are you wearing for the meeting tomorrow?”

I glance at my open closet. “I don’t know. The navy pantsuit?”

“Absolutely not. That thing makes you look like Hillary Clinton at a funeral.”

“I might be. My career’s funeral.”

“Row, be serious,” says Natalie. “This might be your one chance to make a real impression.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. What do you suggest? My nonexistent designer wardrobe?”

Her answer comes way too quickly for my liking. “Wear that green dress. The one from the Christmas party.”

“Absolutely not!” My stomach cartwheels around in my ribcage. “That’s, like, a hundred times too sexy for a work meeting that might end with my head rolling around on his office floor.”

“I’m not even gonna make the obvious joke about all the other reasons you might end up rolling around on his office floor…”

“—thank you for your admirable restraint?—”

“… because,” she continues, “it’s flattering, it’s professional enough, and it makes your eyes pop.”

I bite my lip and let out a defeated sigh. “You think so?” I ask, knowing even as I say it that I’m fishing for a compliment. Sue me—God knows I need a little bit of a pick-me-up right now to keep me out of my doomish-and-gloomish ways.

“I know so. Green dress, nude heels, hair down. Trust me. You do trust me, right?”

I sigh one more time. There’s only one possible reply, so I give it to her. “With my life, Natty. With my life.”

“Good. I love you, Row-Row. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

After we hang up, I pull out the dress Natalie mentioned. It’s the most expensive thing I own—a rare indulgence from last year’s bonus that I’ve worn exactly once.

It’s off the rack, but it might as well be tailored for how well it fits. Molded perfectly to my body, hitting just above the knee. The color is a deep emerald that does in fact bring out my eyes.

Too bold, probably.

But what do I have to lose?

I hang it on my closet door and spend the rest of the day alternating between working on the Harrison drafts and imagining increasingly catastrophic scenarios for tomorrow’s meeting.

By midnight, I’ve convinced myself I’m not only getting fired but possibly arrested for corporate espionage and/or being a creepy Peeping Tom.

When I do finally go to bed, I toss and turn all night, plagued by dreams where I’m running naked through the office while Vincent chases me with a stack of quarterly reports in one hand and Vanessa’s panties in the other.

At 3 A.M., I give up on sleep entirely and clean my entire apartment.

At 5 A.M., I take the world’s longest shower.

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