Page 67 of Sugar

I wasn’t a complete maximalist—that was Wren—but I liked stuff. Splashes of color. Decorative pictures. Fun touches.

It wasn’t the apartment of a sophisticated woman.

“Was I interrupting something?”

I thought Easton’s question was because of the clutter in my kitchenette, but his dark eyes were aimed out the open doorway.

“Yes.” I gave him my back as I shook the thin straps at my shoulders. “My desperate need for help tying this torture device.”

He nudged my hands aside and made quick work of fastening the dress into place so it felt secure but not uncomfortable. Once he was done, his index fingers hooked into the straps to untwist them at my shoulders before slowly trailing downward. “You look beautiful.”

My voice came out a breathless whisper. “It’s a beautiful torture device.”

“It’s not the dress.” He continued his path to adjust the straps. “Don’t let another man touch you like that again, Madeline.”

A tremor went down my spine, and I knew he must’ve felt it. I also didn’t care. “I was just asking for help. I think he’s dating my neighbor.”

“That might be, but you didn’t see the look on his face that I saw. The one that said he’d much rather be taking you out of this dress, not tying you into it.”

Is that how you’re looking at me?

But when I twisted in his hold, he dropped his hands and gave me nothing but his usual blank expression. His bored eyes dropped to my neck. “You’re wearing it.”

“The dress calls for accessories, and I didn’t have any that matched the shoes. I’m more of a white gold girl.”

“Noted.”

“No. No, no, no. Not noted. This?” I gestured down to myself. “A one-time thing. I can shop for myself.”

“Now that you have my card, sure.”

“I don’t need your card.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Why?”

“First of all, if I transferred fifty-k into your account, the IRS would have a fucking field day. This way you get your payment without the headache.”

That made logical sense, even if him giving me that kind of access was batshit crazy. It did, however, make it easier to return the money he’d bid on me since I just wouldn’t spend it.

Easy.

“Beyond that,” he continued, “none of these purchases come out of your personal money.”

“Then don’t send me stuff again.”

Something changed in his body language from one blink to the next. He seemed taller than his already tall. More imposing. More… dangerous.

I should’ve been struck with panic that I was alone in my apartment with a man I didn’t know all that well. One who was capable of radiating that kind of edge.

Instead, I had to lock my knees to stop from leaning in closer to feel the sharpness.

“That’s not how this works between us,” he said. “If you’re accompanying me to this bullshit, I cover the costs.”

I was beginning to get mental whiplash where Easton Wells was concerned. To be fair, it was my own fault. I read too much into his words and then was disappointed when his next ones reminded me that this was a business arrangement.

For clarity’s sake, I asked the question that’d formed the night before when he’d suggested the agreement. “Like a sugar Da?—”

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