Page 41 of Maid For Each Other

The last thing either of us needed was a wardrobe malfunction. That would definitely make dinner a little awkward.

“Okay,” she said.

I took the fabric between two fingers, very aware of every sound in the room as I dipped the safety pin underneath the back of her sweater with my other hand and slid it between the tuck of material.

Of course, I was even more aware of the proximity of my bare chest to her bare neck and shoulders. I don’t know why, but it felt…dangerous. I said, “Edward’s not going to be happy about this, for the record.”

“Oh,” she said, looking at me over her shoulder with wide eyes. “Seriously?”

Her eyes were such a unique color, brown but melted down into something lighter, and they kind of took me by surprise for a moment. I cleared my throat and reassured her, clasping the safety pin. “I’m just messing with you. He’s not going to notice a pinhole in a sweater.”

“Ah,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Good.”

“You’re all set,” I said, clearing my throat again.

“Thank you,” she replied, turning around. “I probablywouldhave shanked myself, so I appreciate it.”

“Can you call it shanking when it’s a safety pin?”

“You can when I’m the one wielding it.”

“Note to self, hide the sharp things,” I said, noticing that the perfume she was wearing was so subtle it was barely there.

Kind of made you want to investigate its origin.

If you were that type of person.

Which I was not.

“Will you be ready soon?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding, her eyes doing a sweep over me before settling on some point just past my shoulders. “I’ll be ready in two minutes.”

“I’ll be ready in five. Meet you by the door?”

“You got it,” she said, then turned and disappeared from my closet.

I got dressed quickly after that, choosing to focus on the events of the evening instead of whatever had just been pinging between us in my closet. I was smart enough to know it was best to just ignore chemistry, because chemistry was a fleeting thing.

Abi seemed to know it, too, because she was all business when we left the apartment and drove to the restaurant.

“So this isn’t a company event, per se,” she said, looking out the window. “But just you and I having dinner at one of the restaurants under Hathaway’s umbrella, correct?”

“Exactly,” I said, merging onto I-80. “But the majority of thepeople with reservations will be shareholders. Especially when the restaurant—Immersion—is right next to Jaques Jewelers.”

“Yeah, so tell me about that.” She turned toward me in her seat. “I’ve never been to a jewelry store’s ‘private event’ before. What does that look like?”

I personally found it to be the worst of all the events, only because it was often the most pretentious and boring. “The store is closed to everyone but those with passes. They get to enjoy cocktails, entertainment, and a generous discount on everything in the store.”

“Oh,” she said, not sounding impressed. “So their goal is to make rich people tipsy enough to spend more than usual.”

It was clear that Abi didn’t hold the wealthy in the highest regard, and I couldn’t really blame her for that.

I didn’t, either.

But that was a “me” issue in my world.

And hella complex when it came to my family.

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