Page 191 of Broken by my Bully
The mannequins in the window are a dead giveaway.
“Bastian, no!”
But Professor Rooke is already heading for the shop. And when I don’t follow, he glances at me over his shoulder, dark eyes narrowed.
“Come.”
I’m not a fucking dog.
But I chase after him like a good girl anyway, because I guess that’s how he’s conditioned me.
I catch hold of his arm to stop him, but he shakes me off and steps inside. An ozone-tainted breeze toys with my clothes, whipping my hair in my face as I turn to look back at the car.
Yeah, I can run.
But where the hell to?
I don’t have any money, so I can’t call a cab. And I left my phone in the Land Rover, so I can’t even phone someone.
Who’d I call anyway? Melissa? Would she drive all the way to Ashwood Crossing to come fetch me, only to find out it’s because I had a hissy fit when Professor Rooke tried to buy me a dress for the gala?
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I hiss, still trailing after him like a lost puppy.
“Oh, I’m dead serious.” He raises his hand, and one of the store clerks looks up from a rack of dresses she was busy sorting through.
She beams when she sees us and hurries over. “Afternoon. Something I can help with?”
“Yes, please. We’re attending a black-tie gala tonight.”
We. Like we’re a couple. Like I’m his.
Jennifer’s eyes slide over my granny blouse and broken flip-flops, then his designer everything. She knows exactly what this is.
A sugar daddy and his college girl.
“Fabulous! We just received a stunning selection of gowns. Right this way.”
As soon as Jennifer turns her back, I grab Bastian’s arm. He turns to me, lips curling up. “Is there a problem?”
Lucifer must have taught this man how to smile.
“Yes, there’s a problem!” I whisper-shout. “I’m not going to this stupid fundraiser tonight.”
“Because you don’t have a dress.” He walks after Jennifer, turning to raise his hands to the ceiling. “Problem solved.”
“That’s not why—“ I cut off because he’s already out of earshot. Unless I shout. And the cashier is staring over at me like she’s wondering if I’m going to pocket one of the shiny clutch bags I’m standing beside.
Fuck you, bitch.
I hurry after Bastian, trying to get his attention without looking like a spoiled brat in need of a timeout. It doesn’t help that he’s having a full-on conversation in fashionese.
I mean, I know what a silhouette is. I can guess at jewel tones.
But what the hell is an elliesaab? Is it some fancy fabric? A designer? A type of shoe?
“Bastian!” I grab his arm at the same time he turns to me, and my hand slides into his now crooked elbow. He pulls his arm against his side, trapping me in place. Smiling. Dark eyes sparkling in the low light of the pretty chandelier above us.
Now’s when I’m supposed to be telling him I have a shift at the diner. That I don’t want to go to this gala because I’ll make an idiot ofmyself. That I can think of a hundred better ways to spend my time…but his eyes are too mesmerizing.
