Page 105 of The Worst Best Man
“Okay, open your eyes and take in my genius.”
She opened one skeptical eye, prepared to see a purple Mohawk or something equally garish. But it was her own hair. A few inches shorter, curls more defined and certainly shinier, but it was her.
“Are those caramel highlights?” she asked, turning her head.
Christian scoffed. “Caramel highlights are for amateurs. “Those are macchiato lowlights.”
She looked sleek, put together yet still herself. No longer did the static electricity of winter rule her head.
“Damn it, Christian. I really wanted to throw you in a dumpster.”
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“Aiden is going to drag you somewhere dark and semi-private within five minutes of seeing you in that,” Pru guessed, poking her head into Frankie’s dressing room. For an upscale boutique, there was a surprising lack of security in the dressing room area.
Frankie turned to the side to look at her ass in the scarlet red dress. It hugged her curves, dipping low at the breasts and skimming over her waist and hips.
“It’s February. I can’t wear sleeveless,” she argued. Besides, this freaking swatch of fabric cost just under a grand. Aiden had slipped a credit card into her hand on the way out and ordered her to use it. But it felt… weird. A blow job and a credit card? They’d happened too close together. She needed to make it clear to herself that she wasn’t Vivian fromPretty Woman.
“You’ll have a coat, and I requested a table by the fireplace. You’ll probably be sweating by the end of dinner,” Pru predicted, sashaying around in a sleek black sheath.
“Why aren’t your boobs on display for the world to see?” Frankie asked, glancing down at her own overflowing cleavage.
“I’m a married woman and a B cup, babe. There isn’t much to display. And you’re insane if you don’t buy that dress.”
Frankie studied herself in the mirror, barely recognizing herself. The hair, the dress, the diamond and—God, was that platinum?—bracelet that she’d just happened to have in her bag.
“You know what we need now?” Pru asked.
“I’m hoping you’re going to say froyo, but I have a feeling it’s shoes,” Frankie sighed.
“Shoes!”
When Pru ducked back into her own fitting room, Frankie checked the price tag on the dress again. It made her feel ill.
She pulled out her phone.
Frankie: When you gave me this credit card, what kind of budget were you thinking?
Aiden: I doubt very much that there’s anything you’d buy that would cause me to so much as blink.
Frankie looked down at the dress again.Wanna bet?
Frankie: I’d feel better if you could give me a number to stay under. I found a dress, but there are more digits than I’m used to. And Pru is chanting “shoes, shoes, shoes,” one dressing room over.
She could picture him chuckling to himself at his backwoods girlfriend panicking over pennies.
Aiden: I love seeing you treat yourself. And I love it more that I can be part of it. How about keeping it under fifty grand for today?
Hehadto be fucking with her. Frankie couldn’t begin to imagine a world in which fifty grand was blow money. Of course, knowing Aiden, he’d named a sum lower than usual to appease her.
Frankie: Oh, so I can’t get this seventy-five thousand dollar dress? Too bad.
She added a disappointed meme.
Aiden: Maybe if you’d send me a picture of the dress, I could make a judgment call.
His playfulness eased her tension the tiniest bit. And maybe she could give him some tension of his own.
