Page 55 of Money Reigns
Except it doesn’t feel like a gift. It feels like something else.
A claim. A collar made of crepe and emerald.
And maybe Iwantto wear it. That’s the problem.
“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath, then knock.
“Come in.”
I twist the handle and step inside.
“Warren, thedress—”
“Not the right color?” he asks without looking up from his desk.
“What? No, I—”
“I thought emerald would suit your complexion. And your eyes.”
I blink. “My eyes are brown.”
“When the light hits them,” he says, finally meeting my gaze, “they flicker green.”
My mouth goes dry.
He leans back in his chair like this is nothing. Like he didn’t just casually admit to noticing the microscopic variations in the pigment of my irises.
“If you’d prefer royal purple, say the word,” he adds. “Or red. Brunettes always look stunning in red.”
Brunettes. Not me.
Not Olivia.
Just a hair color. An accessory.
Arm candy.
I’ve been here before.
Not with designer gowns or black boxes or cryptic invitations.
But with menlike him.
Men who smile and flirt and see you as something soft to touch. Something nice to look at.
Something to fuck once, maybe twice, before moving on to the next thing that shines.
That dress—
That dress doesn’t say you’re invited.
It says you’ve been chosen.
And not for the gala.
My chest tightens.
Because that’s what I’ve let myself be before, isn’t it?
