Wicked Billionaire - Sawyer Bennett Page 0,14

of ascent and moves past me toward the sales assistant.

“I have to make a few phone calls,” I tell the woman from behind Bailey. “Let’s start with eight outfits for daytime wear, three suited for evening wear, and one cocktail dress. Make sure to include matching accoutrements.”

And by that, I mean the high end, sexy lingerie that should be worn under three thousand-dollar dresses. I’m not sure if Bailey understands what that means, but the saleswoman does.

“Of course, Mr. Blackwood,” she says, with a knowing smile on her face.

CHAPTER 6

Bailey

I step out of the Uber outside of Caesar’s Palace. I didn’t want to drive on my spare tire to my meeting with my boss and an investor at Restaurant Guy Savoy. As I head into this eatery I could never afford, I admit I’m thankful for the clothing allowance he allotted. I would have been tossed out if I’d worn the cheap black suit I’d had on earlier.

God, it had been somewhat humiliating having my new boss buy me thousands of dollars’ worth of clothing just so I look the part as Declan Blackwood’s assistant. He’d never want anyone to realize I was from the wrong side of the tracks.

What’s worse, I bet the saleswoman—Flavia, a beautiful Italian former model—thought Declan bought me these clothes because we were lovers.

It’s the most shameful part… that people will probably think I slept my way into this job.

I’m sure Flavia does. Especially since Declan came back into the boutique after his phone calls and insisted I show him every outfit I tried on. The dressing area was huge, with three rooms made private with slatted doors. Outside those, a full-length, three-sided mirror was set on an elevated stage, allowing customers to admire outfits from all angles. Below that, two chairs flanked a couch. A private butler attended to Declan, bringing him coffee while he surfed his phone and watched as I modeled the clothing.

And by model, I mean I grumpily trudged up on that stage, faced him, and waited for his discerning judgment where he either gave a chin lift of approval or a slight shake of his head.

From Flavia, I soon found out that when he said to provide accoutrements, it meant lingerie to be worn under each outfit. At first, I declined, but when she said I’d have to take it up with Mr. Blackwood, I immediately backed down. I hadn’t wanted to have a public argument, which would have only made the inevitable rumor mill worse. So I accepted the breathtaking lacy concoctions, never having seen anything so beautifully delicate before. I most certainly have never worn a two-hundred-dollar pair of panties before.

Declan, obviously, did not have the pleasure of viewing those pieces, but if the way he watched me was any indication, he was definitely curious. While some of his expressions may have been due to his appreciation of finely tailored clothing, I’d bet he also fantasized about what was underneath. The gleam in his eyes, curved lips, and wandering gaze were proof. He hadn’t overtly leered. Sometimes, he even appeared bored. Occasionally, though, a hint of lust sparked in his eyes. I hate that it made me feel hot all over. Hated even more that I enjoyed having someone find me attractive, because it had been too long since I had.

In the end, he approved several outfits—one a stunning mustard-yellow pantsuit with wide legs and a cross-over pleated blouse, which hugged my body to perfection while managing to still look professional. I hadn’t wanted to take it off. Declan, however, insisted I wear a beautiful tweed outfit in light grays and lavender.

Each outfit had been paired with matching footwear, along with two handbags in muted colors that complemented the entire wardrobe. I tried to mentally calculate the cost, but had to stop when I realized it would probably exceed my yearly salary. My brain simply couldn’t comprehend spending that amount on clothing. I’d been hesitant to bring the purchases home. It seemed sacrilegious to hang them in my small closet next to my cheap wardrobe.

My first foray into the world of hotel investments had me dressed professionally in a tweed suit, but clueless in every other aspect. I had nothing to offer to the conversation between Declan and the “investor,” Draymond Frost, a portly older man. I’d found myself wanting to interject something concise and helpful. Instead, I’d felt incredibly awkward as I’d sat there, silently taking notes on my new iPad Pro.

While Declan enjoyed scallops and Mr.