Work In Progress (Red Lipstick Coalition #3) - Staci Hart Page 0,57
this selfies for Instagram.”
My cheeks flushed a shade deeper. “I’ve never posted a selfie on Instagram before.”
Her smile fell. “Wait, really?”
One shoulder twitched a shrug. “I bookstagram. Most of my pictures are of books.”
“You’re Mrs. Bane now. The internet is clamoring for you already.”
I sighed. “That’s what I hear.”
“You haven’t seen?”
“Tommy won’t let me look until tomorrow.”
When she smiled again, it was with fondness. “I’m telling you, you’ve picked a good one.”
I did my best to give her an equal smile, but something in my chest pinched at her words. “Oh, no—I’m the lucky one. He picked me.” I slipped out of the chair and smoothed my dress.
“God,” she said with a shake of her head, her auburn bob swinging, “that color is incredible with your skin tone.”
I glanced at my reflection again. The dress was cobalt velvet, the neck high, the sleeves long, and the hem brushing my calves. But the detailing on the shoulders and bodice was what made it truly spectacular—large-scale vines crept down, their ends punctuated by red, white, and peach flowers, the petals broad and open.
“It’s perfect, Bea. I don’t know how you did all this, how you knew what to choose.”
She leaned toward me, smiling conspiratorially. “Well, you know I’m a witch, right?”
I must have looked like I believed her because she laughed.
“I had Tommy describe the outfits he’d seen you in, and I stalked your blog to get a sense of your aesthetic—not only in colors, but in the pictures you’ve taken. It was easy really. Especially when he told me about the cat shirt you wore the other day to see him.”
“You’re good,” I said with a shake of my head.
She shrugged. “Just part of the job. I mean, it could be worse. Who wouldn’t want to shop for a living?”
“Me, for one. Unless I could do it all online.”
I turned a bit in the mirror. My hair had been blown out and sprayed with something that smelled so good my mouth watered when the hairstylist sprayed it. And whatever that stuff was, it made my hair shine and gleam like a movie star.
“Are you sure this isn’t too fancy for Carmine’s?” I frowned at my reflection.
Bea stepped behind me, cupping my upper arms and smiling at me in the mirror. “It’s your first appearance. This is a beautiful dress for dinner, and it’s not too fancy for Carmine’s. People will be there in either jeans or suits.”
“Will Tommy be in jeans?”
She winked, squeezing my arms. “Nope.”
The thought relieved me, then intrigued me. The memory of him in that suit last night filled my mind with visions, my rib cage heat, and set a tingling to somewhere else, too.
A knock sounded on my bedroom door.
My heart knocked on my ribs in answer.
I hurried to the door—in heels no less. I should have won some sort of prize for not breaking an ankle.
When I pulled it open, the smell of oranges and spice rode the currents of air, stirring my hair, invading my senses. Though not more than the sight of him.
He was a god, too tall to be mortal, his shoulders too broad to be human. And his smile, a sideways tilt of his lips, was too charming to be real. But my body knew he was real, could feel the heat of his body like curling fingers reaching for the heat of me.
The high corner of his mouth slipped when he saw me, fading to match the soft wonder in his eyes.
For a moment, we soaked up the sight of each other. His hair—as glossy and black as pitch, the exact opposite to the paleness of mine—brushed his shoulders, curling in decadent waves. His shirt, crisp and white, structured to highlight the breadth of his shoulders, the curves of his biceps, his ridiculous, sexual elbow. His narrow waist, circled by a leather belt, his pants a cobalt blue that neared the shade of my dress.
I smiled.
Up his lips went again. “We match.”
Our clothes, I clarified. He meant our clothes, not us.
“We can thank Bea for that, I’m sure,” I said.
He offered his arm, smoothing his skinny navy tie as I hooked my hand in the crook of his erotic elbow.
An unbidden laugh chuffed out of me. I tried unsuccessfully to cover it with a cough.
Tommy glanced down at me, one brow arched. “Something amusing?”
I pursed my lips like I’d been caught in a lie. “It’s just that…” I couldn’t find it in me to finish the thought.