The bra and thong of choice by Quincy will pair better with trying things on than my choices this morning. My only problem is if I put the lingerie on, especially the thong, I feel like I’ve got to take it home. Shrugging, I pull the tags off the nude lace fabric. Quincy does this all the time. It must be the thing to do here.
It doesn’t take me long to strip out of my leggings and sweatshirt. Once my bra and underwear are off as well, I fold them neatly and stuff them into the very bottom of my purse. Next, I hook my arms through the bra and fasten it on my back, marveling at the way it fits my breasts perfectly. It’s extremely comfortable, but still manages to give them a good lift. I step through each side of the thong, pulling it up my hips and arranging each side above my hip bones. Despite the high cut of the fabric, it’s extremely comfortable. The thin fabric makes it so there are no panty lines.
I take a step closer to the clothes hanging on the wall, inspecting the outfit Quincy had picked out for me. The gray sweater dress looks incredibly comfortable but also chic enough to wear to work.
Now that it’s October, the fall chill is in the air here in New York, something I’m thrilled about. I never loved that California didn’t have four seasons. I love seeing leaves change on the trees in Central Park, the air smelling different when summer rolls into fall. Even though it annoys most people, there’s something special about bundling up in the frigid cold of January here. I love wrapping an enormous scarf around my neck and attempting to cover every inch of my bare skin. It’s then exciting when the bite of winter disappears and flowers begin to bloom. I hadn’t realized how much I craved experiencing every season until I was left with really only having one in California.
I gently remove the sweater dress from the hanger, marveling at the buttery soft feel of the fabric. It slips onto my body effortlessly, embracing me in a luxurious fabric I’d wear every day of my life if I could.
Stepping in front of the mirror inside the room, I take in my appearance. Not only am I in love with the feel of the dress on my body, I’m obsessed with the way it fits me. I run my hands over the fabric, smoothing it out. It stops at my mid-thigh. A pair of sheer black tights would make it appropriate to wear into the office as Beck’s assistant, but I could easily dress it down by not wearing tights and instead wearing a pair of thigh high boots. I grab the black leather jacket off the hook and shrug it on, loving the way the outfit transforms with the addition of the leather jacket.
As if she’s a mind reader, there’s a knock on the door followed by Quincy’s voice. “I’ve got a pair of boots for you to try on. Mr. Sinclair took a guess on the shoe size.”
Opening the door, I find her holding up exactly what I’d envisioned pairing the dress with if I was dressing it down. I grab them, thanking her and shutting the door again. Taking a seat, I slip each one on. I pull them all the way up my leg until there’s only a small amount of skin showing between the top of the boot and the bottom of my dress. There are laces on the back of the boots that fall to mid-calf.
The boots are a perfect fit. I have no idea how Beck knew the things he did, but by the first outfit and the way it fits, he didn’t do bad at all when he filled out the information for the appointment.
Instead of looking in the mirror in the small room, I open the door and step into the larger area where both Beck and Quincy wait. Quincy stands next to the mirror, beaming as I take a step onto the platform and do a small twirl.
“That looks stunning,” she notes, making eye contact through the mirror. “What do you think? Do you love it or did I miss the mark?”
I stick a leg out, taking in the complete outfit in the mirror. “You didn’t miss the mark at all. I love the look of it. Totally my style. And everything fits perfectly.”
Quincy looks in Beck’s direction. “Well, I had some help.” I follow her gaze to Beck. I hate the twinge of disappointment when I find him paying close attention to his phone.
I watch him for a few seconds longer, willing him to look at me. For some inexplicable reason, I want him to look me up and down. I want him to look at the small amount of thigh showing and have him wonder what it’d feel like underneath his touch. I want to observe his every reaction as he takes in the way the dress clings to my back, showing off my curves in a way that leaves little to the imagination.
All the willpower in the world doesn’t get him to look at me. Eventually, I turn around and return Quincy’s smile despite the feeling of disappointment I feel in my stomach.
“I’m in love,” I confirm, spinning all the way around on the platform and letting out a small giggle.
“Perfect,” Quincy notes, returning to the rack full of clothes. “Let’s see what else I can get you to fall in love with.”
Margo’s beauty is as equally captivating as it is frustrating.
As Quincy fusses over one of the many outfits she’s tried on, I continue to pretend to focus on my phone. Sitting in this dressing room as Margo plays dress up is the last thing I should be doing right now. I’ve got a never ending to-do list thanks to my impromptu urge to drop everything and fly to California to finally convince Margo to hear me out and agree to my offer. After coming home last night and using today to get her situated instead of working, there’s a list a mile long of shit I need to get done.
I could’ve easily sent Margo to do this alone. At first, that’d been exactly the plan. I was going to have Ezra drop me off at the office before he dropped her off on Fifth Avenue to buy whatever she wanted. Last minute I frustratingly changed the plan, deciding to come with her as opposed to getting work done.
“I don’t think I’ve disliked a single thing you picked out,” Margo tells Quincy. From the corner of my eye, I see her turn to look at herself at all angles in the mirror.
“I’m happy to hear that. I need to do another sweep to bring in some more options for you. Any requests while I go look?”
Margo stops spinning. I can feel her watching me from the mirror, but I fight the urge to look up and meet her eyes. I’m still dwelling on the moment from earlier and the stark realization that I wanted to ravish the mouth of my little brother’s ex-girlfriend.
If Quincy hadn’t shown up, I would’ve done it. I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself. Margo’s mouth looked so kissable. I wanted to turn her lips a different color with the assault of my mouth against hers. I wanted to witness the tan skin around her mouth turn pink from the crash of our lips. I’d wanted it so bad that I was going to take it without any thought of the repercussions or thoughts on the so-called terms she’d laid out.
The jury’s still out if Quincy showing up was a blessing or a curse. But one thing’s for sure, the thought of Margo stripping her clothing behind the door to my left has distracted me way more than I’d care to admit. It’s taken everything in me to not demand Quincy leave so I could follow Margo into the room, shut the door and finish what we’d started in the elevator.
The memory of my heart pounding against my chest when I’d come to the realization I wanted to kiss the woman who was my assistant and my soon-to-be fake fiancée has me devoting my time to answering emails on my phone. It’s the only thing keeping myself in check.