Closer (6 page)

She dropped her gaze and turned away.   “Bloody noses,” she said, traveling into the kitchen and guiding the conversation away from the fact that he was half-naked and rather enjoying it.  “I used to get bloody noses all the time, and my grandmother used to soak my clothes in cold water.  ‘Straight away,’ she’d always say.  ‘No time to waste if you expect to wear it again.’ ” Her voice faded behind the rushing spray of the faucet.

“She sounds like a sensible woman, your grandmother.”

“Tough as nails, too.” 

“Like her granddaughter,” Sven confirmed.

Inez didn’t respond.  She either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him.  It was a test, but she avoided it.  She was always sidestepping him, and he liked the challenge. 

She cut off the faucet and held up the wet silk, inspecting it in the clarity of the overhead lights.

“I think we salvaged it,” she said.  “But just in case, I’ll let it soak for a bit.”  She plugged the stainless steel sink and filled it with water before drowning the shirt beneath it.

“Your drink,” he lamented, nodding to the half-empty martini glass. “I apologize for ruining it.”

“You substituted pineapple juice for lemon juice, Sven. It was already ruined.”

“Touché.”

He sunk into the sofa and fell quiet.  She followed his lead and didn’t force him to talk. 
Thank God she wasn’t like most American girls who needed to keep the silence filled with aimless babbling
.  He liked that about her.

After another minute of reflection, he finally spoke.  “It’s starting already. I thought I had at least another week.  Certainly a few more days.”

“What?” she asked, slipping onto the bar stool.

“My dependency on you.”

She shrugged.  “You’re paying me five Gs to be here.  Might as well use me.”

She stood up and approached him.  “Where are your clothes?  Why don’t I go and get you another shirt—”

“Let’s not treat me like an invalid in my own home.  I’m paying you to pretend to be my girlfriend, not my bed nurse.”

The moment he had said it, he regretted it. 
Such a pity
, he thought, scolding himself.  They had connected so briefly only to be torn apart again by his own elitist pride.  He bowed his head and cursed under his breath, waiting for her to retaliate.  Instead, she simply scooped up the martini glass and dumped it into the miniature sink beneath the bar cabinets.  He swallowed hard, listening to the lonely silence between them.

His phone rang.  “Yes?” he answered, firmly.

“A delivery from Miss Ebony Walsh, sir,” the doorman said.

“Send it up.”  Sven glanced sidelong into the bar. “Your dress is here.”

“Thrilling,” she replied.  He heard the daggers flinging out of her glare, attempting to sear a hole into his bare chest.  He understood.  He deserved it.

The door buzzer rang.  Rising from the sofa, he exhaled and crossed the living room, striding down the corridor towards the front entrance. 

“Door—open,” he called out into the air.  The door clicked ajar and swung open, allowing the delivery man to roll the clothing rack across the gleaming black floors. 

“Thank you, leave it there.” Sven nodded, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket and offering him the one hundred dollar bill. 
American dollar bills
—
the cruelest game on his senses
.  It was impossible to feel or see the distinction between a one dollar bill, a twenty dollar bill, or a one hundred bill without holding it directly in front of his unpatched eye.  And so, Sven had decided long ago not to bother with discerning the difference.

“Sir?” The delivery man gazed down at the tip in disbelief. 

Sven shook the hundred dollar bill again, encouraging him to take it. 

“Th-a-n-k you, sir.” The delivery stuttered out his appreciation before shutting the front door behind him.

Sven waited. “Aren’t you going to come see what she’s sent over?” he called out to Inez.

“You’re the one without a shirt.  I’m still wearing my clothes.”

He smirked. 
Fair enough
.  He investigated the leather clothing bags, zipped up tightly like precious cargo.

“I will need you to assist me.  I’m terrible with zippers.”

It was enough of a command that it did the job.  She appeared behind him, surveying the deliveries. She picked out the longest clothing bag.  He heard her drawing down the long zipper almost all the way to the floor.

“Holy hell.”

A flash of glitter and fire caught his good eye.  Rhinestones and sequins trimmed the strapless notched neckline of the scarlet cocktail dress. 

Peeling back the clothing bag, Inez dug through its contents and slipped out a strapless black corset and matching G-string panties. “She must be joking?” She held up the flimsy lingerie set, dangling off the hanger like she had caught a strange species of underwear.

“Cinderella cannot wear cotton white panties to the ball.  Try it on.”

“And what?  Just strip down right here?  In front of you?”

“Well, I’m already half-naked.  I don’t really see the problem.”

“Wow…Ebony wasn’t kidding.  You don’t stop trying to get laid any chance you can get, do you?”

He flashed her a cavalier smile, but only because he wasn’t intentionally trying to get her naked.  If he actually wanted to bed her, she’d know it.  “I cannot see you clearly, so it’s hardly a proposition.”

“You can see blurry shapes and colors,” she tossed back.  “And at least twenty water lilies.”

“Interesting,” he said, noting the edge of discomfort in her voice.  “I didn’t peg you as the shy, awkward type in the bedroom.”

Without warning, a searing pain spread across his chest.  She had found one of the few chest hairs along his pecs and plucked it out without mercy.

Speechless, he covered his heart with his hand.  “What the hell did you do that for?” He tried, with great difficulty, to keep his composure and not to raise his voice in fury, but it climbed an octave anyway.

“You’re right.  You never saw that coming,” Inez replied.  “And just so we’re clear—there’s nothing shy or awkward about me.”

“No, apparently not,” he agreed, backing away and adjusting his eyepatch, half-expecting her to go after another chest hair, just to prove it.

“And I’m certainly not shy about taking off my clothes.  I just don’t make a habit of doing it in front of my new boss.  Where’s your bathroom?”

“I have four,” he replied, edging away from her, uncertain that her retaliation wasn’t complete.  “But the most spacious one is upstairs next to the guest bedroom.”

He pointed to the black iron spiral staircase ascending to the private suite.  “My maids clean it every day, but it’s been untouched for months.  The stairs are hard for me to navigate now and I rarely have guests anymore.  You’ll have the whole upper level to yourself.”

He didn’t wait for her response.  It was late and they were pressed for time.  “I’m going to take a shower now, but I will need you soon.  So please prepare yourself as quickly as possible, then come downstairs.”  He turned and headed for his own master bedroom. 

“What do you need me for?”

He turned back to her.  It was a fair question, but he wasn’t sure how to answer it. “I’ll need you to assist me with my own wardrobe,” he admitted after a long pause.  “New suits are difficult for me to piece together and I suspect whatever Ebony sent over from Luxembourg is going to pose a distinct challenge.  Do you understand?” 

Their eyes locked.  He tried to bury the sound of his wounded pride, but failed and he was certain that she noted it.  Although he had brushed off her attempts to help him with his clothes, the fact of the matter was that he needed her help—whether he liked it or not. 

He waited to see if she would confront him with callous sarcasm.  But she fell silent and nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“Good,” he replied, satisfied that they had moved beyond their confrontational differences into mutual agreement.  “Oh…and by the way, the slender part of the G-string goes in the back.”

“I have plenty of experience wearing G-strings, thank you very much,” she slung back.

He smiled before disappearing through the private corridor towards the master bedroom, content with the fact that he was certain she didn’t completely despise him anymore. 
It was a start
.

* * * *

Inez stood in front of the mirror inside the guest bathroom, pumping milk from her left breast while attempting to finish her eye makeup.  Since having a baby and breastfeeding or pumping at least eight times a day, she had become a kickass ambidextrous multi-tasker.  She surveyed the bathroom, noting how it was almost bigger than her bedroom in her grandmother’s house.  The bathtub was definitely bigger than her own twin bed, and the adjacent glass-paneled standing shower was
far
bigger than her tiny closet. But it was the mirror that was the most intimidating—a floor-to-ceiling sheet of reflective glass, spanning the full width of the entire room and stretching upwards, curling like a decorative ripple of icing before spreading itself across the ceiling in delicious frosted waves.  As she pumped, topless and pantyless, she had the pleasure of critiquing her full figure and every dimpled, cellulite pocket that puckered back at her.  She had wide shoulders, wider hips, and a curvy ass—and the mirror certainly didn’t pretend to hide any of it. 

The reflection of the black G-string on the countertop glared back at her.  She had lied to Billions.  She had never worn a G-string in her entire life, and the suggestion that she should strut around in one tonight—like it was the most natural thing in the world—was the most hilarious joke the universe had played on her in a long time.  Maybe if she actually
had
made wearing slinky lingerie a regular habit, Enzo wouldn’t have cheated on her.

She dropped her mascara wand and watched the last bit of milk drip into the plastic bottle, filling it, and thought about all the different ways she had gotten to this exact moment in her life. 
Yes, clearly the universe was having the last laugh
.

“Miss Sanchez!” Sven’s reprimanding voice boomed up the spiral staircase.

Ugh
.  Inez rushed to unharness her breast from the pump and scrambled to finish brushing on her mascara.

“Miss Sanchez!” he hollered again.  “It’s getting late.”

“I’m shaving my legs!” she yelled back through the closed door and hurried to brush through her long hair.  She eyed the G-string eying her back.

“Inez!” he called out with fury.

“You don’t want a date with Sasquatch, do you?” she protested.

Silence followed.  That seemed to shut him up. 
Note to self—continue to use threat of hairy legs in the future
.

She shut her eyes, picked up the G-string, and shimmied it over her thighs. She slid it in place, and surprisingly, it made her feel like she wasn’t wearing any underwear at all.  She quickly moved on to the black corset.  Boned along the ribs.  Loop fasteners to cinch the open seam.  She inspected the breast cups. 
Thank God…no fake padding
.  Like her bad attitude, extra cleavage was something she didn’t need any help boosting.

She reapplied her lipstick and studied her reflection like she was watching a stranger.  The corset cinched her waist into the perfect hourglass shape, allowing her hips to flare out like a seductive tease while the French-cut G-string sharpened her soft curves into naughty forbidden lines.  She unzipped the garment bag, took the cocktail dress off its hanger, and squirmed into the hip-hugging skirt and strapless notched bodice, beaded with crystal rhinestones and rouge sequins.  Ebony was right.  The right underwear did make all the difference.  And with her “Roxanne Red” lipstick, buxom cleavage, and cinched waist, she was almost disappointed that the night held no prospects for getting laid.

Billions
.

She tried to put him out of her mind.  And though she hadn’t intended to undress him, after it had happened she wasn’t exactly sorry about it.  She was more surprised than anything else, surprised that she had actually caught herself staring at his exposed sculpted shoulders, muscular biceps, six-pack abs and tapered waist.  And now, she caught herself thinking about the sensation of his bare chest against her fingertips.  Firm and unyielding, like he feared nothing except being pitied by her. 
He was wrong
.  She hadn’t pitied him.  She knew he wasn’t an invalid and she had no intention of treating him like one.  She simply wanted to get him dressed because she feared her own attraction to him, and the last thing Inez needed was to be attracted to her new boss.  As she stared at her siren lipstick and considered how her naughty new G-string made her feel, she pinched herself with a vicious twist—a warning that nothing would be gained by turning into his paid prostitute.
Definitely not tonight
.

She quickly unzipped the second garment bag, revealing a crystal sequin clutch purse and a pair of translucent Cinderella slingback high heels, tagged with a note: