Page 8 of My Forbidden Boss

There’s a pause as it sinks in. She and I both know what kind of crap I’m in.

“Okay. I’m going to put some money into your account and you’re going to buy yourself a dress. Something should be open. It’s New York for God’s sake.”

Over the years, Maddy has given me too much money. A grocery bill I didn’t have enough for. An electricity bill that was cut off. Drugs for my mother’s pain I couldn’t afford. “Maddy…no…”

“Already done. Now go and get shopping,” she says and my knees want to buckle in relief. Instead I make myself walk faster because the rain is coming down in a torrent now.

“One day I’m going to pay you back,” I say.

“Pay me in photos. I want to see that gala and live vicariously through you,” she says with an easy laugh, but that’s easy-breezy Maddy. Her light to my dark. Her hope to my reality.

We say goodbye and as I slip the cell back into my purse I see a small hole-in-the-wall shop. The window is crammed with items. Ease skates through me as I step into the thrift store. The scent of unwashed material and mothballs fills my nostrils. Familiar.

I can afford this. I’ll buy a dress here, eat Ramen for the next month and pay Maddy back.

I brush the wet hair from my face and shake off the excess water, as an older woman with a loose white bun and a pleasant smile welcomes me. “Can I help you with anything?”

She doesn’t look me up and down. There’s none of the usual judgment in her eyes which puts me at ease. “I need an after five dress for an occasion.”

“Date?” Her eyes crinkle when she smiles. She’s always what I thought my grandmother would be like, but I ever met her. Mom’s parents died before she had me.

“A gala dinner,” I say.

“Oh. You really need a special dress then. You’re in luck. This just came in and I haven’t had a chance to hang it up. You’ll be stunning with that lovely blonde hair of yours.” She bustles to the back of the shop and disappears behind some curtains, returning before long holding a red dress.

I ward her off. Red makes me stand out. I’ll be a target for sure. My plans to fly under the radar shot to flames. “Do you have anything in black?”

Her face falls. I’m sorry for her, but she doesn’t know that being visible is my personal anathema. “This will be perfect on you. Why don’t you try it on and then see?”

She gives me a hopeful smile. I glance at the time. I don’t have the luxury of finding something else. On my budget, there’s no choice but to shop here.

I take the dress and thank her. My Mom taught me manners and I like the lady. She’s kind and I don’t have much of that in my life. I head to the change room and shimmy and zip and smooth until the dress is on. I glance in the mirror and an anchor sinks to the bottom of my stomach.

“Here, dear. Put these on. It’s amazing the things people give to charity.” She thrusts a pair of strappy silver heels through the curtain. Ug. They’re perfect too, and if I was anyone but me, I’d be beside myself.

The dress, the shoes all equal me making a spectacle of myself. Of being memorable. Hey, remember that chick who wore that red dress to that gala and ripped off David Chandler for potentially millions? Got nabbed by the police and ended up in jail. Who’d she think she is? What’s born in the gutter should stay in the gutter.

I swallow hard, step outside and watch a dreamy expression roll across her face. She heads for the counter and brings back a matching vintage crystal necklace and earrings. “These are a perfect match. If you’re not swept off your feet by some young man tonight, I’ll be very surprised.”

Ants march under my skin. The only man I want to sweep me off my feet isn’t young.

But he is all man.

An all male alpha man that women want to lick. They’d be blind not to.

I saw the way Andrea’s gaze lingered on my new boss. I might be poor, but I’m not stupid. I know that look.

She watched David Chandler the same way he looks at me.

I’m not invisible to him and that’s a problem. So is this red dress.

My gaze sweeps over the stuffed racks, seeing no alternative. The problem with stuffed thrift shops is the time needed to sort through the charity, which I don’t have. The time that is. I’m nothing but charity.

I clear my throat, aware I still have to walk back to the apartment, change my clothes and try to do something with my hair. I don’t expect much, but with a dress that does nothing to hide, I don’t have to.

I run my palm over my thigh. The satin slides like sin and I wonder how it would feel if it were David’s palm on my thigh, gliding over the second-hand material rather than mine.

I form a fist. “Thank you for helping me. I appreciate it.” And because I do, I offer her a smile.

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