Page 12 of Stuck with a Billionaire Rockstar

With a frown, I run my hand down the length of my pencil skirt and wonder what could possibly be wrong already.

“I said to wear something nice,” he says softly.

“Yeah, I know.” I blink at him in confusion.

Brent shakes his head and waves me through the large living space that’s at least double the size of ours. “Follow me.” Even though I’ve got no clue what’s happening, I follow behind him like a lost puppy until we come to a stop in one of the rooms. It doesn’t look as though anything was touched in here, but there’s a large box resting on top of the bed that piques my interest. “Put it on,” he says before walking out.

What?

I’m frozen for a moment, my eyes lasered in on the box that he gestured to, and manage to find the courage to see what’s inside. My breath catches when I lift the lid and find a dark green silk dress folded beautifully inside. I pull the fabric out, but that’s not the only thing tucked in the box. There’s a pair of gold heels that strap around my ankle, so I pull them out next and inspect the two items.

Why would he get me these?

The floor creaks from his weight behind the door and I curse under my breath before pulling the blouse I’m wearing over my head, then quickly discarding the pencil skirt and heels. This time I was able to do something more with my hair, but is it enough? I tug the dress up my legs, thanking the Lord that this one has a side zipper, and smile to myself once I’ve gotten zipped.

Is it bad that I feel more powerful in this?

Don’t get me wrong, I love my go-to outfits for when I’m working, but they’re nothing like this. The silky material clings to my body like a second skin, and my breasts spill out from the neckline, giving someone a nice picture of what could be lurking beneath the fabric. After I get the heels on, I notice the large mirror in front of me and take a deep breath before standing up.

I’m skinny, which has always been something men would make comments on. I’d get told I need to get more meat on my bones and that’s always the one that would make me feel the worst. I’ve still got the curves, though, and this dress shows every single one of them. It’s nothing like the skimpy outfit I wore at the club that shows everything off in the way I hate, and I wonder how Brent managed to buy something so perfect for me.

My eyes sting with tears, emotional over the drastic change a simple dress could make, but the soft knock on the door has me blinking them away.

“Come in,” I say softly. Brent steps through the door and freezes in place, his eyes glued to the back of the dress. My skin pebbles with goosebumps under his stare, and I clear my throat. “Is this okay?”

He shakes his head and smiles, offering me his arm. “Much better.”

“What was wrong with what I had on before?”

“You want to look desirable to men when you go on dates, not like you’re running late to work.” When I don’t respond, he frowns. “Don’t take that the wrong way either,” he says softly. “There’s nothing bad about your clothes, but men expect a little more when it comes to dates. They want to feel as though you took the time and effort for them. Do the men you date seem dressed up?”

I think about my most recent date. He was well groomed in a nice suit, his hair styled carefully with a hint of cologne. Looking back, I feel like I was a thousand times frumpier. No wonder he left so quickly. Being late and dressed to unimpress doesn’t strike the best first impression.

“Fancier clothes on dates got it,” I say while smoothing my hair and slipping my arm through his. “Shall we head out, then?”

“Hope you saved your appetite, Buttercup.”

Why does it make my stomach flutter with butterflies every time he uses the nickname he gave me when we first met? I still remember it like it was yesterday. It was our freshman year of college, during spring break, and I tagged along with Mallory to her parents' place. I knew who her brother was. She made it a point to tell me that as soon as our friendship started becoming more, so I wasn’t surprised to find him waiting inside the small house when we arrived. Brent smiled politely at me as Mallory introduced us, then twirled a single strand of hair between his fingers before the nickname spewed from his lips.

It’s stuck ever since, and I definitely shouldn’t enjoy it as much as I do.

There’s a lot of things I shouldn’t enjoy and that includes looking at the veins trailing up his arm, or the way his ass looks in the dark wash jeans he’s sporting. He’s famous. Now would be a good time for my heart to get the memo that this is temporary – two weeks to be exact – and everything will go smoothly.

But when has that ever worked before?

6

Brent

I knew the moment Julia agreed to meet me tonight that she would walk in wearing that pencil skirt and blouse. It looked great on her but didn’t do her body justice – nothing like the green silk that’s covering her body now. She’s walking ahead of me now, following the hostess as she leads us toward a table located in the back, and the only thing I can focus on is the dramatic way Julia’s hips sway from side to side.

“Could I start the two of you off with drinks?”

Julia goes to open her mouth, but I clear my throat and smile. “Just two cokes or Pepsi, whichever one you guys have. Thank you.”

“Sure thing, enjoy yourselves tonight.”

Julia sinks into one of the empty chairs and I move behind it so I can push her in, then walk around to the chair in front of her. She clears her throat. “You make a habit of ordering a girl her drink?”

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