Page 108 of Charming Deception

Postapocalyptic fiction.

Before I can pass out from sheer shock or maybe fall in love with my brother’s best friend on the spot, Clara fetches me from the room that is obviously my new office and takes me back to the living room. I feel like I’m in a daze, a lovely, dreamlike nonreality wherein Prince Charming himself is trying to spoil me rotten.

Clara tells me there’s a delivery of flowers—for me. It’s a lovely exotic bouquet, and it’s massive.

It’s from Jameson.

The card simply says, Enjoy your day.

I’m reading it when he walks in, breathtakingly masculine, elegant and alpha all at once in a navy-blue three-piece suit. He comes straight for me across the living room, where I’m helping Clara put my flowers in a giant vase of water at the bar.

“You clean up decently. What a nice suit,” I force out in panic, so I don’t say something much worse. Like Let’s get married. At no point have I ever seen him unclean, but damn; the man was made for a suit.

The smoldering look in his eyes makes me squeeze my thighs together as he leans in—and presses a soft kiss to my forehead.

It’s the first time he’s kissed me, and I’m paralyzed as warm honey pours through my veins.

His lips are on my skin.

“Be good,” he says gruffly, his low voice a promise of sex.

But I must not be hearing well.

I want to thank him for everything, especially the office—and the books; my heroin—but the words stick in my throat as I watch him walk away with Locke, his ass like sculpted granite in that fine suit.

Greek gods would be envious of that artistry.

I swallow.

Wanty.

My pupils must be huge right now.

“The styling team is ready. I have them all set up in the guest wing for you.” Clara interrupts my staring, and I blink at her.

“Pardon?”

“I got them set up while you were talking to Locke. They’re ready and waiting.”

I follow her as she heads up the hall to the guest wing, still unclear.

“Styling team?”

“Your wardrobe. Mr. Vance expressed his concern that you haven’t brought a lot of clothes with you.”

“Oh.” Of course he did.

Is there a thing I could possibly need that he hasn’t already thought of?

I almost giggle hysterically when I glance at my cell phone and realize it’s not even eleven-thirty in the morning. I must make a weird sound, because Clara gives me an uncertain look.

“He mentioned that you’ll need clothing for every occasion. From enjoying the pool to black-tie events. Is that correct?”

“Uh… well…” I stammer. He’s not wrong. Even after unpacking my things, my side of the closet is utterly empty next to his. “Yes. I guess that’s right.”

* * *

“Oh, I love this one,” I gush. I’m alone, talking to myself in my old room in the guest wing. Today, it’s my dressing room.

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