Page 7 of The Woman

What the fuck?

“I don’t need people coming in here and changing things around,” I grumble more so to myself.

“I’m sorry,” she replies. But I don’t know what she’s apologizing for. “I thought it was helping.”

“No. You can remove all of your clothes from my closet and put them back into the guest room. And I don’t need all of my suits and shirts sorted according to color either. They were fine the way they were organized, according to the day.” She drops her chin with a short nod, and I only now notice what she’s got on. “And what the fuck are you wearing?”

Touching the fabric of the dress that’s at least two sizes too small, she frowns. “I assumed you bought it for me to wear, so I put it on.”

Fuck.

The dress – one I had obviously thrown into the cart in annoyance without a second glance – looks like it would be tiny on anyone, but the problem is that it’s clearly too small for her and barely contains her breasts. The fabric is stretched so tight across her chest that it looks like it could tear apart at the slightest movement. It also forces her creamy swells to pop up out of the top, making it hard to tear my eyes away from them now that I’ve noticed. Not to mention the full length of her legs are now on display since the dress ends barely below her ass.

I can feel the pulse in my neck throbbing harder with every passing second.

An aggravated huff rumbles from my chest as I spin around and march back to my bedroom, leaving her there.

“Change into something else. And put all the clothes back the way they were,” I call over my shoulder.

I’m already hating this whole situation, and I haven’t even been home for half an hour.

I take a long, hot shower, trying to focus on what I need to get done tomorrow instead of the little blonde invading my home. Once I’m out and dressed, I peek into my closet, pleased when I see that things are mostly back to the way they were. My suits and shirts are back to being hung in a way that might seem sporadic to some, but it’s order to me, and I know exactly what’s going on with them. And all of her clothes have been removed. Good.

There is no sign of her when I walk back out into the living area and take a seat on the couch, breathing out a small sigh of relief, but I can still sense her unwanted presence surrounding me. Not to mention, there’s an unfamiliar scent that’s permeating the air.

Switching on a hockey game, I grab one of the pillows that had been organized from largest to smallest for some reason from the other end of the couch and place it behind my back. I contemplate replying to Edison’s text and phone call from earlier today, but I’m not in the mood for his bullshit.

Seconds pass with me just staring ahead at the TV without taking in the actual game.

I’m unwillingly thinking about how that dress looked on Avery when suddenly I feel hands land on my shoulders, and my whole body jerks and shoots forward.

“What are you doing?” I demand, getting to my feet.

Standing on the other side of the couch, Avery wears a confused expression. “You looked tense. I was going to give you a massage.”

“I’m not tense. I’m fine.” Her eyes slide down to the remote control in my hand, and I realize I have a grip on it so tight that my knuckles have turned white. I drop it onto the coffee table. “I don’t need a massage.”

“Okay,” she answers. “Is there anything you do need?”

“No.”

She’s got that look on her face that says she doesn’t quite understand why I’m so irritated when she’s here to offer her services in any way that I want. She’s probably wondering why I didn’t make use of her body as soon as I got home – why I haven’t had sex with her. They’ve been trained to become a companion. That’s their whole purpose.

But I don’t need or want anything from her, and eventually, she’ll get that.

The way she shifts on her feet has my eyes dropping to her chest again, and I notice that she did change like I told her to, but the tank top she put on isn’t any better, it also being too small for her. Not only does it end above her belly button, but it’s stretched across her chest and her nipples are poking through the material, holding my gaze captive. It feels like I’m going to have a fucking heart attack the way my heart starts pounding at the mere sight of it.

I’m going to have to go back and buy her a bunch of new clothes, ones that are at least five sizes bigger than these ones.

“I’m going to bed,” I grumble, rubbing a hand over my face.

“But what about dinner?”

“I ate at work,” I reply, switching off the TV again.

I was trying to stay away from home for as long as possible, so I got something delivered and ate at my desk in peace and quiet while continuing to work.

“Oh, okay,” she states softly. “I had prepared one of your favorite dishes earlier tonight and then placed it in the fridge when you didn’t come home.”

---