Page 52 of Sweet Animosity

I turned on her, hands on my hips. “I’ll decide what you need.”

Her eyes widened.

We both caught the double entendre.

My gaze moved to her lips, then her cleavage.

Inhaling through the elevated tension in the air, I stepped toward her.

At that moment, the elevator doors opened.

She scurried around my side and practically ran out of the elevator car.

Despite being less than five blocks away, I drove her to the luxury 900 North Michigan shops. Only tourists walked around Chicago.

As we pulled up directly in front of the shops, Vivian stretched out her arm. “The parking garage entrance is around the corner.”

I turned off the Range Rover. “This is fine.”

“But it’s right on Michigan Avenue.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“The cops will tow you in a heartbeat. You can’t leave your car here.”

The corner of my mouth lifted as I closed my door and circled around the car to open hers. “Get out of the car, Vivian.”

As she did so, she muttered under her breath, “Must be nice to have fuck around and find out money.”

I wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed my mouth against the side of her head to whisper in her ear, “And don’t you forget it.”

Taking Vivian shopping was like watching a toddler experience their first Christmas while hopped up on candy.

While in Bloomingdale’s, she ran from one rack to another holding up dresses.

And one after another, I shook my head.

Either it would be too tight, too short, or too revealing.

Never in a fucking million years did I think I’d go shopping with a woman, let alone complain about her purchasing a dress that was too revealing.

Flipping through the hangers myself, I muttered, “You need something in an A-line with a high collar.”

She paused and stared up at me.

I shrugged. “What? My business partner Mac has a sister. I’ve known her since she was a teenager.”

Vivian rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah, I’m sure that’s where you get all your fashion knowledge, from your friend’s little sister, not from a constant stream of models in and out of your bed. Funny coincidence, that’s how I know you’re wearing a custom Armani suit from last season’s fall collection. A ‘friend’s little brother,’” she said with air quotes. Her full lips twisted in a smirk. “I totally don’t know it from another man or anything.”

Seeing red, I cornered her against a wall of furs. “What was that?”

She blinked. “What was what?”

I cupped her jaw and tilted her head back as I pressed my hips into her. “Did you just mention another man in my presence?”

“You’re my new boss, not my boyfriend, Var.”

“I’m the man you’re fucking.”

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