Page 17 of The Undercover Billionaire's Baby

“All right,” I said, and Brad’s eyes lit up. He did a little fist-pump like I’d just made his day, and my secret little fantasies rushed back unbidden: Brad rubbing my shoulders after a long day at work. Me sitting, watching, while he fixed a chair. Brad stealing bacon off my breakfast plate. Little domestic scenes — what was I thinking? I ducked my head quickly, hiding my eyes, as if he might somehow spy my thoughts there.

“Then, it’s a date,” said Brad, and my heart stopped, then fluttered. I knew he meant all of us, not me and him. I knew that, and I wasn’t even looking. The last thing I needed was to get all entangled. But still, my heart leaped and wouldn’t stop racing.

Alice was right. I did need to get out more.

CHAPTER 7

SAM

Getting ready for the concert should’ve been quick: shower, skin, hair, suit, and ready to go. But then it hit me, this wasn’t Boston. It wasn’t even Haverford in full summer swing. The crowd would be locals, down-home year-round folks. What would they wear for a night at the park?

When I went to ask Lana, she barely cracked her door open. She was wrapped in a robe doing something to her hair, something I couldn’t see, because she dodged back to hide it.

“Sorry,” I said, turning my back. “I just wanted to ask you, how should I dress?”

“Oh! Just dress nice.” Lana slammed the door on me, leaving me none the wiser. Nice, what was nice? Not a Savile Row suit — Brad wouldn’t have that. But between band tees and waistcoats lay a whole lot of options — jacket or shirtsleeves? Tie or bow tie? No tie? Bolo tie? What would Rex or Chester wear on a night out?

I went online and found some press shots of the Ink Spots. They wore light-colored suits and dark-colored ties. Country club semi-formal. I hadn’t brought that. And going to hear Ink Spots songs didn’t mean dress like them.

I poked my head out again to ask Lana what she was wearing, only to jump back as she let out a shriek. She went streaking by me in a robe and a towel, and slammed into the bathroom.

“Sorry,” she called. “I thought you were changing.”

I wasn’t sure what she was sorry for, but I called back “that’s okay.” Then I heard water running, the fan kicking on. I retreated to my closet. In the end, it didn’t matter much what people wore. I only had a few options I counted as nice — a mid-range suit for my new business, for all the meetings I’d have to take. A couple of pairs of casual dress pants. Long-sleeved and short-sleeved shirts. A couple of ties. I put on light-colored dress pants and a long-sleeved shirt, and stood debating, tie or no tie? Or maybe a jacket. Or the short sleeves? How douchey would a sweater look, tied over my shoulders?

‘Clothes make the man,’ that’s nonsense, said Dad. Who do you think sets the fashions, fashion designers? No! It’s the people who wear them. When you’re successful, you’re fashionable, whatever you wear.

I rolled my eyes. Dad was as fashionable as a tie-dyed T-shirt. But his top execs all mimicked his style.

That doesn’t make you right, I snapped back in my head. It just makes them suck-ups, so?—

The bathroom door opened and I heard Lana scurry by. “Two minutes,” she shouted, from down the hall. “Just grabbing my shoes, and then we can go.”

I threw back my sweater — definitely douchey — and grabbed a tie off the rack. Lana’s door closed, then opened, and I stepped out to meet her.

“I couldn’t decide, tie or— uh…” I stood dumb and gaping, tie hanging limp. Lana had somehow transformed herself. Not that she hadn’t been beautiful before, but now she was radiant. Stunning. Aglow. She’d either curled her hair or not bothered straightening it, and tied it up in a green velvet bow. Her dress was green too, a deep forest shade, which brought out the hint of red in her hair.

“Wow,” I said, breathless. Lana turned pink.

“Is it too much, the whole fifties look?”

“No! No, it’s perfect. I just— You look great.” I realized I was grinning like a fool. “Now I’m thinking I should’ve gone for a suit.”

“A suit? Oh, no, no, no.” Lana laughed. “Trust me, you don’t want to wear a suit to the park. Guys’ll be grilling. There will probably be sparklers. What you’re wearing is perfect.”

“So, tie or no tie?”

“Definitely no tie. And maybe, your button?” She made a loosening motion, and I undid my top button.

We walked the short distance from our place to the park, and I was relieved to spot other groups heading the same way. The men were about fifty-fifty in jeans and dress pants, no ties or sweaters, not a suit in sight. I’d guessed right with my outfit, except maybe my hair. A lot of the guys had slicked theirs back fifties-style, but enough of them hadn’t that I didn’t stand out.

“Over here,” called Rex, as we reached the park gate. He was standing with Chester and two women in poodle skirts. One of them ran over and swept Lana into a hug.

“Oh, hon, you came! It’s so good to see you.”

Lana made a whuffing sound, like she’d had the stuffing squeezed out of her. Chester laughed.

“Cathy, quit squishing her.”

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