Page 101 of Brutal Game

“Let me help you!” I pulled back from Jack to see the sales woman make her way toward us.

“Aren’t you pretty?” The sales woman fawned over me, although from the way she fluttered her lashes at Jack made it clear she was full of shit.

Jack completely ignored her, eyes burning into me as he issued orders to her. “She’ll only want dresses with higher necks,” he told her. He glanced back at me. “Right, Aviva?”

I nodded, once again touched that he’d know.

As he took a seat in a leather armchair, he murmured, “Unless you’re ready to show people your scar. I wasn’t lying when I said it’s the most beautiful part of you—but if it’s too soon, I get it. If it’ll always be too soon, I get that, too.”

It was too soon. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be ready for people to see it. Jack had sworn he’d pay for plastic surgery, and the care and consideration in that fierce promise had done something to me.

“Thank you,” I said again.

His eyes were practically silver. “You never have to thank me for anything.” He nodded to the changing room. “Now go. Try on dresses for me.”

Once inside, the sales woman passed me the first dress—a black, tight, velvet number with a ruched waist and a high neck. I looked at the tag, preparing myself for an astronomical number, but there was no price on it.

“I doubt this means it’s free,” I muttered.

How wealthy did you have to be to not even care about prices? The thought made me nauseous. The secondthought, that Jack had the kind of money to shop at a store like this—and wanted to spend it on me—made me dizzy.

I pulled the dress over my head, adjusting it before I went outside the changing room to show Jack.

He immediately shook his head. “Hot, but no.”

The sales woman sighed, passing me another dress—this one royal blue with a huge, knee-length tulle skirt attached to a silk bodice. The neckline was sweetheart shaped, and probably would’ve been pretty, but I shivered as she handed it to me. Why wasn’t she listening to Jack’s specifications about the neckline?

“No,” Jack barked, before I even tried it on.

I pushed open the door to the changing room to peek out.

“What did I tell you about the neckline?” he asked the sales woman.

She played with her hair, simpering at him. “This cut will look great on her. Don’t you want your friend to look nice?”

“Girlfriend,” he corrected, making my heart race. “And she wants a dress with a high neckline, so you’ll bring her high necklines. Got me?”

Girlfriend.Is that what I was now? He’d blackmailed, fucked me less than consensually, treated me before like I didn’t matter. Things had changed between us, but I hadn’t known they’d shifted that much in Jack’s brain. Did I want to be his girlfriend? More importantly, did I have a choice?

“Girlfriend?” I raised a brow.

“Yup.” He popped the p. “Have a problem with that?”

Before I could respond, the sales woman caught me peeking and glared at me before flouncing off to find more dresses. She brought me a bunch on pretty beaded hangers before flouncing off again.

I tried on dress after dress, Jack shaking his head at eachand every one. Insecurity began to creep in—did I look so horrible in dresses that nothing would work? I’d worked hard over the years to not let my size get to me. I had enough to deal with the scar, I didn’t need to hate my body, too. But moments like this could and would hurt, and I couldn’t deny it.

I spotted the last dress—a knee length burgundy dress with a slit up the side, covered in delicate lace. I dropped it over my head and zipped it up, before admiring myself in the mirror. I loved this dress, but wasn’t sure he would. And although it shouldn’t have mattered, he was paying.

And I wanted him to love it. I wanted him to?—

Nope. Not going there, I admonished my brain.

Pushing the door to the changing room open, I slowly walked out, standing in front of Jack, and preparing himself to hate this one, too.

Jack didn’t speak. Just stared at me, throat working, gray eyes burning silver now.

“You hate it,” I said, disappointed. I thought the burgundy lace was beautiful on me, but?—

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