Page 39 of Secured By the Buyer

At the end of the tour, Liam takes me to a room where snacks and refreshments have been set up.

A stylist waits with racks of clothes and heavy suitcases. “Mr. Rockford, it’s such a pleasure to have been chosen to style you. My name is Baptise.”

Uncertain, I turn to Liam, then realize the man spoke to me. “Um, nice to meet you. I look forward to your expertise.”

Liam bends to kiss my cheek. “Have fun. I’ll be nearby if you need anything.”

Before I can demand he stay, the treacherous Alpha slips away, leaving me alone.

“Tell me how you met?” Baptise asks as he takes my measurements.

I freeze in place, afraid to move as he runs a measuring tape up my inner leg. “At an auction.”

“Oh, I love auctions. Such a fantastic reason to dress up.” He makes notes. “What was it for?”

“The unfortunate who had lost their homes.”

“Sounds like a worthy cause.” He stands and bustles to the racks. “Any preferences on textures or styles?”

Unsure, I ask, “What outfits would belong on the arm of a billionaire?”

The stylist smiles as his eyes rake over me. “Youhave excellent lines. What are you planning to do with your hair?”

Afraid he’ll whip out scissors, I touch the red strands. “I’m keeping it this way.”

“You have good cheekbones and jawline. They’d stand out more with a shorter cut.” He turns to his rack. “But if you prefer a softer appearance, long is the way to go.”

I bite my lip before coming to a decision. “Make me as pretty as you can, but nothing that restricts my movement.”

Liam likes my looks, so I need to use them to my advantage.

“I was hoping you’d say that!” Excited, Baptise flips through his racks, pulling out a pale gold top and a pair of high-waisted, wide-legged trousers. “Try these on.”

I shrug out of my robe and pajamas, feeling exposed under the stylist’s scrutiny.

He tuts and grabs his tablet. “We’ll order you some proper undergarments. Are you a boxers or briefs man? Or do you prefer something more delicate?”

“Briefs, usually, but let your imagination go wild.” I’ve never worn lacy panties, but I can’t say I’m not curious.

When I slip on the shirt, the structured neckline leaves my collarbones and back bare but covers my arms to the wrists.

While I pull on the pants, the stylist lifts a thick belt from a suitcase. “Tuck the top in.”

I do as instructed, and he wraps the belt around my waist, cinching it in tight.

When I move toward the mirror, he holds me back. “Let me fix your hair first.”

He moves behind me, gathering my long locks into an artful style that exposes my throat. “You’ll want to get a trim, at least, and do some deep conditioning treatment to bring out your hair’s natural shine.”

Something else to add to my list.

He passes me a pair of slip-on shoes before stepping back, clasping his hands. “Beautiful.”

Freed to inspect his work, I step in front of the mirror, and my breath catches at the gorgeous man in the reflection. Is this what my mother would have looked like without the bruises and fear?

My fingers graze my exposed throat. “Should I wear jewelry?”

“Of course!” The stylist bustles over to a suitcase and opens it, browsing through several options.

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