Page 49 of Babies for the Big Shot
This was supposed to be fun.
This was supposed to be sexy.
Instead, I’m having a full-blown identity crisis in a luxury boutique that smells of money and intimidation. I’m shiny, sticky, and vaguely glittery in places I shouldn’t be.
Meatball wouldn’t have let this happen. He would’ve barked at Bianca, peed on one of the overpriced ottomans, and dragged me out the front door with the kind of conviction only a stubby little dog with anger issues can muster.
I sigh and flop backward dramatically.
“I’m dying,” I whisper to the ceiling. “Tell my hoodie I loved it.”
There’s a knock at the door. Bianca again. I brace myself.
“Darling,” she says gently, “I think we’ve foundthe one.”
And then.
Then…
She hands me gown number five.
The dress is deep emerald green, satin smooth and unforgiving. Its sharp cut commands attention, the slit running high enough to spark whispers and cause chaos. This is the kind of dress a femme fatale wears to a black-tie gala, ready to seduce, steal, and strike with precision.
I don’t even know why I try it on.
I’m delirious. Desperate. Lightheaded from hunger and crushed self-esteem. Probably still emotionally compromised from the vampire dress. I slip into it expecting more pain, more shame, more fashion induced trauma.
But then… it fits.
Reallyfits.
As if it was made for me in a secret European atelier by blind couture monks who specialize in miracles.
The fabric glides over my skin with effortless luxury. The neckline is understated yet striking, framing me in a way that demands attention. The color sharpens my eyes, settingmy imposter syndrome ablaze. I hesitate, afraid to face my reflection.
And when I do? I startle.
Because I don’t look like me.
I look like the woman I’m pretending to be.
The one who commands a room the moment she steps inside. The one who seduces a billionaire in an elevator without losing her nerve, and without breaking down over pad Thai three days later.
The one who’s not afraid of how badly she wants things she’s not supposed to have.
I blink and step out.
Nick looks up.
Mid-scroll.
And stops.
His phone stills in his hand.
His eyes move slowly, tracing every inch of me with quiet intensity. I’m not just a woman in a dress to him, I’m something rare, something he never expected to find again. Something he’s determined to hold onto without blinking.
The air shifts.
