Page 115 of By A Thread
All uncharitable thoughts about how Linus must have been a mean sorority cheerleader kicked out of school for hazing in a past life evaporated when I unzipped the bag.
“Well, holy hell.” It was a miracle in a bag, and Linus Feldman was my fairy godfather.
I walked back into the room feeling like Cinder-freaking-rella. If Cinderella’s fairy godmother had given her a sexy, skin-hugging gown the color of crimson or, as I liked to think of it, Dominic Russo’s crushed heart.
“Not entirely hideous,” Linus said when I made a slow circle for him. He held out his hand. A pair of gold-dusted stilettos dangled by their straps from his fingers. “You’ll wear these, and you won’t whine about how much they hurt.”
I nodded dutifully. I was an obedient Cinderella.
A quick spin through the makeup lab, half an hour in the chair of a miracle-worker with a curling iron, and I looked like someone brand new. No more sad, poor, new girl lusting over her boss.
Nope. I was a breathtaking goddess deserving of tasteful lusting.
The dress. Oh, that damn dress. It was soft on my skin and a bold red. The skirt fell away from a split up my right leg. The fabric was light, airy layers of chiffon that billowed behind me like a cape when I walked—or stalked, as Linus instructed. The top ended an inch above my belly button offering a peek of stomach and pale, New York-winter skin. It had cap sleeves and zero cleavage. But the way it hugged my breasts was almost sinful. There was a silk tie at the back of my top that kept it cinched in under my breasts and when I moved, it felt like a caress.
And it wasn’t just the clothes. Or the sleek, smoky eyes. Or the bold lips and sex-tousled hair. I was remembering who I was underneath it all. Beneath the stress and the broken fingernails, the cheap clothes, and the just starting to catch up on sleep again. I was Ally Morales, and I had a value that went way deeper than what one man accepted or rejected.
“Well, hot damn,” Linus said.
Hot damn indeed.I nodded at my reflection.
“Where in the hell did you find this dress?” I asked.
He plucked a stray piece of fuzz off the cap sleeve. “It was a leftover from a shoot last year. We didn’t end up using it. None of the models could be pinned into it since it was made for someone with…” He gestured at my boobs. The dress had been made for them. “It’s Christian’s. He’ll like seeing you in it tonight.”
I thought I detected a hint of mischief in his tone.
“What are you up to, Linus?”
He spread his hands, the picture of innocence except for the smirk that played over his lips. “Your fairy godfather doesn’t need to have an ulterior motive.”
“Now I’m very suspicious.”
“Just go and don’t fall on your face,” he instructed.
“Aren’t you going?” I asked.
“Like this?” he scoffed, waving a hand over his impeccable black-on-black suit.
“Uh. Yeah.”
“Can’t. Kids have a school thing.”
“Kids?You havechildren?”
“Why is everyone so surprised by that?”
He pulled out his phone and gave me a five-minute slideshow of little Jasper, Adelaide, and Jean-Charles.
* * *
I was still reelingby the time I got downstairs. One thing that Ireallyliked about this job was the car service. It wasn’t Nelson but a female driver who opened the back door for me. And the backseat was occupied by a very stylish Dalessandra.
“I thought we’d ride together and we could chat,” she said, patting the seat.
There are moments in everyone’s life when they stop, breathe, and wonder who the hell’s life they’re actually living. Cruising through Midtown in a limo with one of the fashion industry’s most influential icons next to me in a design that had obviously been made just for her was one of those moments.
“You look lovely,” she said. “That dress.”
