Page 11 of When I Found You

“Professional what?”

“Fashion mavens.” She cocks her head and inspects me, walking around me twice before nodding. “Trust me.”

“You still haven’t told me who you are.” I squeal when she pulls the towels off my head. A mass of heavy wet curls falls across my face hiding my shameful blush.

“Marcy. I told you.” Two pieces of silk and lace are pressed into my hands. “Try these.”

I tug on the lace demi bra and high wasted panties. Lord, these are a blast from the past.

Someone nudges my side. “Sit down, hon. Let me take care of those curls for you.” Anita, I think she said her name was, pushes me toward the chair where she begins detangling my curls. I point out the tender spot on my scalp which she carefully avoids.

“Arthur didn’t specify how long you’ll be staying or what you’ll need, so I brought a variety. They should fit, but if they don’t, call me and I’ll change them out. They’re all last season’s wardrobe.” Marcy flips through the pile of clothing growing on the bed.

The colors and styles are most definitely last century’s wardrobe, that’s for sure. I bite my tongue as she shows me each outfit combination. Oh, my God. I remember dress up for the eighties day at school, but I don’t remember these patterns and fabrics. What is wrong with this decade?

An hour later, I’m exhausted. She’s wrapped me in some kind of pink leggings and a billowy silk shirt. I wiggle, unfamiliar but not uncomfortable, with the new duds. Her word, not mine. I scramble through my mind for any memories of movies from the eighties in which I can pull references and slang. All I can think of is Back to the Future and Top Gun. Not helpful.

“Well, I think we’ve done our best, ladies.” Marcy gestures to the other two women who wave as they step out of the room. “I’ll let you get some rest.” She smiles and this time it feels more genuine.

“Thank you.” I glance at myself in the mirror one last time.

“Of course. It’s the least I can do.” She rests her hand on my shoulder. “If my brother gives you any crap, just give it right back to him.”

My gaze meets hers in the reflection. “Arthur is your brother?”

“Well, yeah, duh.” She laughs. “You didn’t think we were together, did you?”

I study the carpet and a wave of shame washes over me. “Yeah. I did. Sorry.”

“No reason to be sorry. I thought he told you.” She snaps her gum again. “Guess he owes me double.” Her hug startles me for a moment, but it feels like heaven and I sink into it. “Just give me a ring if you need me to kick his ass.”

“I will.” A sense of loss envelops me as she steps back.

“Come on, let’s show him how I work my magic.” Marcy pulls me into the living room by the hand. “Hey, Arthur.”

On cue, Arthur steps out of the far room. My heart stops at the sight of him. His shirtsleeves are pushed up exposing strong forearms. The vee of skin at his throat draws my attention upward to his angled jaw and full lips. Oh God, he’s hotter. How is that possible?

His sharp gaze narrows as it skims over my body. “It works.”

I want to grab the vase off the mantel and hurl it at him. Really, so much work for this pathetic reaction. I mean, honestly, it wasn’t to impress him in the first place, but my ego is already battered.

“You’re welcome.” She gives my hand a squeeze. “Get some rest. Ciao!”

Without further fanfare, the three women leave the penthouse surrendering me to the company of the sexy, grumpy Daddy. I shake my head. No. Not going there. Never going there.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

The question pulls me from my twisted thoughts. “Yes. I’m starving.”

His lips twitch, but he remains stoic. “Come into the kitchen.”

The penthouse has a spacious openness making it feel grand and leaving little privacy when in the main common areas. The living room and kitchen sit side by side, although the kitchen is elevated a fraction making it the main functionality of the room. There’s a small dining area off to the right along with several closed doors. The opposite side is where his bedroom sits along with a glass door leading to what looks like a balcony with greenery. How did I miss that? Curiosity pulls at me, but the tantalizing scents emanating from the kitchen draw me back to the moment and my hunger.

He hands me a plate and piles pasta mixed with sauce on it. “There’s cheese here.” He gestures to the counter beside the stove.

I slide past him, my hip grazing his thigh. The touch is innocent enough, but a weighted undercurrent pulls me toward him. I force myself away. After sprinkling on a healthy dose of parmesan, I cross through the kitchen to the dining room and sit near the window to get the best view while I eat.

Once Arthur joins me, I dig in. The sauce coats the noodles perfectly. My headache eases with each bite. I must have been hungrier than I realized.

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