Page 39 of So Close

She walks over to a hook, sets the hanger on it, and steps back, admiring. “The color is unmistakably feminine, but the cut of the suit is masculine and all business.”

I take a deep breath. The shade of pinkispretty. Still, I say, “I can’t imagine Lily wearing anything like that.Ever.”

“The color? No. Maybe not even a suit, but she’s not a businesswoman like you are.” She turns and looks at me, her long curls swaying around her slim shoulders. She’s so petite; she makes me feel as tall as Lily is. “But I did add some gothic touches with the black velvet, the silk and the lace, but the most powerful message we want to send is that you’re a woman in charge. When I asked Lily what she did, she said her job is to make her husband look good. Not that he needs help in that department. I saw him in passing and … whew. Men don’t roll off the assembly line fully loaded like that very often, more’s the pity. Is he your brother, by the way?”

“No. Brother-in-law.” I take a sip of my coffee to wash out the bad taste left in my mouth from calling Kane that. I don’t want to be hisfamily.

“Oooh, so you’re married to his brother. Lucky girl. Does he have another brother?”

I snort. “He does.”

Her brows raise with interest. “Married?”

“Nope.”

“Ugh. Too bad I am.” She grins. Her almond-shaped eyes are tilted up at the far corners, giving her a foxlike face, which happens to be very pretty. “Anyway, looking dramatically sexy is part of her job description. You, on the other hand, have staff and clients. You want them to see the beautiful woman you are but also to respect you and understand that you’re capable, fierce and in control.”

“Lily was all of that, wearing that outfit.”

“No, no, no. Lily was all thatdespitethe outfit,” she corrects. “Confidence is the sexiest thing any woman can wear. She has that in spades. So do you. Here’s my rationale … You work in social media. That’s about setting trends and being relevant. Lily’s vintage. You wantnow.”

My lips purse. Maybe Tovah actually knew her shit after all. Who’d’ve guessed?

Shit. If I tried to launch my business today, would I fail? Three years have gone by in what feels like three weeks, and nowpinkis the fucking color of the year, and I have no idea what’s trending. I’ve got to hop off the pity wagon and get my ass in the office, get up to speed and get my employees to remember who they actually work for. Otherwise, when Darius pulls Social Creamery out from under the Baharan umbrella and serves it to me on a platter, I’ll fuck it up. No way am I giving Aliyah that satisfaction.

Better than that, though, will be the comparisons to Lily then. I can see it now, Lily and me standing side by side at one of Kane’s parties, with all the guests talking about us in hushed whispers behind our backs.

Are they sisters?

By marriage.

What’s the long-haired one do?

That’s Amy. She’s the owner and creative director of Social Creamery; they take brands to the next level.

And the one who dresses like Morticia Addams?

That’s Lily. She works on her knees or her back, inflating and deflating Kane’s cock.

I snicker. My sister-in-law is a worthless bitch.

“Just try it on,” Tovah coaxes. “If you hate it, I’ll have learned something that’ll hone my future suggestions for you. But I think you’re going to love it and look like the sexiest badass boss anyone’s ever seen. And I’ll pull some gothic looks together for casual and semi-formal events.”

Tossing back the rest of my coffee, I shrug and walk over to the suit. So pink. So pretty. So reallynotLily. But I’ll give it a shot.

27

LILY

The elevator whistles faintlyas it descends from the ninety-sixth floor. I watch as the numbers race by, but they don’t distract me from noticing your withdrawal into the corner of the car, your gaze on your phone, reading your emails. You’ve retreated into your beautiful, lifeless shell. Do you regret your kindness and warmth to me already?

I’m hurt, but anger is rising like the tide. Are you playing mind games with me? It’s hard to believe the husband who hoarded a romantic treasure trove for his beloved wife and the man who won’t share a meal with me are one and the same. You apparently can’t even stand next to me in an elevator.

There’s a platinum band on your ring finger and inlaid lilies in your cufflinks and tie clip. You want the world to know unequivocally that you’re taken, but you haven’t yet connected that commitment to me. I’m starting to believe you never will. Worse, I’m coming to accept it.

When the car doors open into the subterranean parking garage, the Range Rover is waiting, attended by a liveried valet. He opens the rear door for me, but you intervene, offering your hand to help me up. It’s not necessary; a step extended from the undercarriage when the door opened. You’re just staging another performance, and I play my part, flashing a grateful smile at you, then the valet. The valet smiles back in the cautiously polite way afforded to lovely companions of powerful men. For his efforts, you shoot him a cool glance that has him swiftly skirting the hood to talk to Witte.

You go around the rear and slide in beside me. The center of the seat back has cup holders that fold down so that we’re separated. It doesn’t matter. Our proximity is enough to heighten the tension in the air. It crackles between us, arcing like invisible lightning and shocking all my senses.

---