Page 66 of The Woman on the Jury

That was mildly horrifying.

Even if I did get some amazing clothes out of the deal.

I’d just finished my breakfast, and was about to go indulge in a long, hot shower before getting dressed when there was another knock at the door.

When I answered, I was handed yet another bag.

“I was told to tell you to be ready by eleven.”

“Ready for what?” I asked, brows pinching.

“I wasn’t told anything more than that,” he said, sounding apologetic.

“Ah, um, okay. Thanks,” I said, closing the door.

Did I kind of rush to the island to reach into the bag to see what else I might have gotten? Damn right, I did.

It wasn’t as exciting as a new designer outfit.

But it was somehow even more thoughtful.

A nice blow dryer.

Heat protectant spray.

A regular brush.

And a rounded brush to do my bangs.

To hide the gashes on my forehead.

I would be presentable if I could curl my bangs and wear a turtleneck. I could go anywhere without anyone knowing something had happened to me.

Maybe he was sending someone to take me to see my grandfather.

Hope blooming, I took all my things back to my room, laying the outfit out on the bed, then turning on a music channel on the TV, since I still didn’t have my phone, and went ahead and luxuriated for almost an hour before forcing myself to climb out.

I wondered if, when all this was done, if I snuck this hair dryer home with me, if Cosimo would ever know. Because, damn. I mean, I always kind of thought a blow dryer was a blow dryer. I’d been horribly wrong. Because my hair was bouncier and shinier than usual by the time I was done.

Checking the time, I went to slip into my fancy panties, realizing suddenly that there was one thing Cosimo—or whoever shopped for him—had forgotten.

A bra.

I was supposed to wear this fancy new cashmere shirt with no bra. And, let’s face it, the heels were only going to make my step, you know, bouncier.

I chewed my lower lip for a moment as I watched the clock tick closer and closer to eleven.

I had no choice.

I climbed into the clothes, and tried to turn to and fro in the mirror, seeing if you could tell I was braless.

I mean, I was still young enough to have some decent natural lift. But I wasn’t exactly flat-chested, and I liked to haul those babies up as much as possible.

And, well, the cold.

The cold was going to be a factor, damnit.

I sighed, fluffing my hair once more, then making my way out into the main area of the penthouse, pacing back and forth, anxious to get out of the apartment for a while.

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