Billionaires Dollar Series

He gives my fingers a squeeze before dropping them. “Do you have a store in mind?”

We arrive at Ivy & Oak, the giant gilded doors opening automatically for us. It’s the store my mother always makes a beeline for when she’s in Seattle, and the familiar scent of the store makes me smile.

And amongst the blazers and cardigans, they also make killer eveningwear.

We’re greeted by an upbeat middle-aged woman who escorts us to the changing rooms, a beautifully lit area with plush seating.

“You’re welcome to have a seat, sir,” she tells Liam. “Now,” she says to me, “what are you looking for?”

As I rattle off a description of a cocktail dress, she nods. “I see, I see.”

“Something to match him,” I say, nodding to my newfound-friend-and-sometimes-fake-fiancé. The man in question isn’t listening to us, his brow furrowed as he works on his phone. The giant bouquet of roses rests on the seat beside him.

“Ah,” the woman says. “I see. Well, I’ll bring you a set of options right away.”

“Thank you.” And that’s how I find myself standing in front of a floor-length mirror in a rose-colored changing room, my hands still smelling faintly of the ratatouille I’d cooked earlier in the day, wearing a tailored purple dress that costs nearly three hundred dollars.

Sometimes in life, you just have to shrug and go with the flow.

I turn every which way, and the skirt swishes around my legs. The movement is so unfamiliar and so lovely that I do it a few more times for good measure.

“Everything all right in there?” It’s the lady’s voice. I glance at the rack she’s brought into my changing room, the eight dresses hanging neatly. “Yes, everything is fine!”

It’s about a minute until I dare pull back the curtain a bit to see Liam alone on the plush couch, still with his phone. Someone’s put a glass of champagne on the table next to him.

“Does alcohol just appear, wherever you are?” I ask.

He glances up at me, then to the glass, before grinning. “Yes. It’s one of my best qualities. How’s the dress?”

I push the curtain back and spin, the purple panels flowing around my legs.

“Gorgeous,” Liam says. “That’s the one.”

I chuckle. “It’s the first one I’ve tried!”

“So? You look great in it.” He reaches up and puts his hands behind his head, one long leg on top of the other. “The color suits your hair.”

“Are you a fashion expert?” I look at myself in the mirror, turning every which way. With a sweetheart neckline, it looks good.

“I am an expert in all things,” he says. “I used to be an expert in you.”Content is © by NôvelDrama.Org.

My heart lurches beneath my ribs. “I used to be an expert in you, too. Do you still like your Pop-Tarts chocolatey and toasted?”

“I don’t like them at all, now.”

“See?” I shake my head at him, mock sadness on my face. “I’m no longer an expert.”

His smile widens. “It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

“Help,” I call out. “I’m with a stranger!”

Laughing, he nods to the changing room. “Go on, you lunatic.”

The next dress is an absolute no, and so is the third one. I don’t even go out to show them to him, because the silken fabric clings in places that no fabric should cling to, giving me extra pairs of hips.

“Are you holding out on me?” Liam asks through the curtain.

“You want to see what I’m trying on?” I shuffle with the fabric of the curtain, pulling it back just to reveal my face.

But that’s not what happens. His gaze goes directly to the mirror behind me instead, where my body is on full display in nothing but panties and a bra.

A heated beat of silence.

“This outfit,” he murmurs. “This is my favorite.”

The knocking between my ribs bursts into a stampede, and the memory of his body against mine comes back like a torrent. His hardness pressed into my back.

I can’t breathe.

Until his smile breaks out, the one that’s wide and effortless and charming, the one that says don’t take me seriously. “Albert Walker would sign the deal on the spot, if you came to the party looking like that.”

I roll my eyes at him and smile, pushing him away and the curtain closed. A joke.

We’re just friends.

And as I glance in the mirror at my gray cotton panties and the nude-colored bra, I look familiar and strong. I like my body. But I’m dead certain it’s not the kind to make Liam Carter pause.

Swallowing, I carry on with my task. Dress on, dress off. Repeat.

When I slip into the last dress, I know it’s a keeper right away. The fabric is a thick, stretchy red, clinging to my form in artful drapes. It’s off-the shoulder, and the straight neckline coupled with the construction makes my waist look tiny.

Oh, and did I mention the slit?

It has a slit.

It goes to mid-thigh, but with the folds of the dress the effect is elegant without drifting into tacky.

I can’t remember ever looking better.

“Maddie?” Liam’s voice reaches me. “You know you’re going to look good in anything.”

“You’re just saying that because you want to leave.”

“Leave?” He snorts. “I’ve got champagne, my phone, and a beautiful woman nearby in her underwear. I’m perfectly fine where I am.”

“Have I mentioned that you’ve become kind of a sleaze-ball?”

“Multiple times, I believe,” he replies. “It hasn’t lost its novelty yet.”