Not So Nice by Emma Lyon
Ryan
Two hours later, any romantic notions I might have had about a billionaire taking me shopping had disappeared in a cloud of irritation as Graham shook his head at the latest outfit I walked out of the dressing room in.
I thought it looked fine—dark pants, button-down shirt, everything falling generally where it should. But nothing I’d tried on so far had satisfied him.
“It fits you all wrong.” He came up behind me at the mirror and pulled the waist of the shirt in an inch. “See? That’s how it should be.”
The feel of his hands on me broke through even my annoyance. I tried to slow my racing pulse. “Why can’t we get it tailored?”
He hadn’t moved from behind me, and his breath tickling the back of my neck was slowly killing me. “Because the material’s not right, anyway.” He plucked at the fold of the shirt where I’d tucked it in. “It’s too stiff. You look like a cheap salesman.”
I glared at him in the mirror. I knew he was picky about his clothes, but he didn’t have to actively insult me. I was ready to go to the dinner in a t-shirt at this point.
I couldn’t believe I was actually doing this. Not the shopping, which I usually enjoyed, but agreeing to be Graham’s fake boyfriend for the weekend. It was crazy. I hated how crazy it was.
I hated even more how much I wanted to do it.
“I think it looks fine.”
“Well, your taste clearly hasn’t developed yet.” He put his hands on my shoulders and frowned at my reflection. I sucked in a breath as the heat of his hands traveled all the way down to parts that these pants weren’t loose enough to hide. When he straightened my collar, his fingers brushed my neck and lobe of my ear, and it was like a jolt of electricity surging through me.
Before it got embarrassing, I moved out of the circle of his hands to put some much-needed distance between us. “We’ve been to three different department stores. I’ve tried on a dozen outfits, and you haven’t liked any of them. Let’s just get this and you can tell people you’re slumming it with your poor, tasteless boyfriend.”
My jab completely missed its mark by the way his face creased in thought. “You know, you’re right. We’ve been going about this all wrong. Clearly we need a more expert touch.”
I glared at him again. Was he trying to imply there was something wrong with me? I had a perfectly normal body. I didn’t have these problems when I was buying clothes for myself.
“Let me make a call.”
I sighed as he stepped away and took out his phone. Leaving Graham to it, I returned to the dressing room to get out of these clothes and into my own things. I wondered if I could talk him out of this pointless quest and into going back to the hotel instead. I was tired, hot, and bored with shopping.
I returned the inadequate pants and button-down to their hangers and got dressed. Graham was still on the phone when I left the dressing room, and he looked over at me when I approached. “Text me the name and address. Yes.” He laughed. “Thanks, Saul.” He ended the call. “Good news,” he said, and I sighed, knowing my bid for returning to the hotel was about to be shot down. “We have someone to see by the name of…” he looked down at his phone when a text buzzed through, “Beatrix.”
“Do we have to?” There was a definite whine in my voice.
He was unmoved. “Yes. Saul says she only caters to the best, and he would know.”
“Who’s Saul, anyway?”
“A fashion designer I knew in New York. According to him, if she doesn’t have what we need, no one in this town will.”
“She sounds expensive,” I said doubtfully. I’d had a vague idea of paying for the clothes myself, even though I was hardly rich on a PA’s salary.
Graham waved a hand as if that was inconsequential. “This is on me. Consider it a work expense.” He looked me up and down, a gleam in his eye that had my heart racing again. “You know, I’m going to enjoy spending an obscene amount of money on you.”
I couldn’t help my full-body shiver. For a moment I forgot how tired and irritated I was with him. Because that right there was the sexiest thing anyone had ever said to me.
“Come on,” he said, as if he hadn’t just melted me to the floor. “Let’s get you dressed properly.”