“No.” He drew the word out with impatience. “You’ll still be representing me and my company on Saturday. I have to make sure you don’t dress … inappropriately.”
My blood started to heat. “Inappropriately?” I said through clenched teeth.
“I don’t have to look in your wardrobe to know it’s filled with shorts and tank tops that show too much cleavage.”
Ugh! “Let’s not forget the fancy-ass work clothes you make me squeeze into on a daily basis,” I snapped, forgetting I was talking to my boss.
He glared at me. “They’re the only appropriate things in your wardrobe. You’ve made my point for me. I’m taking you dress shopping.”
Like hell! “No offense, sir, but I am not going dress shopping with you. It’s supposed to be fun, and I’m sure you understand that having my boss there detracts from the fun.”
Caine sighed and straightened the cuffs on his suit jacket. “Shopping is never fun.”
“Look, you …” I couldn’t even find a word perfect enough to describe his jackassery. “I am an intelligent woman and just because I like comfortable clothes doesn’t mean I don’t know how to dress at a formal event.”
“Alexa.” He curled his lip. “This isn’t prom night back home. This is Boston society.”
I threw him a disgusted look, feeling triumphant when he flinched. The car drew to a stop in the parking garage and I opened my door. Before I got out, I remembered his words to Henry earlier. I turned back to him. “You know, I understood when I took this job that you weren’t going to make it easy on me, but not once in all the hard work have I actively disliked you. Until today.” I shook my head, disappointed in him, so much more than I ever thought I could be. “You’re from Southie. Now you’re part of high society. But instead of embracing where you come from and mixing that with where you are—something that gives you a better perspective than all of them—you’ve become this elitist snob.” I shot out of the car before he could reply and I marched up to the office without him.
Then I sat at my desk stewing in my outrage.
Ten minutes later I heard his footsteps down the hall. When he turned the corner and headed toward me, I braced myself to be fired. His shadow fell over me as he stopped by my desk and I forced myself to look up at him.
Caine’s face was carefully blank. “You may take the extra hour tomorrow. Alone.”
Shocked that he hadn’t canned my ass, but still hurt by his perception of me, I nodded and returned my attention to my computer screen.
He hovered for a few seconds longer, but I couldn’t look at him.
Eventually he moved away, slamming his office door behind him.
It would suffice to say that things between my boss and me were more than a little chilly for the rest of the week. He’d even curbed how much running around he had me doing because it meant he didn’t have to interact with me as much.
I refused to be upset over it, however. So he didn’t want me there at his fancy-ass party with his fancy-ass people. He thought I was beneath him. I decided not to give a shit.
At least … well, I tried to convince myself not to give a shit. I wasn’t too successful at that, although Henry did help a little. He sent flowers to the office on Friday, and the card said he was looking forward to spending Saturday evening with me. It was the first time a guy had done that for me, and I had to admit that being on the receiving end of the delivery was way more romantic than I’d expected.
Plus, it really made me gleeful how annoyed Caine got every time he passed my desk and saw the flowers. If I didn’t know it was impossible, I would have suspected he was jealous.
By the time Saturday evening rolled around, my smug rebelliousness had been crushed by my nerves. I’d been to a few parties attended by celebrities when I worked for Benito, but nothing like this event. A society event was a whole different ball game. It was a complex social arena, and much more intimidating than anything I was used to. So when Caine made the dig about prom night, he wasn’t far off it.
There was also the fact that I liked Henry but I wasn’t attracted to him. Guilt niggled at me for using him to irritate my boss. A boss who begrudged my presence at the ball.
To conquer my nerves I concentrated on looking my best. My dress was gorgeous and I looked good, even if I had to say so myself because there was no one else around to give me the confidence boost. That depressed me. So I stood in front of my mirror, took a selfie, and sent it to Rachel.
A minute later she texted back: OMG, I’d fuck you!!!
There. That made me feel better.