More, Please(38)

“Don’t blame him. That apartment was a disaster.” She wheeled her suitcase into the living room and whistled. “This is definitely Hunter. Look at all this space. You’re a lucky girl.”

“So he doesn’t trust me to do myself up for his mom, huh?” I asked with a grin.

She brought over a chair from the dining room and placed it in the living room area. She lowered her suitcase so it was lying flat before unzipping it and removing makeup items. “He just said you needed help preparing for a special occasion.” Preparing, in Pat language, was relaxing. “Get the champagne flowing, girlie, and grab your dress. I want to see what I’m working with.”

“I don’t think we…” I opened the fridge as the front gate clanged. The door opened a moment later, admitting a red-faced and bustling Janelle.

She looked around, smiled at Pat, and then hurried into the kitchen. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she called. “The bus just stopped for no reason and told us all to get out—I had to walk eight blocks!”

“I didn’t even know you were supposed to be here.” I wandered to where I could see her. Her upper half was behind the door of the fridge.

“You have my schedule.” Janelle took out a bottle of champagne and some chocolate-covered strawberries.

“Have it, yeah. Look at it, no.”

“C’mon, let’s go,” Pat said, shooing me toward my room. “I want to see what you’re wearing.”

I led her to the back of the flat and left her standing at my bedroom door as I pulled out a sophisticated dress in deep, sparkly blue. I laid it on the bed as I pulled out some jewelry to go with it.

“Shoes?” Pat asked, analyzing the selection.

I pulled out some black heels, and then a pair of strappy sandals. “One of these.”

“Black heels. It will age you just a little. You don’t want to seem too young and hip with a parent. Okay. I think I got it.”

“Did Hunter have any directions?” The last time Pat had helped me, Hunter had a very precise way he wanted me to look. Turned out his ideas were perfect and looked awesome. He knew how to look the part better than anyone I knew.

“Nope. He’s pretty laid-back about this one. It surprised me.” She glanced at my robe. “Put on something not so fluffy and meet me in the living room. Let’s get started.”

It took Pat an hour and a half to get me looking like a million dollars. The woman was a genius of the highest degree. Hunter arrived halfway through the transformation, grabbed a glass of brandy, asked Janelle to make him something to eat, and escaped to the bedroom.

“And the finishing touches…” Pat fastened the jewelry on and dropped the shoes at my feet. When everything was ready, she and Janelle stepped back.

“Lovely!” Janelle exclaimed, smiling.

Pat smiled, too. “Perfect. You’ll knock ’em dead.”

“I’ll get Mr. Carlisle,” Janelle said, walking toward the back of the flat.

Butterflies filled my stomach at what came next. “Oh God, I’m going to meet his mother.”

“Relax. You’re smart and sweet—you’ll do fine.” Pat sat on the couch with a glass of champagne.

Hunter came into the room wearing a casual dress shirt without a tie. The deep cream hugged his cut chest and cinched down his trim waist perfectly before tucking into black slacks. I closed my eyes as his delicious smell hit me, his cologne mixing with his natural scent, distinctly man. Safe, protective, and mine.

I smiled as he stopped in front of me. His gaze took in my dress, my accessories, and finally stopped on my eyes. “Perfect. You look beautiful.”

“Thanks,” I said, reaching forward and slipping my hand in his.

He held it for a moment, squeezing before checking the time. “Shall we?”

The butterflies came back in force. I blew out a breath and gulped down the last of my champagne. “Okay.”

“Here.” Pat hopped up and handed me a nude shade of lipstick. “Remember to reapply.”

“Got it.” I took my clutch from Janelle before turning so she could drape a wrap over me. Hunter shrugged into a leather jacket and waited for me by the door.

“You ladies going to just hang out?” I asked as I made my way to Hunter.

“Yeah. There’s all these appetizers Janelle made, not to mention champagne—” Pat resettled on the couch.

I looked at Hunter. We always had Janelle and Mrs. Foster in the flat, but it was weird for Pat to assume she could hang when the owners were gone.

Hunter answered my reservations by winking and slipping his hand around my waist. “Ready?” he asked quietly.