Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(183)

She blew her bangs off her forehead with puffed out cheeks and ran the back of her forearm across her brow.



“This is it,” she said in a low, husky voice.



“This is what?” I replied, crossing the room slowly with my hand out. Something about the way that she held the garment bag up told me there was something wonderful inside.



"Open it," she said.



I took the end of the zipper in my fingers, relishing the anticipation for just a moment.



“This is the dress that is going to either get you hired or get laid,” she whispered into the sultry, dusty bedroom air. “And god willing, it will get you both.”





CHAPTER 8


The taxi let me out on the sidewalk in front of the Avery hotel, and I just froze like one of those marathon runners who has stopped in the middle of the race, a hundred other people rushing by them on both sides while they stand there, completely bewildered, wondering just what the hell is going on.

This is a work function?

I felt like I had been dropped off at a Hollywood premiere. There were those car-sized searchlights aimed up at the sky sweeping ovals across the low, hot summer clouds. There was a red carpet — literally, a red carpet — going up the stairs to the entryway. Men in tuxedos and women in floor-length gowns climbed the stairs together, elbows intertwined, chatting to each other as though they did this sort of thing every day.

I felt ridiculously conspicuous. Stuffed into the dress Melita had given me, I tried to remember that I had to keep breathing in and out if I had any hope of reaching the top of the stairs without blacking out. In and then out, in that order. No messing up.

The dress was a midnight blue satin, as tight as a blood pressure cuff. It went precisely down to the tops of the silver Louboutin stiletto heels she had loaned me and then a generous slit gaped all the way back up my thigh.

The neckline swooped so low I was going to have to remember to not drop anything that I needed to pick up. Around the neckline were folds of fabric creating a cup—shaped decolletage that was remarkably supportive.

And I sparkled. Did I mention the dress glittered? I mean, it was not anything that could be described as "subtle." I looked like a starry sky.

But it was very hard to convince myself to get up those steps. I couldn't tell if people were looking at me, but I knew that if I had been someone else I sure would have been looking at me. Without a date I really stood out like a sore thumb.

“Just do this, Bree,” I muttered to myself.

And still I was standing on the sidewalk with everybody swirling around me, moving toward the event.

“Seriously, do it. Now.”

Somehow my feet began to obey. I plucked the satin off my knee between my shaking fingers and began to climb the stairs one by one. I could feel people's eyes on me, but I would not let myself stop. If I had any hope of moving forward in my life, I knew I was going to have to just keep climbing.

Two doormen stood on either side of the entrance, their eyes fixed on a point high above the heads of any of the people who were moving inside. Their raised chins gave them an extra air of seriousness and formality. I moved past them without breaking stride.

That’s it. I’m in.

The air seemed to change as soon as I entered the lobby. It was cool and thick like the air of a cave. Sconces hung on every wall, flickering with imitation candlelight. Above our heads were enormous discs hung from cables that washed a soft, powdery glow onto the couple hundred black-tie partygoers below.

I stood as regally as possible, scanning the crowd for some sign of either Owen or Lyle. Even though everyone looked slick and dashing I knew that they would stand out from the crowd. Yet I couldn't see them anywhere.

Making my way to the bar, I kept watch on my peripheral vision in case one of the Jacks appeared. The bartender leaned forward on the heels of his hands and dipped his chin to stare at me appreciatively.

“What can I get for you, miss?” he said in a voice as smooth as silk.

I found my breath had tangled up in my throat and I didn't know what to say. He was looking at me with such naked appreciation I felt myself expanding like an inflated balloon.

“I would like a, um —”

“She'll have the Armand de Brignac,” came a voice too close to my ear.

Instead of flinching I drew myself up as tall as I could go, trying to recapture some of the bombshell attitude I had managed earlier in the day.

Don't forget who you are. You are the brazen sexpot who is going to get this job!

Without turning my head I let a smile curl at the corner of my mouth and sighed, “I love champagne.”

“Who doesn't?”

The bartender nodded curtly, backing instantly away. “Of course, miss,” he said in a suddenly business-like tone.