Talking Dirty with the CEO(48)
The nausea roiled in her gut in response.
Christie bared her teeth at her reflection.
Then the doorbell rang and the nausea vanished as if it had never been.
Joseph.
Christie tried a decorous walk to the door but it wasn’t fast enough, so she dashed madly instead, pulling open the door, excited to see him and not caring that she was excited.
And then there he was, and her heart did a full three-sixty in her chest.
In a beautifully tailored dark suit, the blue in his tie reflecting the color of his eyes, he looked every inch the successful businessman.
A couple of weeks ago the sight of him would have made her want to turn tail and run. Now, as she met his gaze and he smiled, she felt like the moon had been delivered, neatly wrapped, straight to her doorstep. Inside, after he’d pulled her close for a breath-stealing kiss, he stepped back and surveyed her.
“Velvet Docs, Christie? Aren’t they way too upmarket?”
She looked down at her boots, her one concession to glamour. “What’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing’s wrong with them. It’s the jeans and T-shirt I’m worried about.”
“There’s nothing wrong with them, either.”
“No, there isn’t. I’m just trying to figure out what it is you’re trying to prove.”
Christie scowled. “I’m not trying to prove anything.”
“Uh-huh.”
She scowled harder. “I don’t want to wear anything else. I’m not big on dresses.”
“You know I still dream about that black dress you wore the night we met, right?”
She blew out a breath. “An aberration.”
“Oh, sure. Come on, what’s wrong with dressing up?”
Plenty. A little nugget of defensiveness hardened inside her. Greg had done this to her once or fifty, tried to get her to wear dresses and heels. Made comments about her hair and how great she’d look if she’d bothered with makeup. It had been a subtle thing, different from her mother’s litany of criticisms so that she hadn’t been aware of what he’d been doing until later in their relationship. And it had hurt.
Yet another person she wasn’t good enough for.
“Hey.” An arm snaked around her waist, Joseph drawing her close. “What’s up? What did I say?”
The nugget hardened further. “I’ll wear what I bloody well want to wear. Don’t try to change me.”
“I thought you didn’t care about what your family thinks?”
Her brain didn’t. Her brain couldn’t give a toss. But there was no way she’d confess to the shameful need in her heart. The need for their approval. The need for just one word of praise.
The need to feel that she belonged. So pathetic.
“I don’t,” she said, trying for strong and certain.
But Joseph wasn’t fooled, not for a second. “Christie, you’re perfect just as you are. You don’t need a dress or makeup to make you beautiful. But we’re aiming to blow you mother’s head off tonight, right? Some dress-up wouldn’t hurt. Your kind of dress-up, though.”
The hard nugget inside her began to dissolve. Her kind of dress-up.
Yeah, why not? The only thing more satisfying than walking into the engagement party with Joseph on her arm would be walking into the engagement party looking awesome.
Christie took a breath. “Okay. Wait here and I’ll change.”
In her bedroom, she pulled open the wardrobe, shoving aside her moth-eaten duffel coat. Bronzy-green silk glowed in the darkness.
Once Marisa had dragged her out shopping for something to wear to a media awards dinner. She’d hated everything Marisa had chosen for her, but had been drawn to the color of this simple sheath dress. She’d left without trying it on, though, telling herself she hadn’t needed it.
Then the next day she’d sneaked back into the shop, letting the saleswoman convince her to try it. She’d stood in the changing room, looking at herself, feeling like Cinderella’s biggest, most ugly stepsister, hearing her mother’s voice telling her the dress was wrong for her, cataloging all her flaws, and she hadn’t been able to get it off fast enough.
Stubborn to the last, she’d bought it anyway, though it had stayed in the back of her wardrobe ever since. Until today.
She stared at it and realized with a funny shock that she wanted to wear it. And not for her mother. For him. For Joseph.
Getting out of her clothes, Christie pulled on the cool silk of the dress. She didn’t bother to check her appearance in the mirror but as she walked down the hallway, her nervousness grew so bad that she had to stop before the living room door just to get herself together.
Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. She didn’t want to go in because she didn’t think she’d be able to hide just how much his approval meant to her. And if he gave her the same look her mother always did…