but what I am wearing right now will serve for this afternoon. While you’re at the premiere, I’ll go home, grab some clothes and come back to the hotel.”
“I have a personal shopper.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw him fish his phone from his pocket and flip it on. Two clicks later, he had it to his ear. Not listening to her at all.
“I don’t need a personal shopper. I can get my own clothes.” She tried again.
“They will be your own clothes afterward.”
“Liam.” She said his name, forcing herself to become reacquainted with the way it felt on her lips again.
Ten years ago, simply saying his name had made her happy. She would’ve sworn it even had a taste—a slick, plump fullness, luxurious and sensual, like her tongue sliding across her lips to suddenly find cinnamon chocolate fudge...
Now, instead of sweets, his name felt like rocks and sand in her mouth. Sharp. Awkward. Gritty.
“It’s really not a big deal.”
He listened well enough to carry on the conversation, but he clearly wasn’t hearing her.
Ugh.
This kind of thing never happened to her. It probably never happened to anyone outside of Cinderella and Pretty Woman.
And that would make her the prostitute in this situation. Great.
Grace licked her sandpaper lips and took another purposeful breath through her mouth, because although the car might provide her with the ability to stop looking at him, it only amplified the heady cloud of good smells clinging to the man. His scent had been indelibly imprinted on her memories, earthy and rich, like salty air, old forests, and even older heartache. She found herself breathing slowly and deeply.
This was such a bad idea.
She was supposed to be acting professionally. Yelling at a client wasn’t professional. And rolling in his scent was an extremely creepy reaction to being in his presence again.
Everything would be okay, she just needed to get ahold of herself. And maybe explain better, if she could come up with the words.
“I’m sure your personal shopper is lovely.” Diplomatic. Good opening. “But that’s not really the point. I already have clothes. I can take care of my own clothes. We’re not going to be in another state until tomorrow so I have time.”
He stopped participating in the conversation as someone had answered and now he was in full Hollywood mode, greeting and no doubt smiling.
Would he be doing this if she were anyone else?
“My other clients don’t buy me clothing.” She’d had some bring gifts, the kind that had made her feel awkward and—
“What sizes do you wear?”
The close confines of the darkened interior of the back of the limo felt entirely too intimate without him asking personal questions about her clothing.
She shifted to another seat to make room and redirected the conversation. “Turn sideways on the seat so you can stretch your leg out there. Any elevation will help with the swelling.” Ice would have been more helpful, but she hadn’t brought any.
A few seconds ticked by and she heard, “You’re ignoring me?” Incredulity rang in his voice, making her want to turn and look at him.
Then again, everything made her want to look at him. He was singularly the most attractive person she’d ever seen in person—even years later and working at The Hollywood Hills Clinic, which was peopled daily with the beautiful and glamorous.
And her reaction to him was precisely the reason she needed to avoid looking at him excessively or, as it would probably be called, staring in a starstruck and creepy fashion. Though, admittedly, the more he banged this shopping drum, the less she felt like gazing at him like a lovesick cow, and more like smacking him in the back of the head.
Precisely why she needed to keep all talking strictly professional.
“I’m pretending you didn’t just ask a c—” The word creepy nearly sprang out of her mouth, but she managed to stomp the sound down before she used unprofessional language. “It’s really not workplace etiquette to ask those kinds of questions. So, just let me handle any clothing needs I may have on my own.”
“We don’t have time for this, Grace. I’d really rather you blend in, and the clinic logo and your name on your shirt do not help you blend in.” A pause and he repeated into the phone, “I’d like her to blend in with the group.”
His group—she was going to assume that meant his people, in the ol’ I’ll Have My People Call You scenario. So Liam called them his group.
“Right. Slacks. Blouses. Shoes. Accessories...”
Accessories. Of course, how could she forget accessories? She had accessories. She just hadn’t thought to mention them.
“No. She’s tall, but not six feet. Probably about a head shorter than me. Compact and slim, but not so much skinny as athletic. She’s...”
He wasn’t going to stop. Next thing he would be trying to describe her curves or ask her cup size, which would just bring that stupid trench-coat situation back to his mind. This was worse than just giving the fool her sizes. “Please, Liam.” She tried his name again.
“I’ll snap a photo of her and send it to you when we get to the hotel.”
“For goodness’ sake, stop!” Exasperated, she turned to look at him, holding out her hand for the phone. “Stop and I will text her my sizes.”
“Him.”
“Him! Whatever!” She held out her hand for his phone, her voice rising with her blood pressure. “I will text him my sizes if it will get you off this and get your foot up on that seat. Every minute it is down on the floor like that, it’s swelling more. You know that, right, Superman?”
“Text coming,” he said into the phone. “And the picture in a little bit. If you can have them at the hotel in the morning, we’re leaving for New York at seven.” He hung up before handing her the phone and turning to prop his foot up, as she’d all but shrieked at him.
Good thing she wasn’t interested in seducing him. There was probably a reason that the low, velvety voice analogous with seduction was the opposite of a shriek.
A minute later, she double-checked the details she’d sent to Shopper Tom, as he was known to Liam’s phone. If he picked clothing she hated, she’d wear it the one time and then find someone at work who wanted the clothes. They were temporary, just like this assignment.
The thought failed to comfort her, and she returned her attention to the window, thrusting the phone at him and settling back into her not-speaking routine. She couldn’t display her freak-out voice if she wasn’t talking.
* * *
In order to maintain security, and probably so Liam wouldn’t be seen traveling with a woman whose shirt
