“My purse.”
“That’s not a purse, it’s a mass-produced insult to handbags everywhere. Leave it. Or better yet, toss it.”
“And what will I use to carry my wallet and phone?”
He slips my purse strap from my shoulder, pulls out my phone and lip gloss, and tosses the bag on the counter. “You don’t need your wallet.” He opens my coat and slips my phone into the interior pocket along with the gloss. “Done. Let’s go.”
“Will there be a lunch break? Because I’m already starving.”
We step onto the elevator, and he nods. “There will be plenty to eat and drink.” He winks. “Trust me.”
The youngest North embodies his royal name as he sits in an oversized leather chair trimmed in ornately carved wood. His legs are crossed in casual elegance as he rubs his lips with long fingers and motions for me to twirl with his free hand. A rightful king of the New York fashion world.
Every boutique we’ve been to seemed to be expecting us to the degree that the doors would open before we reached them. We were either taken into a private salon in the back, where racks and racks of clothes were pre-chosen for us to peruse, or the doors were locked, and we were given a private audience with the sales staff.
I nibbled on tiny, pretentious sandwiches and sipped expensive champagne while playing dress up in front of Kingston. A nod or a shake of his head would send a team of salespeople toward me to help me undress and try on something new.
From loungewear to formal gowns, shoes to makeup, Kingston had an opinion on everything, and with a small dip of his chin, it was added to my wardrobe. And we never took bags with us when we left. Kingston explained they’d all be delivered to my closet and that a tailor would be there first thing in the morning to make adjustments.
“I feel sick,” I say in the backseat of a blacked-out town car.
“Too much champagne?” Kingston says, without lifting his head from whatever he’s texting on his phone.
“No. How much money have we spent today?” None of the clothes had price tags on them. I checked. I had planned to run a tally on the prices in order to pay Alexander back eventually.
“Not enough.”
“Kingston.”
He finally looks at me, and his grin is filled with a sexy mystery. “I like the way you say my name.”
“Are you flirting with me?”
“Don’t take it personally.” He shrugs. “I flirt with everyone.”
“I’m serious. I can’t accept all this.”
His flirtatious smile falls with a roll of his eyes. “So you’ve said.” His eyes narrow. “Think of it this way… if you plan to be on my brother’s arm, you have to look the part. There’s no way you could afford to do that on your own.”
The justification has me thinking. “Have you done this for all the women in your brother’s life?”
His expression turns haunted. “You’re the first.”
The first woman in Alexander’s life? Or the first woman he’s had to dress?
I’m about to ask, when he says, “We’re here.”
The car stops in front of La Perla. I’m hungry and dreaming of getting back to Alexander’s and ordering a cheeseburger and fries to eat in front of the television in my sweatshirt and leggings.
This boutique is no different than the others, and we’re met at the door. A petite woman in a lavender suit ushers us into a private fitting room that is big enough to fit the entire staff of Chubby’s.
“I pulled everything we have in blue.” The woman wheels over an elegant rack with bras, panties, slips, and every kind of lingerie on hangers.
“Blue?” I look over at Kingston.
“His favorite color.”
My face heats.
He leans down and whispers. “You light up at the mention of him.”
I rub my cheeks. “You’re making it worse.” My cheeks aren’t the only thing that gets warm when I think about wearing lingerie with Alexander. I worry that most of this delicate lace will end up in shreds on his bedroom floor.
He chuckles, the sound low and seductive.
I shiver and then glare at him. “Stop it.”
“You’re going to try it all on for me, aren’t you?”
“No way in hell.”
He sighs and pulls back. “Lucky son-of-a-bitch,” he mumbles. “We’ll take it all,” he says to the salesgirl. “Come on. We’re done for the day.”
I do a mental fist pump and follow him to the car, more excited about ordering my cheeseburger than I am about the god-knows-how-many-fortunes I own in new clothes.
Alexander
“Mr. North, Kingston is on the phone for you.” Mrs. Miller’s voice comes through the intercom, pulling me from my computer screen.
I hit the speakerphone. “How’d it go?”
“Good. She only complained for the first couple hours.”
Alone in my office, I allow a smile to pull at my lips. The thought of Jordan giving my little brother shit is a pleasing visual.
“She’s home now?”
“Yes. She was shoving a cheeseburger and fries into her mouth like it was her last meal when I left her. You know what she said?”
I can only imagine.
“I told her I could order in the best burger in Manhattan. You know, the one from Bistro Twelve with the foie gras and truffle oil? She said I could shove my Richie Rich burger up my ass and then told James to take her to some place called Five Guys.” He laughs. “Can you believe that?”
“I can.”
“I’m not so sure she’s going to fit in well with our people.”
They’re not my people. They have never been.
“I’d be disappointed if she did.”
“Huh, so… is this like me wearing lipstick and nail polish around the old man, or Hudson always being thirty minutes late? Are you shoving Jordan up the old man’s ass for shits and giggles? Because if so, I totally support you, and please don’t let me miss out on any of it.”
I stare blindly at my computer screen. No, I’m not with Jordan just to piss off our dad. Although, if she does, I’ll take the added benefit.
Twenty-One
Alexander
Every morning before I leave for the office, I wake Jordan to say goodbye—sometimes with my fingers, this morning with my mouth.
I kiss up her belly, between her breasts, and then her lazy smile. “I’m going into the office, but I’ll be back early tonight.”
Her hair is a mess around her face, and she blinks open orgasm-heavy lids. She runs a hand over my shoulder to hold my nape. “Are you in a hurry? I’d like to return the favor.”
“Save it for tonight.” I nuzzle her throat as thoughts of unfinished designs force me from her warm, soft body.
She gathers the comforter in her arms and rolls to her side. “What’s tonight?”
I look over my shoulder and catch her staring at my naked ass. “Do you have short-term memory issues?”
Another one of her lazy smiles and I contemplate blowing off my entire day to crawl back into bed with her. “No, I remember that part. You said you’d be home early.”