He considers himself a bit of a cupid. Just look how happy Shep and his wife are. He assures me I'll see the results of his handiwork at dinner.
If I can take my eyes off Ian.
"Mr. Hunt is smitten." His voice beams with pride. "He's never asked to borrow me for help with a woman before."
"Are there a lot of women?" Addie asks.
"Men have needs. Some men aren't… discrete about filling them." Lock raises a brow. Doesn't that answer everything?
Uh, no, not at all. I need a lesson in British conversation.
Did he just tell her to fuck off? Or was that his way of saying Ian is a slut, but it's no big deal?
"Women have needs too," she says.
"Of course. They're usually more discrete though. I have to say… So many men have spilled details of our affairs. But never women," Lock says.
"Never?" Addie does not comment on his casual yeah, I sleep with men and women, what's it to you drop. But she does look impressed. Since she officially came out, she's struggled with when to bring up her sexuality.
It's not a secret. But it's not like she wants to go hey, I'm Addie, I'm gay, what's up with you either.
She's a lot of things. Gay is one of them. An important one. But only one.
"Mr. Hunt… I probably shouldn't say this." Lock's voice drops to a stage whisper. "But his divorce… his wife was seeing another man. For a long time. It became gossip amongst their circle. And it destroyed him. He overreacted to the hurt. Built all these walls around his heart." His eyes fix on me. "I never thought he'd offer a key to anyone. Until you."
"I barely know him," I say.
"Even so… I have a feeling about you two." He motions to the enormous gift. "Shall I place this in your room?"
"No. I will. Thanks." I finish my tea. Pick up the box. Move it into my room.
The sleek teal ribbon looks perfect against my sheets.
And the black box.
It's like he turned me into wrapping.
I peel off the top. Pull out the teal tissue paper. Let it flutter to the ground.
Silk lingerie on blue-green paper.
Soft black with tiny teal bows. Sweet, innocent, and illicit all at once.
Plus a note from Ian.
Buy whatever you'd like for the next few weeks. And the party. We'll be at a beach house all weekend, though I don't expect you'll need much in the way of attire.
Come as you.
Wear this underneath.
And the combat boots.
I want you in my bed in nothing but those boots.
- Ian
Chapter Twenty-One
Eve
We drive straight to an expensive department store in Brooklyn.
Lock motions to my credit card. Explains that Mr. Hunt wants me to have everything I need. For our weekend in the Hamptons. Dinners. Parties. Evenings we spend at home.
I focus on the beach attire. Breezy cover-up, black sandals, bikini. Black, ink purple, oxblood. Dark, saturated colors that feel like me.
Addie buys everything in pale shades of blue and pink. Similar but completely different.
When we're finished with the first round of shopping, we climb back into the car, and drive to a boutique in the Village.
Somehow, Lock finds parking right away.
He helps Addie out of the car. Then me. "When Mr. Hunt told me about your style, I was worried I wouldn't find a place that meets your needs. I don't want to put you in a box, Eve. I can already tell that wouldn't work."
Uh… sure.
He takes in my outfit—a black crop top, ripped high waist shorts, combat boots. "Even if I put you in some simple black sheath and pearls." He chuckles knowingly. "I once bought pearls for a companion of Mr. Marlowe's and I never heard the end of it."
Huh? I look to Addie but she's equally stumped.
"A crude slang. I'm afraid I can't bring myself to explain it. I'm sure…" He stifles a laugh. "Mr. Hunt will be more than happy to go into detail. He's a very… enthusiastic man."
I seriously need these lessons in British conversation. I can tell he means something by the way he emphasizes the word enthusiastic. But I have no idea what it is.
"You were saying?" I have Google. I can look up necklaces and pearls. But I'm not sure I want to know. "About the clothes?"
"Yes, Eve. Thank you." He motions to the boutique on our right.
A bright, open shop with three mannequins in the window. One in a fabulous red dress. Another in a more elegant black number. The third in a jumpsuit. All very trendy and cool. Dressed up enough to blend without looking stuffy.
"I'd hate to dress you like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's," he says. "Not that I dress anyone. I facilitate. The women here will help outfit you in exactly what you need."
"What do I need?" I ask.
"Are they going to a gala or something?" Addie asks. "It was just dinner with his friend, no?"
"Yes, Thursday it's dinner with Mr. And Mrs. Marlowe. But there are other events. Other dinners. Galas even. Mr. Hunt has a busy social calendar and he'd like Ms. Miller… Eve to be prepared, should he request her company," Lock says.
He wants me around. If he decides he wants me around later.
Is the hesitation Lock's lack of information? Or is Ian just… playing things by ear? Is he going to toss me aside the second he fucks me?
The thought shouldn't bother me—four-hundred grand is four-hundred grand—but it does.
Addie looks to me with concern in her eyes. "How old is he?"
I clear my throat. "That's not important."
Her blue eyes go wide. "Now, I know it is."
"Marisol is twenty." I'm not helping my case.
Glare fills her eyes. For a second. Then it's gone. Replaced with disappointment. Addie doesn't get angry. She jumps straight to disappointed. And right now—
Lock saves me. "Ms. Miller, I'm happy to discuss Mr. Hunt with you—this information is all very easy to find—but after we help your sister find a few gowns. She's welcome to wear something from her closet. But Mr. Hunt would like her to feel comfortable. And some of the people in his social circle… certain styles read as bold. Others as clueless."
"And her current clothes are clueless?" Addie asks.
"It's okay, Addie." I follow Lock into the shop. "I felt it when I met him for dinner. Like I'd worn shorts to prom."
Curiosity streaks her expression. "You want to fit in?"
"Not exactly. More…"
"Sparkle," Lock offers. "Stand out for your luster, beauty, unique style. Not for your…"
"Cheap clothes?" I offer.
He chuckles. "New Yorkers are so blunt. It's charming."
"How long have you been in New York?" I ask.
"Enough I know you're typically more blunt. New Yorkers, that is. All you Yanks are so matter-of-fact. So I'll be matter-of-fact with you."
Something tells me his idea of matter-of-fact is not the same as mine.
Lock continues, "Mr. Hunt has never shown an interest in 'alternative' women before. But he's rather fixated on your punk rock style. He wants you to dress as you. At all times."