Page 51 of Tied Up in Riches
“What are you doing here?” I’m suddenly intensely self-conscious of my dress. It’s practically lingerie.
“I’m here making sure Magnolia chooses something appropriate. You look good. Is that for tomorrow?”
“No. I don’t know. Maybe.” A flash of a memory invades my mind–my first charity event with Beau as my boyfriend. We used to have fun shopping together. We’d sneak into the changing rooms together when the attendants weren’t looking. But the second he started with the firm, it’s like piece by piece, they locked away any parts of him I did actually love until that man no longer existed. I was left feeling crazy, like maybe it was my fault I didn’t grow with him.
“Looks like you need some help with it.”
I stare back at the smug look on his face, the one that says he knows I’ll let him touch me. The way he has control over me is the reason I haven’t let another man have control over me since. Wordlessly, I turn, exposing the tangle of criss-crossing straps to the man I was supposed to marry.
His fingers brush my skin and the contact shoots a wave of chills through me–the kind that makes me nauseous–as he fixes my dress. His touch lingers on my skin. “When were you planning to come see me?” he whispers near my ear.
My thoughts race, worried if I say the wrong thing, he’ll still follow through on his threat about my mom’s job. “Tomorrow. At the party,” I lie, knowing I planned to evade him all night.
“Right.” He smooths his hand over my shoulder and down my arm, and I’m so glad I’m not facing him because there’s no way I’d be able to hide the disgust on my face.
I take a step toward my dressing room, his hand falling from where it rested on my wrist. Somehow, I escape his force field. I’m pretty sure I blacked out because I have no idea what else I said to end the conversation or how I got inside the dressing room. It was like when you drive home from work beyond tired and can’t remember at all how you got from Point A to Point B.
I quickly tug the scratchy dress over my head, but a sequin catches in my hair. I pull at it gently, but without being able to see, it’s just getting more tangled. A groan of frustration escapes, and in the next moment, I hear a voice on the other side of the door.
“Brooke? Is everything alright?”
“What do you want, Marcus?” I snap.
“Do you need help in there?”
“No.” The word comes out with both venom and a rush of relief as the dress pulls free from my hair. Thank god. I don’t even bother putting it back on the hanger and toss it over the rack. I jump into my jeans, hook my bra, and tug my tank over my head, not even caring if it's centered over my chest. Grabbing the black dress from the rack, I push the door open.
Marcus startles back like I nearly hit him, eyes wide when they meet mine.
“I needed help five minutes ago when my ex-fiancé was simultaneously eye-fucking me and using his stupid mind control voodoo on me.”
“His what? What happened? I was gone for ten minutes.”
“You’re not supposed to be gone. You’re supposed to be my boyfriend.” I know the words are too harsh the second I say them, but seriously? This is the whole point of him being here.
He takes a controlled breath. “Brooke, there is no way I could have known your ex would be at the mall in the middle of the day on a Friday. Doesn’t the man have a job?”
I know he’s right. But still, “You’re not supposed to be working. You’re on vacation.”
He taps his phone against his palm before pocketing it, looking at me like he knows I’m right about this.
“I’m sorry. What can I do? You found a dress?”
“If by dress you mean a week's worth of pay piece of fabric, then yes.” I hate the person that Beau makes me. I’m self-aware enough to recognize his presence rattles me, but for some reason, I haven’t learned how to not let it affect me.
Marcus reaches for the hanger, tugging it from my grip.
“What are you doing?”
“Buying your dress.”
“No. I don’t need your pity present.”
“Not a pity present.”
“Then what is it?”
He ponders his answer, a stray piece of hair falling across his forehead that I fight the urge to brush back. “A work bonus.”