Page 41 of A Deal with the Devil

It doesn’t surprise me that he has a sour attitude toward marriage, so I’m not sure why I feel disappointed. I can’t seem to stop wanting him to be someone he’s not.

Together, we map out the luncheon and then walk down the street in the fading light, the sky striped in sunset pinks and golds. He’s talking about his favorite island in Greece when he comes to a dead stop and points to a mannequin in a shop window, wearing a pale beige dress that fits like a glove. The cap sleeves and just-above-the knee length keep it from being overtly sexy…but it’s still a very sexy dress.

“You’d look amazing in that,” he says.

Just on sight I know it’s something I could never afford. “I could buy a year’s worth of ramen noodles for what it costs.”

“Try it on,” he urges, placing a hand at the small of my back.

“What would be the point?” I ask. “I’d have to sell my spleen to buy it.”

“No one wants your spleen, so please don’t accept any offers. Your liver, possibly. I can even help remove it. Just try.”

I’m still carping about what a waste of time this is when I reach the dressing room.

He leans against the door. “Make sure to let Uncle Hayes see,” he whispers in an intentionally creepy voice, which makes me laugh and also, weirdly, turns me on. I really do need to get laid if I even find this exciting.

I slip out of my clothes and pull on the dress…which is perfection. It skims my curves, the v-neck making my cleavage look ample without revealing all of it. My hair seems to gleam, my skin looks more golden, my lips rosy. After this long year of questioning myself, of wondering if everything I ever believed might have been wrong, I know this one thing for a fact: I look really good in this dress, like the sort of woman you’d expect to see on Hayes’s arm.

When I open the dressing room door, I can’t help but wonder if he’ll think so too.

“Do you like it, Uncle Hayes?” I ask in a baby voice, jutting out my hip. I meant it as a joke, a play on his creepiness, but he looks stricken in response.

“Yes,” he says gruffly, turning on his heel and looking at his phone. “You should get it.”

I huff in exasperation. “You made me go through all this effort for a dress I can’t afford, and you didn’t even look.”

He sighs heavily, still facing away from me. “The dress and the voice had an unexpected consequence,” he says through gritted teeth. “Will you please just get back in the fucking dressing room?”

It takes me a second to understand what he means by unexpected consequence. Shock is quickly erased by the mind-bending thought that I made him hard. Standing here in no makeup and bare feet. How is that even possible?

“Talking like a little girl does it for you, huh?” I ask, leaning against the wall with a smug smile. I intend to relish his discomfort as long as possible. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“You didn’t sound like a little girl,” he growls. “That’s the problem. You sounded like a very big girl in need of a...Jesus Christ. I’m waiting outside.”

He storms off, and I stare in the direction of his retreating wingtips in wonder. I really wish he’d finished the sentence. In need of a...shag? A spanking? My cheeks flush as I consider the possibilities. Thank God he doesn’t realize how open I’d be to any or all.

I finish dressing and find him when I walk out, standing by the register. I hand the dress to the sales associate and she begins hanging it in a garment bag as if she assumes I’m really buying a twelve-hundred-dollar dress. “Oh.” I wince. This is why I don’t try on shit I can’t afford. “I’m sorry. I’m not getting it.”

“I just bought it,” Hayes says, his voice tight. He still won’t look at me. “Let’s go.”

He takes the garment bag and begins walking while I scramble behind him. “No,” I argue. “I don’t need you buying me clothes. I’m not poor.”

“You’re pretty poor,” he says. He’s walking so fast I have to break into a jog to keep up with him. “And consider it my fine for objectifying you a moment ago. I realize I constantly objectify you, but I keep most of it to myself.”

I’m deeply reluctant to accept this, no matter how much I love the dress or love the effect it seems to have on him.

“Hayes, this is really nice of you, but I don’t even want a dress that costs this much. I’ll be too paranoid to wear it.”

“You’re wearing it to the luncheon,” he replies. “Consider it your new uniform. You’ll make every woman there want to up her game, because you already sell my work better than any portfolio or brochure could.”

“But—” I sputter. “Hayes, I told you I don’t want things from you.”

“Does Jonathan give you gifts?” he counters.

I sigh. “Yes.”

“Then I can too,” he says. We’ve reached my car. He holds the door as I climb in. “Just don’t wear it when you’re out with Sam.”