He’s fully aware nothing sexual is going to happen again, so why the hell would he even tally the number of spankings he thinks he owes me?
Typical Worth Miller.
And yet, despite myself, a thrill shoots down my spine at the thought of his large hands on me, rough and commanding, teaching me a lesson I secretly wouldn’t mind learning.
Nope. Absolutely not.
I shake my head hard, as if I can physically rattle the image away. I cannot—will not—succumb to his antics. Not again.
“Um… why do you look like you just got caught doing something illegal?” Tiana narrows her eyes at me over the rim of her champagne glass.
I whip my head towards her. “What? Nothing. I’m fine.”
She smirks. “Mhm. You’re flushed, fidgety, and holding your phone like it just whispered dirty secrets in your ear. Spill, MJ.”
“I said it’s nothing.” I busy myself tugging at the zipper of a dress on the rack, pretending to examine it.
Tiana lets out a laugh. “Girl, if that man’s texts got you looking likethis, you’re in deep.”
I shoot her a glare, which only makes her laugh harder. “Shut up and help me pick a dress.”
Tiana leans back on the couch, drink in hand. “Damn. A girl could really get used to this. Do you think he’ll notice if I sneak a dress?” She gestures to the rows of gowns shimmering under the light, sequins and silks in every shade.
“It’swaytoo much.” I pick up a Tom Ford black cocktail dress. “I could’ve just worn something from my closet. Or bought something affordable.” The lie tastes bitter. I don’t own a single thing that could pass for gala attire, and we both know it.
“Affordable is overrated when you’ve got a billionaire boyfriend.”
I pin her with a stare. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m starting. You’d better try on every damn one of those dresses, sis. If I’m your audience, I demand a show.” Tiana tops off our glasses, offering some to the stylist and assistant.
Rolling my shoulders, I take another sip of champagne, nerves tangling in my chest. Fine—if Worth wants me to look the part, then I’ll look the damn part.
I head to the bedroom to change. This is just another performance. A role I’ve agreed to play. So why does part of me already wonder which dress will make Worth lose his composure first?
After trying on what feels like a hundred gowns, I finally settle on a Marchesa Notte floor-length dress in deep blue with delicate beadwork embroidered across the bodice. The neckline dips just enough to be daring without forfeiting elegance, and the silk chiffon skirt flows around my legs like liquid air. Against my will, the stylist forces me to take five other dresses too, carefully folded into garment bags. Apparently, Mr. Miller told him to make sure I had “enough options.” I try to argue, but apparently Worth has everyone on a damn leash.
A few hours later, Tiana is gone, and my hair and makeup are done. The stylist pinned my curls into a soft updo, leaving a few tendrils to frame my face, while the smoky bronze shadow makes my eyes almostsmolder. A swipe of nude gloss completes the look.
At seven sharp, my phone buzzes with a message from Worth telling me he’s outside.
I grab my clutch, take a breath, and head downstairs.
A sleek black town car waits at the curb. When the driver opens the door, Worth steps out, and for a split second, I forget how to breathe. He’s in a black suit, with a dark blue tie that matches my gown exactly. Even the subtle square in his pocket is the same shade.
This man.
Broad shoulders, commanding stance, and that salt-and-pepper beard perfectly trimmed. The sight of him alone sends my pulse skittering.
Worth’s eyes rake over me, head to toe—and for once, the unshakable CEO falters. His Adam’s apple bobs, his jaw ticks, and his hands flex at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to touch me.
“Jesus Christ, Mya,” he mutters. “You’re breathtaking.”
The compliment lands straight in my chest, setting my whole body alight.
I swallow the flutter in my chest. “Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.”
Worth smirks at the understatement.