Chapter 9

The boutique on Fifth Avenue was quiet the next day. It smelled like money-vanilla and new leather.

Clarice walked in, pushed by Sterling in a tasteful transport chair while Colton followed in his own, feeling like she was going to break something just by breathing.

The manager rushed over. She was a tall woman with severe glasses. She looked at Colton, then at Clarice.

She didn't sneer. She smiled warmly.

"Mr. Bentley! So good to see you."

"Hi," Colton said. He gestured with his head toward Clarice. "We need a wardrobe. For my wife."

The manager nodded. She knew the code. Wife meant a full seasonal collection. Mr. Bentley meant put it on the family account but send the receipts to his private office.

"Right this way," the manager said to Clarice. "We have a private suite ready for you."

She led Clarice to a room filled with stunning clothes. Clarice touched a pale blue silk dress. It felt like water.

She looked at the price tag hidden in the seam. Her heart stopped. It was more than her annual salary at her old job.

She looked at the manager and shook her head, then pointed at a simple, much less expensive-looking rack of blouses.

"Nonsense," the manager said kindly but firmly. "Mr. Bentley's instructions were clear. The best of everything."

She went into the changing room.

Colton sat on a velvet sofa. He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The moment they were off, his eyes were sharp, missing nothing as he watched the reflection of the changing room door in a nearby mirror.

Clarice stepped out.

The dress fit her like a second skin. It hugged her waist and flowed to her knees. The blue made her eyes look huge.

She stood in front of the mirror. She had never looked like this. She looked... powerful.

She turned to Colton, a questioning look on her face.

He put his glasses back on before turning his head toward her. "I know you can't see it," she typed on her phone, her tone self-deprecating. "But... I feel ridiculous."

Colton wheeled his chair over to her.

He stopped inches from her. He reached out, his hands hovering for a second before settling on her shoulders. His thumbs brushed her collarbone.

"I can feel it," he said. His voice dropped an octave. "You are beautiful."

Clarice's breath hitched. His hands were warm. The heat seeped through the silk.

Colton reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small, foil-wrapped caramel. He had swiped it from the reception desk.

He peeled it. "Open."

Clarice parted her lips. He placed the candy on her tongue.

"Reward," he said. "For surviving the day."

The sugar melted on her tongue, sweet and rich. Clarice felt a tear slide down her cheek. It was the first kind thing that had happened to her in a nightmare of a day.

She quickly wiped it away and typed: Thank you.

At the register, Clarice watched as the bill climbed into the six figures. She felt sick.

"It's handled," Sterling said, materializing at her side and tapping his card.

"Points?" Clarice typed to Colton as they left the store. "You shop for women's clothes often?"

Colton put his glasses back on. "Ex-girlfriends," he said.

Clarice felt a sharp pinch in her chest. Jealousy. She pushed it down. She had no right to be jealous. This was a contract.

But as she walked down Fifth Avenue, next to the wheelchair of her stranger husband, she felt a strange, unwelcome sense of possession.