Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
She didn’t mention that she was going to send me a gift. She didn’t need to, but it does make me feel good that she was thinking of me.
Feeling warm all through, I rush to strip off my paint-splattered clothes and pull the sheath on. It fits like it was made for me. The gown is cut in a mermaid style, and without high heels the fabric pools at my feet like liquid mercury.
I have just the heels for the dress too–from Madi’s engagement party. I was going to wear that silver dress tonight, instead, but this one is far more expensive.
I look beautiful and formidable. Like a queen from a sci-fi fantasy show. The sort of character who can shoot lasers from her eyes.
I finish up my hair and makeup. I got my hair braided this morning, and I must have been on the same wavelength as whoever bought me this dress because instead of gold and red, I switched to box braids with a little silver tinsel. Just a little glam–that matches the dress perfectly.
Some silver jewelry, and my look is complete. I still have a metallic clutch that matches the heels. The only part of me that isn’t red carpet ready are my nails. They’re neat and polished but there’s some white oil paint around the cuticles. I leave it. I am an artist, after all.
And if people don’t like it, I’ll incinerate them with my laser eyes.
There’s another knock on the door. This time, the delivery is a big floral arrangement of sunflowers, my favorite flower. The note reads: “Congrats on your big night! You’re going to kill it. Good luck and Love, Madi.”
Huh. I thought the dress was from Madi, but now I’m having second thoughts. It’s possible Madi sent both the flowers and the dress, but wouldn’t they arrive at the same time?
Maybe Madi didn’t. My parents called earlier congratulating me, and Jan and Caroline told me in person. They could’ve all pitched in to buy the dress, but it’s not really their style.
If my closest friends and family didn’t send the dress, who did?
I exit my apartment to wait for my ride and notice the limo idling in front. It’s blocking one side of the street. There are no other cars waiting, but I’m about to shout and tell it to move when the back of the limo opens. A man steps out, and I lose my train of thought. He’s in a classic black tux and radiates enough confidence and aplomb to make James Bond jealous.
Then I zero in on his face.
“Oh my God, Billy?” I hitch up my dress and glide down the stairs to go to him. “I didn’t recognize you at first.” I was too busy admiring him in the tux, not that I’m going to tell him that. “Quick, say something insulting.”
His gaze roams over me, as if checking for flaws. I wait for him to make fun of me, but instead he seems to zone out, mesmerized by the glittery silver dress.
“Well?” I wave a hand, calling his attention back. “I’m waiting.”
His mouth quirks even as the heat in his eyes sears me. “No overalls tonight?”
“There he is. And there’s my rideshare.” I wave to the poor driver of the blue sedan, who can’t get any closer because Billy’s limo is blocking the road.
“Not tonight. I’m your ride.”
“What?”
But Billy’s already moving, and in my heels I can’t move fast enough to intercept him. He pulls out his wallet and peels off some bills, making sure the rideshare driver leaves happy.
When he returns, I notice the light grey vest he’s wearing with his tux.
“Ready, Silver?” He offers me his hand.
I hesitate. “How did you know there was a gala tonight?”
He gives me that signature Billy smirk. “I saw the invite on your dresser. Figured you’re the guest of honor tonight. You should ride in style. Unless you want to take the subway.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the subway.” I take his hand, feeling a zing as his large palm engulfs mine. His warmth steals through me, and my cheeks heat. It feels like we’ve crossed a line. We’ve had epic sex, but this is a step beyond fuck-buddy territory. This is a date.
He helps me into the limo. My body responds to his easy, assured touch. And my arousal is still on overdrive, distracting me.
Once we’re in the limo, I place a hand on his shoulder, making him go still.
“Silver,” I murmur, stroking the silk vest. The color subtly compliments my dress. “It was you, wasn’t it? You sent the dress.” He noticed the invitation and decided to play the part of fairy godmother by sending me the dress and coming in a limo to pick me up. Except he’s both the fairy godmother and prince rolled into one.
It’s arrogant as all hell but also so thoughtful.