Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(31)

With a heavy sigh, I head straight to Ross’s desk from the conference room. If anyone can get me black tie ready, it’s him.





Ollie: I’m going to have a nip slip. I know it.

Ross: You’re not.

Ollie: How do you know that? This dress wasn’t made for a girl like me. My boobs are big. This was made for someone with a flat chest.

Ross: You’ll be fine.

Ollie: But what if I go to shake someone’s hand, and then out of nowhere, my boob decides to have a mind of its own, slip out of my dress, and then wink at the person in front of me?

Ross: Boobs can’t wink.

Ollie: You don’t know that. You are not the one with the boobs. You prefer a penis.

Ross: I’ve been around enough models, even busty models, and I know for a fact the double-sided tape we used will hold up.

Ollie: This dress isn’t classy. Candace said black tie, and this is more like . . . hooker behind the dumpster in the back alleyway where watches are traded for dime bags.

Ross: Are you really questioning my taste in fashion?

Ollie: I’m questioning my life decisions.

Ross: I think you’re just nervous.

Ollie: Of course I’m nervous! I’ve never been to a fundraiser before or any sort of black tie anything. Nor do I take dates to functions this fancy. And the only reason Roberts invited me was because he found out I’m (fake) dating Silas. How am I supposed to handle this?

Ross: With a shred of dignity. Pull yourself together. You’re wearing a beautiful plum dress that will grab the attention of every person in the room but also doesn’t pull too much attention. You’ve worked hard on your networking this summer, and you have a very popular man at your side. You’ll be fine.

Ollie: What if I say something stupid?

Ross: Sneeze.

Ollie: What?

Ross: Pretend to sneeze and blame it on that.

Ollie: That has got to be the worst advice I’ve ever read.

Ross: Be happy I found you a dress on such short notice. Now stop bothering me. I’m trying to watch The Crown.

I’m about to text him back when another text comes through.

Silas: Out front.

I told him not to bother coming up to get me. Since this isn’t a real date, I don’t need the fanfare of him knocking on my door and all that crap. Plus, from what I could tell from the last time he came here, he didn’t want to be recognized. No need to put the pressure on him when he’s doing me a favor.

After texting him back so he knows I’m on my way, I grab my clutch and glance at myself one more time in the mirror. The plum dress Ross chose for me has a strapless, structured top that splits at the cleavage. It has boning sewn into it, so it holds to my torso nicely, but the split of the dress to offer cleavage makes me nervous. It’s why I used the tape, just in case. When the dress hits my hips, it flows in a gauzy-like material and appears to almost be Grecian. It’s beautiful, but not something I’ve ever worn before.

Knowing I can’t go back now, I leave my dorm and take the elevator down to the first floor. I pass a few people who eye me in my dress, but I move past them and right out the front door where a black Tesla Model X waits for me. I peek into the window and spot Silas, so I wave awkwardly, and when I go to open the door, it pops open for me.

“Oh . . .” I chuckle. “Uh, hi.”

“Hey,” he replies, his voice gruff.

I slip into the warm vehicle and smile over at him. “Thank you for doing this. You have no idea how grateful I am.”

“Not a problem.” I catch his Adam’s apple bob as he turns away from me.

“Is, uh . . . is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, pulling on the back of his neck before he glances at me again. “That’s a really nice dress, Ollie.”

I glance down at it as if I haven’t been staring at myself in the damn thing for the past half hour. “Thank you. Ross helped me find it. I didn’t have anything that was black tie appropriate.”

“You should have told me. I could have helped.”

“Why would you help? I’m the one who asked you for a favor.”

“I still could have helped.”

“Well, it’s fine. Everything worked out.”

He nods and grips the steering wheel a touch tighter. Confused about his stiff attitude, I ask, “Are you sure everything’s okay? If you don’t want to do this, I totally get it. I just—”

“No, I don’t mind,” he says and then sighs. “Christ, I just wasn’t expecting you to look so hot. That’s all.”

“Oh.” My cheeks blush. “Well . . . I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Sorry, that was a shit way to say it.” He turns toward me, and with a genuine look in his eyes, he says, “Ollie, you look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I reply, feeling shy and awkward and good God, why is this so hard? “You look very nice yourself, so if we can move on from this because I feel really weird, that would be great.”

“Sorry.” He chuckles. “Still trying to figure all of this out. How to approach things. I feel like you should know you look good, but that’s also something a real boyfriend would say, so . . . fuck . . . I don’t know how to handle this.”