The Casanova (The Miles High Club #3)(16)

And it goes on and on and on.

Jeez . . . what the hell is going on with me lately?

And the worst part of it is, I don’t even like him. In fact, up until a week ago I would even say that I despised him.

But something is changing in me, and I don’t know what it is or how to explain it.

My hormones are having some kind of meltdown and I’ve turned into one of those people who think about sex all the time.

That white towel is a damn troublemaker.

We approach my stop and I stand and catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass door, feel disappointed with what I see. I look dowdy, and so different to how I looked the other night at the ball.

Maybe it’s time.

I smile as I read the email from my place in bed, and I reply.

Dear Edgar,

Such a shame that you are not a cat person, you could have had a happy life filled with feline love.

I am fascinated though, what would you suggest I use for pick-up lines in the future?

As a dick fondler, your word is gospel.

I will wait for your reply with bated breath.

Pinkie Leroo

“Goodnight,” Daniel says as he pokes his head around the door. I look up from my computer.

“Night.”

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Ah.” I shrug bashfully. “Fooling around on the computer, what time did you get home?”

“Just now.”

“How did today go?”

He leans on the doorjamb. “Well, today I styled the biggest pain in the ass that I’ve ever met.”

“Why?”

“Tells me that she wants a complete new look but then hates everything I recommended and refuses to even try it on.”

I smile. “Is that common?”

“Sometimes. Usually with people who haven’t been styled before. Change is scary for some people.”

“I guess.”

“Not you though, you are a complete pro, look what you wore last week.”

I smile bashfully, and an idea comes to mind. I hesitate as I look over at my closet. “Maybe I should get you to help me buy some new clothes.”

“Well, well . . . well.”

“I mean.” I twist my fingers on my lap, embarrassed that I just said that out loud. “I mean . . .”

“You aren’t superficial.”

“Exactly.”

“But you just need a few pointers.”

“Yes.” I smile, and think for a moment. “What would you wear to work tomorrow if you were me?”

Daniel’s eyes hold mine. “If I wanted to . . . ?” His voice trails off.

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Look nice.”

“To impress a certain CEO?”

“No.” I scoff. “This has nothing to do with Elliot Miles.”

Daniel goes to my closet and begins to flick through the hangers. “Honey, it should.” I hear him rattling around in there. “Where are your skirts?”

I frown and sit up onto my knees. “What do you mean?”

“Where are your work skirts?”

“Oh.” I think for a moment. “I usually wear trousers.”

He pokes his head around the corner of my closet. “Every day?”

I nod.

“You wear flats too, don’t you?”

“Not . . . dead flat.” I shrug.

He rolls his eyes and goes back into the closet.

“Well, I just don’t see the point of being uncomfortable at work, you know?”

“No, I don’t, and looking dreary is what should make you uncomfortable, Kate,” he calls.

I roll my eyes.

A hanger with a shirt on it comes flying out and lands on the floor.

“What are you doing?” I frown.

“Cleaning out this shit-pile of a closet.”

“Now? It’s nine p.m.”

“I can’t find anything in here.”

“What are you talking about? It’s completely organized into sections,” I fire back.

“There’s the crap section and then there’s the really crap section,” he mutters dryly; another hanger comes flying out and lands on the floor. “What even is that?”

I listen to him rattle around in there, a pair of shoes comes out and then another few hangers. “What about shirts? Where are the shirts you wear?”

“For God’s sake, are you blind?” I get out of bed, go in, and point to the shirt section. “Right here.”

Daniel frowns as he looks through the choices. “This is it?”

“Aha.”

“I’m taking you shopping as a matter of urgency.”

“I can’t afford Givenchy, Daniel.” I sigh.

“You don’t have to spend a fortune to look good, Kate.” He curls his lip as if I’m clueless, then he holds up a shirt and looks at it and shakes his head. “Where the fuck did you get this?”

“College.”

His eyes widen. “You’ve had this shirt since college?”

I shrug. “I guess.”

“Dear God.” He keeps flicking through and then pulls out a long black dress; it’s fitted and sleeveless and in a casual material. He holds it up against my body. “This I can work with.” He thinks for a moment. “Actually, I have a bag of samples in my car, I think there’s a shirt in there.” He rushes from the room, I hear him run down the stairs and the front door open. Moments later I hear him take the stairs two at a time. I smile; this really is his calling, he just loves it.