Avery wants to nail the man responsible for her sister's disappearance, CEO Carter Thebes, but the last thing she expects is to feel sorry for him, or worse, develop feelings. Can she unearth his secret before her emotions undo her efforts?
***
Aver...
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A small balloon of terror expands in my chest as I squeeze my rump into a pencil skirt I have no business getting into, not with my ass. The eye-watering price alone has my heart in its grip. I can't afford it, let alone rip it, and still pay for the 'damages'.
I wiggle my butt, shimmy if you will, to move it further without stressing the expensive fabric. My fingers gingerly hold it while I concentrate on the task like my life depends on it. In a way it does. I listen carefully for the telltale sign of a seam ripping over my bum. A chasm of dread.
After an excruciating minute of self-assessment on the floor-to-ceiling mirror, I concede. This skirt is far too small for my physique. It was made for a woman not yet grown into her curves. Someone like my sister, Karanina—small, lithe, proportioned. Not like me with my medium boobs, round booty, and solid calves that could rival a marathon runner's, not that I'm much of a runner. (Or was, I should say. There was no way to avoid running during our training.)
"You sure you didn't get me the wrong size?!" I throw the curtain open, not a bit phased that I'm only in my boring black T-shirt bra and the halfway-up skirt. I turn to show Neil the skirt yawning at the back. I'm pretty sure my peach-coloured briefs are on display but there's no one in the shop other than us—the height of midday lull in shopping malls. Besides, Neil's practically seen it all, perks of growing up with the guy. And no, he's not my brother, nor is he my boyfriend, though there was that brief moment when I was twelve and he went out with Nina that I got unreasonably jealous. I mean, I met the guy first the day he moved into the neighbourhood! He was mine—not in a 'I want to kiss him,' way, but still. Now, all I see when I look at him is a guy who could have been my brother-in-law if things had gone well between them.
"I mean, I want to make an impression. Not perform striptease right there at the interview, in front of the panel." I glare at him.
"That would make an impression though." He wiggles his lush black eyebrows at me, a devilishly handsome smile splitting his face. His white teeth sparkle against his flawless dusky skin—a perpetual tan I'd kill for. Mine is a full-body tan, straight out of a booth in a tanning salon. $80 to look like I've basked in the sun too long and forgot to apply sunscreen. (When I can be bothered of course.) Right now, I'm the colour of a croissant—before it's baked.
"I need this job." I stare him down.
"Don't worry. It's already set. You'll be one of the top candidates. What happens after that is upto you though, hence the insurance." Neil eyes the skirt pointedly and rises from the settee.
He twirls his finger in the air, asking me to spin for him. I do. I'm thankful he's come out shopping with me instead of sitting at home playing Call of Duty in his dungeon dark room. I have a horrid sense of high fashion. Or at least he keeps telling me this. I mean, what's wrong with a comfy pair of jeans and a tank? Nothing. But noooo, 'You wanna impress a millionaire into hiring you as his PA, then you can't turn up like a MILF at a school pick up.' I mean, most young, virile men, who are notorious for being a 'ladies' man' would love a MILF under them, no?
