No Strings Attached

Chapter Twenty-Two

I stare at the woman in the mirror, watching the stylist style her sleek waves to perfection. Her hair has been trimmed short, now ending halfway down her neck, her golden hair gleaming off the bright white lights surrounding the mirror.

Wearing skinny black jeans, a tight blouse of the same color, and Gucci loafers, her face is done up with makeup to extenuate the bright green irises and rosy lips.

This can't be me.

There's no way.

"Alright, I'm done," Wendy says sweetly, pulling back. "Stand up. Let's get a look at you."

I stand, not used to my hair being this short, but I love this look.

I feel vintage. I feel pretty.

I smile brightly. "I love it."

"You look so perfect. I wish we would have done a before and after photo. I mean, you look so refreshed, so fashionable."

I chuckle slightly as she rests her hands on my waist.

"You were wearing clothes that hid all these curves. You can flaunt them now."

I blush, not used to compliments.

"Um..."

Gretchen appears through the doors then, holding my credit card. She hands it over to me with a smile.

"You're all set. We will ship the boxes to New York today. They should be there by Monday."

"Thank you."

"Of course." She hands me her card. "Just call me if you ever need a gown, clothing, anything. We'll assist you."

I nod, tucking my debit card and her card into my wallet. "Thanks. Is Giovanni out there?"

"Yes, he got caught up with some fans. They won't let him go." Both the women laugh loudly. "He's so damn hot that you can't help but throw yourself at him. I swear I don't know how you work with him every day. I wouldn't be able to control myself."

I smile uncomfortably. "I think I'll go save him then. Thank you for all your help."

I can't get out of there fast enough. Feeling the aftermath of the brutal fuck in the dressing room and the watchful eyes of the women who know I'm going back to him, I have a hard time trying to understand what's happening to me.

It's only been a few weeks, and I've changed. I'm changing.

I look different.

I act different.

I blocked Dixon's number today. In the course of 48 hours, I've had sex in two public places and a limousine... and, in honorable mention, Giovanni's own bed. Instead of thinking of work and clients, I'm thinking of a man—a stunningly erotic man who can't seem to keep his hands off of me. Sex is what brought us together. It's still the easiest thing we can seem to do, but this weekend has definitely changed things.

I feel an openness I didn't before.

I don't know if I'm excited by that notion or horrified. Both scare the shit out of me.

I exit the doors, immediately spotting Giovanni's broad back as he takes pictures with a group of young girls who are all completely and utterly losing it. Even in the baseball cap, he couldn't hide.

I stop and wait, both of my hands holding the Gucci bag in front of me.

I'm trying not to think of how much money I just spent on all this clothing. The only thing I can tell myself is that it's been nearly a year since I shopped for myself. That excuse will have to do.