The Timid Wife Is A Ruthless Boss

She stared at her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mi

e gown. The silk slid over her skin like water. Because she had designed it

up. But because of the tight cut around the wai

atient voice echoed from the h

the floor. "No! I'm almost done!" she call

t door sw

g a tailored black tuxedo that m

dead in h

dress dipped low, revealing the smooth, pale curve of her spine. Cur

cover her chest with her

turn around. He didn't leave. Ins

Isla could feel the heat of h

brushed against her bare skin. A vio

t in the mirror. His

e quiet closet. "Is Verve's custom service this fast?" Curtiss asked, his voice casual but laced with a

nervous, self-deprecating laugh, keeping her eyes downcast in the mirror. "I... I guess I

dn't let go. He rested both of his lar

. Curtiss's gaze was heavy, filled with a raw,

ashes, looking away, playing

tep away, his face hardening back into a m

room. Curtiss sat on the velvet s

s hair up. She ran her hands

this... it's like a stroke of genius, absolutel

r ribs. She shot a panicked loo

up. His eyes locked onto Isla's reflection. He was calcu

necklace. She looked like royalty. To hide it, she h

age. Curtiss held out

East Side. The air in the backse

aid suddenly, staring out the window.

was laughing. Tonight, she wouldn'

split second, her reflection in the glass showed

s head sharply, but Isla was already lookin

suspicion in his gut was g

of the Metropolitan Museum of Art