Alpha by Jasinda Wilder
Page 28
“I can do this. I can do this. ” I breathed deeply once more. I forced strength into my voice. “I can do this. ”
“Now turn, so I can put this necklace on you. ” I turned, and felt her rest the necklace on my breastbone. It was heavy, and cold. “Now the earrings. ” She threaded the pin through my earlobe, fastened it, and then repeated the process on the other side. “Perfect. Now…let’s look at you in the mirror. ”
We went together into the closet—a term that didn’t begin to describe a space that was bigger than my entire Detroit apartment—and she positioned me in front of the three-way mirror. When I caught sight of my reflection, I had to blink hard to hold back pinprick tears. I didn’t look like me. I looked like some elegant, sophisticated creature that resembled me. The way Eliza had done my hair and makeup accentuated my sky-blue eyes and the natural tan of my skin, and the dress…Jesus, the dress. It hugged every curve, made my tits look huge and round and—if I said so myself, pretty damn perfect—and made my rather generous hips into an hourglass figure. My shoulders seemed slim and sharp, my breastbone and throat a sleek curve. The necklace and earrings sparkled and blazed in the incandescent light, their color a perfect match for the dress and offsetting my skin tone as if made for me.
“You are going to take his breath away, Kyrie. ” Eliza held my shoulders, and I felt oddly close and connected to this woman I barely knew.
“Thank you. ”
She nodded with a small smile, and then bustled deeper into the closet, opened a drawer, and pulled out a slim black clutch. Valentino. “You’ll need this. ”
There were drawers full of purses? How had I not discovered this? I needed to explore this closet more; it was a woman’s fantasy, in both design and contents. My mind spun.
I found my old purse in the armoire, retrieved my I. D. , some cash, and my debit card. I doubted I’d need any of that, but it didn’t seem right to go out without it. I unplugged my cell phone, and realized in that moment that I’d never called Layla. She’d be pissed. And jealous. And worried. Shit. I’d have to call her from the car.
I closed the clutch and nodded to Eliza. “I’m ready. ”
“I’ll bring you to the roof, then. ”
“The roof?”
Eliza nodded, leading me from my suite of rooms at a quick pace. “Yes. Harris will be flying you directly to dinner. Mr. Roth will meet you at dinner, and you will go together from there to the Met. ”
“Fly?”
“Yes. In a helicopter. ”
“A helicopter. I’m being flown in a helicopter to dinner. ” I felt dizzy. “While wearing an outfit that costs more than several houses. ”
“Welcome to Mr. Roth’s world, Miss Kyrie. He does nothing in half-measure. ”
“No shit. ”
Eliza frowned at me as she gestured me through a door that led to a small elevator. “You know, Mr. Roth disapproves of cursing under most circumstances. Not from any moral or religious standpoint, but because he considers it…unnecessary, and inelegant. So, a piece of friendly advice…consider attempting to curse less frequently. ”
Upward we went, exiting after a short ride onto a wide blacktop helipad where Harris was waiting, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. He stood in front of a sleek black helicopter, large enough to carry at least four people, possibly more.
“I will try. Thanks for telling me, Eliza. ” I turned and hugged her again. She was stiff through it, as if unused to being hugged. “For everything. ”
“My pleasure, Miss Kyrie. Now go. Have a fun evening. ”
I waved at her, and then crossed the helipad toward Harris. “Hello again, Harris. ”
He inclined his head to me. “Miss St. Claire. ” He extended his hand toward the helicopter. “If you’re ready?”
I nodded and he opened the door, holding out his hand to help me in. I eyed the step up into the craft, and then realized that I could not make it. “Yeah, not gonna be able to get up there in this dress,” I said.
Harris didn’t say anything, merely placed his hands on my waist and lifted me in. He did so easily, as if I weighed nothing. His touch was businesslike, platonic, not lingering. As soon as I was in and settled, he closed the door, and I fished my phone from my purse. I had one phone number in the “favorites” screen of my iPhone: Layla. She was, actually, one of maybe a dozen phone numbers I had, period. I dialed her, and held the phone to my ear as Harris slid into the pilot’s seat and began warming up the engine, flipping switches and consulting a clipboard and doing all sorts of things in preparation for takeoff.
“KYRIE!” Layla’s voice was a piercing shriek, so loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear. Harris turned in the seat and gave me an amused glance. “WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN, HOOKER?”
I put the phone back to my ear and sighed into the speaker. “Layla, calm the hell down. You’re making my ears bleed. ”
“You said you’d call me again, Key. It’s been, like, two days. I was about to call the cops. ”
“Don’t do that, Layla. Please. For real. Don’t. I’m fine, totally fine. ”
“You haven’t been, like, dismembered or tortured yet, have you?”
“Since I’m calling you, I’m gonna go with probably not. ” I heard the whine of the engine getting louder. “Listen, I don’t have a lot of time, so I just wanted to call and say I’m okay. ”
“What’s that noise?”
“That’s the engine of the helicopter. ”
“Helicopter?”
I laughed at the concerned yet incredulous tone of her voice. “Yes, helicopter. I’m in a private helicopter, about to be flown to have dinner with…my benefactor. ” For some reason, I didn’t think I should tell Layla his name, even though she was the only person in the whole world that I trusted completely. “And then we’re going to the opera. ”
“The opera? Private helicopter? What the f**k is going on, Key?”
I sighed. “I don’t even know where to start. ” The engine was roaring now, making conversation difficult. “Are you sitting down?”
“Why?”
“Because you should be. I’m wearing a Christian Dior gown, Layla. Matching shoes. Emerald necklace and earrings that could pay for a f**king mansion. A Valentino clutch. ”
“Holy f**king Jesus toast, Kyrie. ”
“I can do this. I can do this. ” I breathed deeply once more. I forced strength into my voice. “I can do this. ”
“Now turn, so I can put this necklace on you. ” I turned, and felt her rest the necklace on my breastbone. It was heavy, and cold. “Now the earrings. ” She threaded the pin through my earlobe, fastened it, and then repeated the process on the other side. “Perfect. Now…let’s look at you in the mirror. ”
We went together into the closet—a term that didn’t begin to describe a space that was bigger than my entire Detroit apartment—and she positioned me in front of the three-way mirror. When I caught sight of my reflection, I had to blink hard to hold back pinprick tears. I didn’t look like me. I looked like some elegant, sophisticated creature that resembled me. The way Eliza had done my hair and makeup accentuated my sky-blue eyes and the natural tan of my skin, and the dress…Jesus, the dress. It hugged every curve, made my tits look huge and round and—if I said so myself, pretty damn perfect—and made my rather generous hips into an hourglass figure. My shoulders seemed slim and sharp, my breastbone and throat a sleek curve. The necklace and earrings sparkled and blazed in the incandescent light, their color a perfect match for the dress and offsetting my skin tone as if made for me.
“You are going to take his breath away, Kyrie. ” Eliza held my shoulders, and I felt oddly close and connected to this woman I barely knew.
“Thank you. ”
She nodded with a small smile, and then bustled deeper into the closet, opened a drawer, and pulled out a slim black clutch. Valentino. “You’ll need this. ”
There were drawers full of purses? How had I not discovered this? I needed to explore this closet more; it was a woman’s fantasy, in both design and contents. My mind spun.
I found my old purse in the armoire, retrieved my I. D. , some cash, and my debit card. I doubted I’d need any of that, but it didn’t seem right to go out without it. I unplugged my cell phone, and realized in that moment that I’d never called Layla. She’d be pissed. And jealous. And worried. Shit. I’d have to call her from the car.
I closed the clutch and nodded to Eliza. “I’m ready. ”
“I’ll bring you to the roof, then. ”
“The roof?”
Eliza nodded, leading me from my suite of rooms at a quick pace. “Yes. Harris will be flying you directly to dinner. Mr. Roth will meet you at dinner, and you will go together from there to the Met. ”
“Fly?”
“Yes. In a helicopter. ”
“A helicopter. I’m being flown in a helicopter to dinner. ” I felt dizzy. “While wearing an outfit that costs more than several houses. ”
“Welcome to Mr. Roth’s world, Miss Kyrie. He does nothing in half-measure. ”
“No shit. ”
Eliza frowned at me as she gestured me through a door that led to a small elevator. “You know, Mr. Roth disapproves of cursing under most circumstances. Not from any moral or religious standpoint, but because he considers it…unnecessary, and inelegant. So, a piece of friendly advice…consider attempting to curse less frequently. ”
Upward we went, exiting after a short ride onto a wide blacktop helipad where Harris was waiting, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. He stood in front of a sleek black helicopter, large enough to carry at least four people, possibly more.
“I will try. Thanks for telling me, Eliza. ” I turned and hugged her again. She was stiff through it, as if unused to being hugged. “For everything. ”
“My pleasure, Miss Kyrie. Now go. Have a fun evening. ”
I waved at her, and then crossed the helipad toward Harris. “Hello again, Harris. ”
He inclined his head to me. “Miss St. Claire. ” He extended his hand toward the helicopter. “If you’re ready?”
I nodded and he opened the door, holding out his hand to help me in. I eyed the step up into the craft, and then realized that I could not make it. “Yeah, not gonna be able to get up there in this dress,” I said.
Harris didn’t say anything, merely placed his hands on my waist and lifted me in. He did so easily, as if I weighed nothing. His touch was businesslike, platonic, not lingering. As soon as I was in and settled, he closed the door, and I fished my phone from my purse. I had one phone number in the “favorites” screen of my iPhone: Layla. She was, actually, one of maybe a dozen phone numbers I had, period. I dialed her, and held the phone to my ear as Harris slid into the pilot’s seat and began warming up the engine, flipping switches and consulting a clipboard and doing all sorts of things in preparation for takeoff.
“KYRIE!” Layla’s voice was a piercing shriek, so loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear. Harris turned in the seat and gave me an amused glance. “WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN, HOOKER?”
I put the phone back to my ear and sighed into the speaker. “Layla, calm the hell down. You’re making my ears bleed. ”
“You said you’d call me again, Key. It’s been, like, two days. I was about to call the cops. ”
“Don’t do that, Layla. Please. For real. Don’t. I’m fine, totally fine. ”
“You haven’t been, like, dismembered or tortured yet, have you?”
“Since I’m calling you, I’m gonna go with probably not. ” I heard the whine of the engine getting louder. “Listen, I don’t have a lot of time, so I just wanted to call and say I’m okay. ”
“What’s that noise?”
“That’s the engine of the helicopter. ”
“Helicopter?”
I laughed at the concerned yet incredulous tone of her voice. “Yes, helicopter. I’m in a private helicopter, about to be flown to have dinner with…my benefactor. ” For some reason, I didn’t think I should tell Layla his name, even though she was the only person in the whole world that I trusted completely. “And then we’re going to the opera. ”
“The opera? Private helicopter? What the f**k is going on, Key?”
I sighed. “I don’t even know where to start. ” The engine was roaring now, making conversation difficult. “Are you sitting down?”
“Why?”
“Because you should be. I’m wearing a Christian Dior gown, Layla. Matching shoes. Emerald necklace and earrings that could pay for a f**king mansion. A Valentino clutch. ”
“Holy f**king Jesus toast, Kyrie. ”