She laughs, cackles actually, which I didn’t know was a real thing until this moment. It’s dawning on me that perhaps my initial assumptions weren’t all that far off after all.
“Oh, I’m just teasing. I’m super-excited to see what you’re going to play on your little fiddle tonight.”
I arch a brow because one: no one calls Oz my little fiddle. And two: she may have my brother and Gavin convinced, but I’m not buying it. Clearly she isn’t even trying to sell it to me anyway now that we’re alone. A sickening truth settles onto my shoulders. Afton was right.
“I ran across a friend of yours in Austin.”
She purses her lips as the elevator comes to a stop on the twelfth floor. “Oh yeah? Who might that be?”
“Afton Tate,” I say, gesturing for her to step out of the elevator before me. I have no clue where our room is anyway.
“And what did Afton have to say?” I can see her fighting the urge to roll her eyes.
“He suggested we continue exploring our options. Any idea why that might be?”
We reach a room and I glance at the number for future reference. Eight twenty-nine. She opens the door and we step inside a luxury suite that I’m guessing is a lot nicer than what Gavin and Dallas have.
“Well, to be honest, Afton was still really young and new to the business when our paths crossed.” She opens her closet while I set my bag down. “He couldn’t see the big picture, couldn’t grasp that not everyone plays fair.”
“I didn’t realize it was a game,” I mumble under my breath.
“Everything is a game, Dixie.” Suddenly she whirls on me, her expression inscrutable. “In every aspect of life, there are players and moves to be made. There are winners and there are losers.”
“That’s an interesting way to look at it, I suppose.” I open my suitcase, underwhelmed at the wrinkled mess I find inside.
“It’s the only way to look at it,” she says haughtily. “Speaking of looking at things, some of the men here are going to make their decisions about Leaving Amarillo based on how much they enjoy looking at you. So let’s make sure you’re worth looking at, shall we?”
“Excuse me?”
“Here,” she says, thrusting two dresses at me, one a black one with silver embellishments that looks as if it would barely fit my left leg and the other a champagne-colored sequined bodice top with a short ruffled, belted skirt that would be fine if it were four inches longer. “Try these on. Either look will work for tonight.”
“I didn’t realize playing dress-up was a part of this.”
She shakes her head and gives me a sardonic smile. “I’ll leave you to get changed. See you downstairs.”
I hear it, the words she places the most emphasis on, causing them to echo around the room once I’m alone.
Get changed.
I stare at my road-weary self in the mirror. The ruffled dress is cute, kind of innocent and pretty. Well suited to the old me. After my night with Gavin, I feel like I have changed. So I shove my body into the black one, holding my breath as I force it on like a second skin.
Turning in the mirror I see someone else standing there. The dress is a few centimeters more fabric than lingerie and glimpsing the tops of my breasts and narrow valley between them, a part of me I don’t show to the general public, ever, I flash hot all over. If I spread my legs too far apart even my inner thighs will be part of the show.
Oh-kay. Mandy Lantram is either high out of her mind or a madam trying to recruit me for a prostitution ring.
I turn and look over my shoulder to see how it looks from the back and gasp out loud.