“Please!” Katie begs in a whisper.
“Number ten. Be quick!” she hisses.
Katie plants a kiss on her cheek. “You’re the best! Abbi, come.”
“What are we doing in here?” I ask as she closes the door and locks it, enclosing us in a small room with a padded table in the center.
“We are fixing that issue down there.” With a long, pointed finger, she gestures toward my crotch.
My eyes widen as I realize what she wants to do. I open my mouth to say no, but she slaps her hand over my mouth. “Have I led you astray yet, today? Don’t you feel a million times better already?”
“Yes, I do,” I admit. “But I don’t see how doing that will help.”
“What if you hook up with a guy while you’re here? Do you want him to be getting down and dirty and choke on a mouthful of hair?”
I cringe and my face burns bright. “Oh my God.”
“Right? Didn’t you already hook up with someone the first night you were here?”
“No!” I exclaim. “Where did you hear that?” The second the question is out of my mouth, I know the answer. “Tillie.”
“A word to the wise, don’t tell that woman a thing that you don’t want repeated. She’s a gossip piranha. She’ll die without her daily dose of it.”
I sigh. “I didn’t hook up with anyone. I made a huge ass of myself.” Big difference.
“Okay, well, whatever. Everyone’s fucking like rabbits around here. It’s only a matter of time before you are, too. So please let me do this for you. I don’t have to do a full Brazilian. We can start with something less dramatic.”
I can’t believe this is happening. “Why do you want to do this?” I try not to sound suspicious, but I can’t help it. Why is my lesbian roommate so adamant to get my pants off and rip my body hair out?
She levels me with a flat stare. “Relax. I know you know.”
My cheeks burn. “How?”
She slips on a pair of plastic gloves and begins stirring the pot of green wax. “Because I caught you watching on my camera the other night.”
Oh my God. I wonder who’s more mortified. I don’t know what to say. She doesn’t seem bothered, though.
“And don’t worry. I’m not into you. You’re not my type.”
Her words prick me unexpectedly. “Why not?”
“You’re too innocent and sweet. I like my women bossy and confident.”
Hmm. Where have I heard that before?
She laughs when she sees the expression on my face. “Come on. Trust me. The last thing you want to be worrying about is poor grooming when you’re about to get it on.”
I look at the table in front of me, at the wax and strips of paper waiting.
A small voice in my head—the stupid, clueless, dreamy, crushing side that can’t help but fantasize—tells me that I wouldn’t want to worry about poor grooming with Henry.
“What do I need to do?”
“Drop your pants.”
Chapter Nineteen
He’s sitting at the desk with his back to me when I arrive the next morning, already dressed for the day in a navy suit, leaning back in the chair, a pen within his grasp. Multiple voices carry over the speaker phone.
I move quietly for his breakfast dishes, intent on stacking and clearing them for the service staff to pick up when they come at ten to collect dirty linens and such.
“If we have sound research to show that a Wolf will not succeed in Dubai, then give me even one good reason why we should—” Henry’s words drop off. I glance over to find him staring hard at me.
I nod and smile politely, and then quickly move away.
As quickly as my sore crotch will allow me to.
As if being naked from the waist down and splayed across a table under a bright light wasn’t bad enough, when Katie ripped that first strip of hair off me, it took everything in me not to scream. And by that point it was too late to turn back, she so kindly pointed out.
She worked fast, mercifully, and within twenty minutes, I was holding up a mirror between my legs. She’d left a small ginger “landing strip” at the top but otherwise, I’m as bald as Rachel. She even made me spread my cheeks. “You don’t want hair there, either,” she insisted. By that point, I let her do what she wanted, already past the point of mortification.
The aftercare lotion she gave me helped with the redness. She has promised that I’ll have smooth, soft skin within a few days.
I hate to admit it, but she was right. Even if no one ever sees her handiwork, it does make me feel more attractive. And my cotton underwear against my mound feels weird, as if a shield has been removed. If I step a certain way, the material rubs against my clit.
The voices on the other end continue on, a low hum in the background, and I try my best not to disturb Henry’s meeting as I shift around the place, tidying up. I duck into his bedroom and find his bed sheets in a rumpled pile. Again, my mind automatically veers to the thought of him in them.
Don’t let your crush get in the way of your job.
His chastising words yesterday snap me back to reality. Stripping his bed, I gather the sheets, the hamper, and the wet towels, and carry them to the servants’ quarters.
Henry’s gaze follows me the entire time.
By the time I’m done folding and putting away his briefs and socks—even the man’s underwear causes a reaction in me—he’s hanging up the phone.
“Abbi. Come here. Please.”
I take a deep breath, unsure if I’m ready for whatever he’s going to say after yesterday’s verbal public flaying. There’s an edge of contrition in his tone, at least. “Yes?”
He holds out a purple tie. “Will this work?”
His sheepish grin and his rare vulnerability instantly take the edge off my unease. “Yes.”
He waits quietly, tie in hand. He wants me to finish dressing him. I don’t understand why he keeps asking me to do this. He must know how to tie his own tie. Is this a strange power trip thing?
“How did you manage dressing yourself before I got here?” I accept the silky material and our fingers graze. Electricity courses through my limbs.
“Not as enjoyably.” His eyes skate over my hair. “You look different.”
“I wanted to try something new. Thank you for giving the okay.” I try to avoid his gaze but I can’t help steal a quick glimpse. Blue eyes bore into me. “I planned on paying for it.”
“Consider it part of your compensation package.” He pauses. “For being such a competent assistant.”
“Is that what I am?” I loop the tie around his neck, positioning it under his collar just so. Why do my hands always have to shake when I’m this close to him? Always!
“You’ve made some other changes, too.”
My mouth drops open. How does he know about that?
He nods toward my eyebrows.
“Oh, right.” I exhale with relief, earning his curious frown. “My mama always told me that I’d look silly with thin eyebrows.”
“She was obviously wrong.”
He’s acting so different now. But I guess he always does within these walls, and when we’re in private. It’s when we’re out there that the cold Mr. Wolf persona makes itself known.
I like this version—my private version of him—better. I wish we could hide in here all day.
“Have you called home lately?”
“I’ve had a few calls, but I haven’t talked to my mama since the night I arrived.” It’s a strange question to ask, coming from him. “Why?”
“No reason. I figured you were the type of girl to call home every day.”
“Calling home every day means getting a status report on my ex every day. No thanks.” Not even the mention of Jed can diminish the impact this man has on me when I’m standing this close to him, dressing him. And who thought dressing a man could be such a turn on?