current wardrobe isn’t going to cut it.
“Picture our situation as a movie,” I say. “You really think a half-assed makeover is going to cut it? We need the full deal.”
She chews her lip, and I know she knows I’m right. “Okay. A few things, but I’ll only wear them when we’re around your people. At home I get to wear whatever I want.”
Home . Which we’d be sharing. I tear my eyes away from her mouth.
“That sounds fair,” I say.
“And no pink.”
I hesitate, picturing Olivia and the rest of my upper-crust female friends. “There might have to be a little pink.”
“Ethan …”
“It’ll look pretty on you.”
Wrong thing to say. She looks pissy.
“Do I look like the type that cares about being pretty?”
Actually, yeah. She does. I think she cares a hell of a lot more than she lets on.
“How about we leave it up to the salespeople?” I say, hoping for a truce. “If they suggest pink, you’ll consider it. If they don’t, I won’t push it.”
“No pink,” she mutters again, scooting off her barstool and grabbing her shopping bag and purse. But she waits patiently for me to finish signing the bill, and lets me lead her in the direction of Bloomingdale’s.
“I bet you’re regretting not finding a more biddable ivory statue to participate in your charade,” she says as we weave through the usual midtown crush.
I glance down at her shiny brown hair and newly fresh face.
Oddly, I don’t have any regrets at all.
Chapter Nine
Stephanie
“Stephanie, you in there?”
I sink deeper into the tub, loving the way the bubbles threaten to overflow but don’t.
“No,” I call through the bathroom door. “I went out to run some errands.”
“Can I come in?”
Can he come in? “Seriously, Price?”
“Are you taking a dump or something?”
“No! But normal people don’t ask to come into an occupied bathroom.”
He’s silent for a few seconds. “I want to talk about this weekend.”
I sigh. I’ve been doing a good job so far not thinking about this weekend. I’ve been living in Ethan’s second bedroom for eight days now—eight glorious days in which I haven’t had to worry about hot water, rat traps, or keeping an eye out for roaches—and I’ve conveniently let myself ignore the fact that while I’m not paying with money to stay in paradise, I’ll be paying with something else entirely: my dignity.
“We can talk when I get out of the bath,” I call.
“Yeah, right. You’ll just pretend to go to bed early like you have the past three nights.”
Damn. He’s definitely on to me.
“I’m coming in.”
The doorknob rattles, and I squeal, “No!”
Why did I not lock the door? Oh, right. Because I didn’t think being barged in on was even an option.
But he’s already poked his head through the door, his hand covering his eyes. “Are you decent?”
“Ethan, I said I was in the bath.”
“But with bubbles, right? If you’re like most girls, you used half the bottle and the suds will cover up the interesting bits.”
It’s true. I did use half the bottle. And the only visible part of my body is my head.
“Fine,” I mutter. Not like there’s any stopping him anyway. He seems to think that our little partnership has made us BFFs. Platonic BFFs—he’s made that part very clear.
“This is all very Pretty Woman ,” he says, sitting on the edge of the tub like it’s totallynormal to have a conversation with a naked girl who isn’t his girlfriend. Or at least not his real girlfriend.
“Beginning to regret showing you that movie,” I grumble.
“You’re not wearing any makeup,” he says, his eyes scanning my face.
“Weird, right? Because I usually get all dolled up before climbing into the tub.”
He sighs. “Think you could tone down the sarcasm before you meet my parents?”
I give him a look. “Do you tone down your sarcasm around your parents?”
“Good point. But we do need to talk a little bit about our game plan for dinner this
“Picture our situation as a movie,” I say. “You really think a half-assed makeover is going to cut it? We need the full deal.”
She chews her lip, and I know she knows I’m right. “Okay. A few things, but I’ll only wear them when we’re around your people. At home I get to wear whatever I want.”
Home . Which we’d be sharing. I tear my eyes away from her mouth.
“That sounds fair,” I say.
“And no pink.”
I hesitate, picturing Olivia and the rest of my upper-crust female friends. “There might have to be a little pink.”
“Ethan …”
“It’ll look pretty on you.”
Wrong thing to say. She looks pissy.
“Do I look like the type that cares about being pretty?”
Actually, yeah. She does. I think she cares a hell of a lot more than she lets on.
“How about we leave it up to the salespeople?” I say, hoping for a truce. “If they suggest pink, you’ll consider it. If they don’t, I won’t push it.”
“No pink,” she mutters again, scooting off her barstool and grabbing her shopping bag and purse. But she waits patiently for me to finish signing the bill, and lets me lead her in the direction of Bloomingdale’s.
“I bet you’re regretting not finding a more biddable ivory statue to participate in your charade,” she says as we weave through the usual midtown crush.
I glance down at her shiny brown hair and newly fresh face.
Oddly, I don’t have any regrets at all.
Chapter Nine
Stephanie
“Stephanie, you in there?”
I sink deeper into the tub, loving the way the bubbles threaten to overflow but don’t.
“No,” I call through the bathroom door. “I went out to run some errands.”
“Can I come in?”
Can he come in? “Seriously, Price?”
“Are you taking a dump or something?”
“No! But normal people don’t ask to come into an occupied bathroom.”
He’s silent for a few seconds. “I want to talk about this weekend.”
I sigh. I’ve been doing a good job so far not thinking about this weekend. I’ve been living in Ethan’s second bedroom for eight days now—eight glorious days in which I haven’t had to worry about hot water, rat traps, or keeping an eye out for roaches—and I’ve conveniently let myself ignore the fact that while I’m not paying with money to stay in paradise, I’ll be paying with something else entirely: my dignity.
“We can talk when I get out of the bath,” I call.
“Yeah, right. You’ll just pretend to go to bed early like you have the past three nights.”
Damn. He’s definitely on to me.
“I’m coming in.”
The doorknob rattles, and I squeal, “No!”
Why did I not lock the door? Oh, right. Because I didn’t think being barged in on was even an option.
But he’s already poked his head through the door, his hand covering his eyes. “Are you decent?”
“Ethan, I said I was in the bath.”
“But with bubbles, right? If you’re like most girls, you used half the bottle and the suds will cover up the interesting bits.”
It’s true. I did use half the bottle. And the only visible part of my body is my head.
“Fine,” I mutter. Not like there’s any stopping him anyway. He seems to think that our little partnership has made us BFFs. Platonic BFFs—he’s made that part very clear.
“This is all very Pretty Woman ,” he says, sitting on the edge of the tub like it’s totallynormal to have a conversation with a naked girl who isn’t his girlfriend. Or at least not his real girlfriend.
“Beginning to regret showing you that movie,” I grumble.
“You’re not wearing any makeup,” he says, his eyes scanning my face.
“Weird, right? Because I usually get all dolled up before climbing into the tub.”
He sighs. “Think you could tone down the sarcasm before you meet my parents?”
I give him a look. “Do you tone down your sarcasm around your parents?”
“Good point. But we do need to talk a little bit about our game plan for dinner this
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