The Billionaire's Embrace (The Silver Cross Club) by Bec Linder Page A

She turned to me and offered her hand.
    I shook it, relieved that she had given me a cue I knew how to respond to. “I’m Regan,” I said.
    “Regan. What a delight.” She seemed so warm and sincere that I found myself relaxing, and returning her smile. “My name is Betty, and it seems that Carter would like me to find a dress for you.”
    “Charity ball tonight,” Carter said. “You know the one. She doesn’t really have anything to wear.”
    “She will soon,” Betty said, looking me up and down. “Dressing you will be a delight, my dear. You have a lovely figure.”
    I blushed. “Um, thank you?”
    “Oh, and shy. Aren’t you a doll. Yes, I think we’ll get along very nicely. Carter, you go sit over there and keep yourself occupied. Regan and I have some important business to take care of.” With that, Betty nodded firmly, told me, “Right this way,” and led me off into the depths of the store.
    I cast a glance back over my shoulder at Carter. He winked at me.
    Acting on impulse, I blew him a kiss.
    “Let’s go through the racks together,” Betty said. “I think you’re a woman who knows what she likes. With your coloring, a jewel tone, I think. Do you prefer red or blue?”
    I thought about it. “Red.”
    “Ruby, then,” Betty said. “Or maroon.” She stopped at a display of dresses and smiled at me. “We’ll find you the perfect dress.”
    “I believe you,” I said.
    It took three hours, but Betty kept her promise. She made me try on more gowns than I could count, in all colors of the rainbow, and we ended up deciding on a sleek mustard-colored confection, cut low in the back. “Very Michelle Williams, 2006 Oscars,” Betty said. “You’ll be the center of attention, my dear.”
    “That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said, staring at myself in the mirror. I never wore yellow—I’d gotten the idea, at some point, that it wasn’t a good color for me—and it was like seeing someone in public who you recognized but couldn’t place, some phantom out of the distant past.
    Betty pursed her lips. “May I give you some advice?”
    I looked at her, this old woman who had dressed New York’s elite for decades. I wondered what she had seen, what secrets she’d been told. “Please,” I said.
    “Carter is a good boy,” she said. “Very kind. But you, I think, need a delicate touch, and he won’t always remember to provide it.” She cocked her head at me. “Look after yourself. It’s all that a woman can do, really.”
    “I know,” I said. I smoothed the skirt of my dress.
    “Well,” Betty said. “Let’s find you some shoes.”
    She wrapped everything in tissue paper and packed it away in a bag before she sent me back to Carter. “Let it be a surprise,” she said. “He’ll be too stunned to speak when he sees you.”
    “I hope so,” I said.
    She took my hands in hers and said, “Best of luck to you, my dear.”
    “Thank you,” I said. “For everything.” And then, without thinking about it, I bent and kissed her papery cheek.
    I went to find Carter. He was sitting where we’d left him, scowling at his phone. He put it away when he saw me, and smiled. “Success?”
    “Success,” I said. I showed him the bags. “You don’t get to see until later.”
    “Betty’s had her way with  you, I see,” Carter said. “The conspiracies of women! She charged it to my account, right?”
    “Yeah,” I said. “I’ll pay you back—”
    “Absolutely not,” Carter said. He touched my cheek. “Regan. You’re doing me a favor. I know you don’t want me to buy things for you, but let me do it just this once, okay? You know the money is nothing to me.”
    I knew, and that was the problem. But I couldn’t afford the dress—the price tag had been well into four figures—and Carter was looking at me so earnestly, so badly wanting me to accept his generosity, that I couldn’t find it in my heart to refuse. I thought of what Betty had said about how I needed a light touch.