Page 40 of His Good Girl

“Exactly. Though, for the record, I think Benjamin already has a plaque that says Employee of the Month in a drawer and gives it to himself every month.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Obviously.”

By six, I was back in my apartment with Jules seated cross-legged on my bed like an emotionally aggressive fairy godmother, supervising hair, makeup, and every spiraling thought that tried to escape my mouth. My room was warmer than it had been that morning, lit gold by the lamp and the weak late sun pushing through the clouds outside.

I touched up my makeup with a lighter hand than Jules wanted and a heavier hand than my nerves would have allowed unsupervised. I painted on rose-colored lips and repaired my mascara from the morning’s stabbing incident. Jules stood behind me while I pinned half my hair back and left the rest loose around my shoulders, her expression suddenly unreadable in the mirror.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“Jules.”

“You look beautiful.”

I rolled my eyes because it was either that or feel things. “Don’t be weird.”

“I’m not. I’m being sincere. It’s disgusting for both of us.”

The dress fit better than I expected. Jules had a way of owning clothes that looked like they required confidence as a prerequisite, but somehow this one softened on me. The blue made my hazel eyes look clearer. The wrap waist gave me shape without making me feel like I was on display. The borrowed heels made me taller and slightly more likely to die on stairs, but sacrifices had to be made.

At quarter to seven, I stood in front of my mirror fully dressed and felt an almost comic urge to change into jeans.

“No,” Jules said from the bed.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You made a face.”

“I’m worried this is too much.”

“It is not too much.”

“What if he meant casual?”

“He said dinner, not help me move a couch.”

“What if he takes me somewhere normal and I look like I’m trying too hard?”

“What if he takes you somewhere expensive and you look like you panicked yourself into jeans?”

“I like jeans.”

“I know. That’s why I intervene.”

Five minutes later, my phone buzzed.

Callum Rowe:I’m downstairs.

My stomach dropped so hard it passed Callum and landed in the basement.

“He’s early,” I squeaked.

Jules sprang off the bed. “Of course he’s early. The man builds towers. He fears neither gravity nor traffic.”

“I’m not ready.”