“I do have real feelings for her.”
“What I mean is, wait until you both decide it’s serious, and you can announce your relationship on the show. It will have people swooning,” Blythe appeals. She’s already had this speech ready for my reaction. She knew I wouldn’t want to drag Violet into the spotlight, and she had her arsenal at the ready.
“This is ridiculous,” I bite out while holding up the heavy contract that now feels like an anchor around my ankle before I’ve even signed it.
“Talk to her. I’m sure she’ll understand it’s your career.” As much as I want to deny it, I know Violet would understand because it’s just the type of person she is. The sweet nature of the girl who’s captured my attention will agree that I should sign. I know she will, but what would that mean for us?
“This is ridiculous,” I repeat. “Tell them I need twenty-four hours to think about it.” I stand, holding the contract in one hand and placing a palm on the smooth top of her desk. “And if I don’t agree to their terms, I will walk out. They can find another bachelor.”
“You mean if Violet doesn’t agree.” Her challenge flickers in her gaze. She’s testing my resolve to be with Violet. I didn’t think I’d come to America and find a girl I liked. Certainly not one I would walk away from a high-paying job for, but after years of working and saving, I don’t need this job. I think it’s more of the fact that they need me.
“Twenty-four hours.” I turn and walk out of Blythe’s office with the contract in hand. I need time to cool down. I can’t talk to Violet until I see her tonight, but deep in my gut, I know that one of the terms in this fucking contract will mean they would want to match me up with someone.
Someone who isn’t Violet.
18
Violet
The day seemed to speed by. Walking down the leafy street that leads to my apartment, I can’t stop trying to figure out just what Colton has planned tonight. Excitement has been bubbling in my chest since we spoke.
The lunch he sent me was delicious. Small, thoughtful things he’s done over the past couple of days have had me rethinking everything. It will still be a long while before I can say I’m comfortable with a relationship, but so far, he’s proving to be a nice guy.
My heels clip on the sidewalk and the song playing in my ears makes me smile. I love living in New York. The city is vibrant, but I have a feeling the color that seems to pop from every leaf, and each person’s face is because of a particular man.
And when I reach home at six-thirty, I unlock the door and step into the chilly living room. Inside, I make my way into the bedroom without stopping in the kitchen. I would kill for a hot cup of tea, but I don’t have time.
I rush through the apartment, trying to get ready before Colton is meant to pick me up. He said seven, and as the clock inches toward the hour, the more my stomach twists in excited knots. A flurry of hummingbirds takes flight, and I feel like it’s my first date with him.
As I pull out a dress from my closet, I see the outfit I bought not long ago. It’s similar to the one my sister had when she turned eighteen, and our folks allowed her to wear it to prom.
I’d never been more envious of her. When I was sixteen, I would never have fitted into something like that, but over the years, I’ve become used to my curves. I’ve come to realize that I am beautiful, even though, at times, my mind plays tricks on me to tell me I’m not.
Most girls look up to those glossy magazines, seeing the pretty, slender figures and wishing that were them. I was no exception. Only, I had one real-live model in my house.
I grab the outfit in question. A sleek bodysuit of the softest cashmere in a deep blue. The color will look incredible against my skin tone. And even though I’m not a size six, like Victoria is, I know my curves will fill this out.
Decision made.
I head into the bathroom and rinse my face, reapply a light color to my cheeks and then my eyelids along with a dark liner. Last, I swipe some gloss onto my lips.
My hair is still sleek from straightening it this morning. Thankfully. Back in the bedroom, I slip into the bodysuit, which, like I figured, hugs me like a second skin. The slight hourglass of my figure fills it out, and the material feels soft against my skin.
I slip on the silver, glittery sandals before I take in my reflection. I look like I could be on the arm of a famous model. At least, that’s what I tell myself repeatedly in the hopes I believe it.