She was well on her way to a full-scale panic attack when she heard a voice in the distance.
“Yo, Evangeline. Jax here. Drake wanted me to pick you up at one. You need to get a move on. The boss doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
She jumped and nearly shrieked but clamped a hand over her mouth to prevent sound from escaping. Her heart was racing from the unexpected fright. And then she got pissed. She was really tired of hearing that Drake didn’t like to be kept waiting.
“You tell Drake that he’ll just have to get over it,” Evangeline yelled crossly. “I’ll be ready when I’m ready and not before.”
A deep male chuckle was her only response.
Despite her bravado, she scrambled out of bed, turning in circles as she tried to figure out what to do first. Shower. Right. Then she’d figure out what to wear. She would have to figure out how to tackle the issue of her parents when she got to the club because she didn’t have time for that kind of a phone call right now.
She was in and out in five minutes, hastily combing through her wet hair and towel-drying the strands as much as possible. Then she headed for the closet where all her things had been put.
Casual. Okay, she could do casual. Casual she was well acquainted with. It was the dressy part that she was clueless about. What exactly did Drake consider dressy?
She chose a pair of outrageously expensive but oh-so-very-comfortable jeans that made her sigh when she pulled them on. Then she grabbed one of the lacy push-up bras she’d chosen and turned her attention to what top she should wear.
The last couple of days had been cooler, though summer hadn’t quite given way to fall yet, and she remembered that Drake’s office felt like a meat locker, so she picked a short-sleeved cashmere sweater with a plunging neckline with folds that discreetly covered everything it should.
As for the shoes, she went straight for the sparkly pair of flats that she simply hadn’t been able to resist.
And then remembering his directive, she hurried into the bedroom and gingerly unfastened the earrings from the holder in the box and slid them into her ears. Nervously, she went to the mirror to check her appearance and stood staring back at a woman she didn’t recognize. Her hair was disheveled and her lips were still faintly swollen from Drake’s passionate kisses. Most notably, there was a glow to her cheeks and to her eyes that suggested a well-satisfied woman. She looked almost . . . pretty. Then she chastised herself for already getting caught up in this make-believe world she’d been transported to and reminded herself that she was still the same average Evangeline. More expensive clothing and jewelry didn’t miraculously transform her into something she wasn’t, and it was dangerous to get caught up in the fantasy, even if for the barest of moments. It was thoughts like these that would set her up for a horrendous reality check and a fall right back into the world she really belonged in.
Knowing she had limited time, she only applied the bare minimum makeup and a sheer lip gloss and then finished with a few swipes of mascara to highlight what she admitted was her one redeeming quality. Her eyes.
But then dread took hold, because she still had to figure out what to bring to change into later. The last thing she wanted was to make a fool of herself or worse, embarrass Drake. Short of calling him and asking him exactly what he wanted her to wear, her only other option was . . . Jax.
She groaned but what the heck. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t already made a fool of herself in front of every other one of his men. No reason for Jax to be excluded. He’d probably already heard about her anyway and was cursing the fact he’d drawn the short straw today. Or maybe he’d volunteered, wanting to see the train wreck in person.
Nervously she walked out of the bedroom, peeking toward the living room to see a large man sprawled across Drake’s couch, remote in hand, a drink in the other.
“Um, Mr. Jax?” she asked cautiously.
Then he turned and she took an instinctive step back. Yes, all of Drake’s men were hot badasses who didn’t smile and were hardheaded, but this guy was huge! He had tattoo sleeves covering the length of both arms, and the design continued up around his neck, making her wonder if his entire upper torso was one giant work of art. He wore at least three earrings in each ear and his hair was long and unruly in a total “I don’t give a fuck” kind of way.
But his eyes. Whoa. His hair was black as a raven’s wing, but his eyes were crystalline blue. All she could do was stare mutely as he stared back, obviously waiting to hear what she was going to ask. For that matter, what had she been going to ask?