Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
The first time I met him, my stomach quivered with nerves. I was convinced he'd hate me on sight. I'm the exact opposite of dark and intimidating. I'm loud and bubbly and a little bit messy. The world excites me, and I want to see every corner of it like my Uncle Sage, a world-famous photographer. But I'm far better in front of the camera than behind it. So on my twentieth birthday six months ago, I signed on to model for Trinity Larsen, who runs the biggest plus-size modeling agency in the state.
Blaze's new plus-size lingerie line is my first big job. And he is nothing like I expected.
He's the most interesting billionaire I've ever met. People hoping to make a name for themselves in the fashion industry line up at the doors to his family's company, desperate to stand in the presence of greatness. His mom was a legend. Since he and Alaric took over, they've become legends in their own right. But Blaze doesn't have an ego. He's stern and bossy and will tell you exactly what he thinks, sure. But he isn't cruel, and he doesn't give a crap what anyone thinks about him.
He also cares deeply about his employees, even though he's a bit of a grump. What they want, they tend to get. Everyone I've met here is happy. Not Hollywood happy, where they're all smiles in front of an audience and living in fear behind closed doors. But genuinely happy. Blaze goes out of his way to make sure his people enjoy what they do here. He's a caretaker, a protector.
He makes me want things I'm not even sure make sense. I've always been fiercely independent, but I want to curl up on his lap and let him hold me so badly! Between college and modeling, my world is chaos sometimes. I've never wanted anyone to restore order to it as desperately as I want him to do it.
When I touch myself at night, I say things I shouldn't. Imagine things I shouldn't. He's not just Blaze in my mind. He's my caretaker and protector, my wicked knight. He's…my daddy. He keeps me safe by day and teaches me all manner of wicked things by night.
Is that normal? Probably not.
But I've tried a thousand times since meeting him to talk myself out of wanting him like I do. It's useless. So I'm not trying anymore. Before my time here is up next week, I'm going to let this man know exactly how I feel about him. If he doesn't feel the same, it will crush me. But at least I'll know, right?
Right.
Which is exactly why I'm in the situation I'm in now. He all but dared me to play his elf today and I couldn't say no. I'm pretty sure he could ask me to walk naked across hot coals and I'd do it. Honestly, I think the coals would be better than this elf costume. There's no way it was made for a curvy girl like me. My boobs are too big for the top and if I bend over, the entire party is going to see my ass. The skirt is tiny.
Long story short, I do not look like an innocent Christmas elf.
I look like the naughty version they sell to couples in search of a little roleplay.
This wouldn't be a problem if Blaze were the only one to see me in it. I'll be his naughty little elf any day. But hundreds of people will be at this party tonight…and it's far too late to back out now. Fashion designers work miracles, this is true. But not even God himself could sew fast enough to make me a new costume. The party started fifteen minutes ago.
"This is a disaster," I say, shaking my head.
"This is fine," Sariah says, her normally soft voice a high-pitched squeak as she looks me over, her blue eyes narrowed in assessment. "We can make this work."
I gape at my friend in the mirror, certain she's joking. She's not.
"Jill, go raid the stockroom," she says, turning to look at Jill over her shoulder. "We need a pair of boy shorts under this skirt, or her vagina is going to feel the breeze every time the air kicks on."
Jill jumps to obey, scurrying across the marble floor in a sprint. The dressing room door cracks open, allowing cool air from the design room to swirl in.
Sariah was right. My vagina does feel the breeze.
I tip my head back, taking a deep breath. The recessed lighting glints off the marble ceiling, momentarily blinding me. The dressing rooms in this place are incredible. Everything is classy and elegant, like it's a high-end boutique instead of a sewing room. Racks of clothes are neatly arranged in closets. Flowers bloom in vases all over the lavishly appointed room. The sofa puts the bed in my dorm to shame.