Chapter four: Ahlia

I stood in front of the mirror in the office bathroom, inspecting myself. My outfit for the day was a two-piece set in shimmering pink satin. The blouse had a deep V-neckline with intricate lace trim delicately framing my bust, and the cinched bodice beautifully emphasised my waist before flaring slightly at the hips.

The matching pink satin midi skirt swayed with every movement. On my feet were delicate pink sandals. My long, curly hair framed my face in lively waves, the dark curls contrasted nicely with the shimmering pink of my outfit. I chose it because it was a dress with the perfect balance of sultry and formal.

Cara was my biggest client yet, and I had to look the part.

A few minutes later, Meredith announced Cara's arrival. Cara Prescott waltzed into my office with the same confidence most New York socialites seem to possess. She was wearing a white button-down blouse with a tailored, vintage silhouette. A blouse I designed.

Excitement welled up in my chest.

"Ahlia," Cara smiled, taking my hand in hers as she stopped in front of me, “I am so happy to meet you."

“So am I," I smiled back, but it suddenly faded at the sight of who walked in after her.

Dominic Prescott entered as if he owned the place, looking as handsome as ever in a grey three-piece suit.

"Ahlia,” he said with a polite nod, so proper and acceptable, as if he didn't have his hands on my hips a few nights ago.

The man I had shared an intimate night with was standing right in front of me, even though I had hoped never to be in the same room with him again, and I felt breathless. I guess my body still hadn't received the memo.

“Dominic's here because he has to sign off on the budget,” Cara chimed in before I could speak.

“He has to sign off on major expenses, especially weddings. His presence wouldn't be a problem.”

Her words reminded me that I had seen an article about her engagement to her childhood sweetheart during my research yesterday, so she was definitely here for a wedding dress. But I couldn't help but wonder why someone like Dominic wouldn't have accountants for situations like these. I also doubted a family as wealthy as the Prescotts would need a family member to approve a budget for their eldest daughter's wedding, especially when she also had a wealthy fiancé.

"So, what do you need?" I smiled at Cara, gesturing for her to take a seat. I chose to dismiss all thoughts of Dominic at this important moment.

"I need a wedding dress," she replied, pulling up a picture on her phone before handing it to me.

I saw it was a picture of a dress from our spring collection.

It was crafted from delicate chiffon, fitted from the bust to the waist before flowing into a wispy, asymmetrical skirt that floated around the wearer. An ivory silk lapel across the bust flared outwards, supported by thin straps.

  "Ah," I smiled, pleased with how the meeting was turning out. "This is probably my favourite from that collection. Sadly, it had the worst sales."

“Well, I love it,” she laughed. “Although I do love most of your pieces.”

“So I discovered,” I smiled gratefully. “It's an honour to have you wear our pieces.”

*****

Cara and I discussed fabric and design for half an hour. She wanted a wedding dress inspired by the one in the picture she showed me. She wanted something timeless and show-stopping, but not overly extravagant. 

By the end of our discussion, I had already considered multiple design ideas. When it was time to talk figures, I jotted down some calculations on my notepad, tore off a piece of paper, and handed it to her. 

Sixty-five thousand for all expenses, including labour. 

I knew it was quite a lot, but in fashion, the elite didn't just pay for what they loved. They paid for the worth of an item. They paid for exclusivity. 

Although, Sixty-five thousand was a lot of money, so she might argue. But she only nodded, as expected. 

“That's a bit steep isn't it?” Dominic suddenly asked, his eyes fixed on me, once again drawing my attention when I had been doing such a good job at ignoring him. 

“Yes, it is,” I replied, forcing myself to hold his gaze.

 “Is that too much for you to handle, Mr Prescott?” I added, “If it's too much, D'Orleans has some discount packages we could offer you, I'm sure.”

“I like her,” Cara giggled, casting Dominic an amused glance, as if there was some inside joke I wasn't privy to. 

“No need,” Dominic said instead, looking amused as well. “Sixty-five thousand, it is.” 

*****

 All three of us had just walked out of my office when Cara suddenly asked to use my bathroom. Which meant I was alone with Dominic Prescott in a deserted corridor.

 I desperately looked around, hoping to spot Meredith or anyone else, but we were completely alone. I could hear and see movement downstairs, showing everyone was focused on their work. 

"Nice little space you have here," Dominic said, breaking the awkward silence.

"'Little?" My eyes narrowed slightly as I turned to face him.

"It's charming and... rustic," he smiled, his gaze roaming over the exposed brick walls and mismatched decor.

"By "rustic", you mean it isn't polished and sleek enough for you?"

I know I was probably being too defensive, but I love our workspace. I sacrificed years of my life with Dylan and any part of my trust fund I could get my hands on to buy this building, renovate it, and design it.

I wanted D'Orleans to feel like a home for both workers and clients. I didn't want white, sterile walls or sharp angles. I put so much effort into this, and I will not allow anyone to critique it.

"You know," he chuckled softly, "one would think you would handle criticism well considering what you do."

"Oh, so it was a critique," I fired back.

"It wasn't at first," he said softly, his gaze roaming over me, making me feel as if I were standing before him naked. "You wanted it to be. I only obliged."

"Only a dishonest man critiques perfection," he added, and for a moment, it looked as if his eyes flicked to my lips.

My heart skipped.

"Why are you here, Dominic?” I asked suddenly, bringing us back to safer ground. “And don't say for budget sign-off. We both know you'd be lying."

"Well, it wouldn't be a lie," he said with a slight tilt of his head, his lips curling in amusement. “I am here for the budget."

“I agreed to our night together being a one-time thing,” he continued. “I will not go back on my word. Not until you ask me to."

“I won't," I stated, confidently.

“We'll see," he replied lazily, with such confidence that I almost screamed in frustration.

It was just a one-time thing. Nothing else could ever happen between me and this insufferable man.