Gigi and I swept into the elevator together. I was about to press the "L" button for Lobby, but she pushed my hand away and pressed the "G" button instead.

"We need to go to the garage," she said, settling against the mirrored wall as the doors closed.

I squinted at this woman as she crossed her arms and peered down at her shoes; simple, comfortable flats. Her pants were black and also simple, but not too over-worn. While she appeared relaxed, there was a tension in her voice that was off-putting.

"Look, Gigi," I said, wondering if maybe this maid had better things to do. It almost felt like she was babysitting me, but why would Silver do that? Why wouldn't she trust me?

Could it be because I snuck out after our one-night-stand? Does she think I'm going to run?

"I don't need help packing," I continued, wrestling with my stance, unsure how to approach this without sounding insulting or condescending. "It's not like I have a lot of stuff.

"I believe you," said Gigi, looking at me, her green eyes aglow with...something, but I couldn't tell what. Some emotion I couldn't decipher. Pride at working for Silver? Fear? A bit of both? "But Ms. Bell asked me to escort you, and I do as I'm asked."

There was no resentment in her voice, but her words reinforced my belief that Silver ran a tight ship. I grew jittery as we passed by the lobby and continued our descent.

Gigi let out a low chuckle. "No stress, okay? You don't say no to Silver, ever. So if she asks you to do something, you do it. She said we needed you settled as quickly as possible, so you can get started. And it's my job to assist with that."

I was thankful for the mild warning—Silver was strict and obeying her was essential. I'd figured that out before even coming here, but it was kind of Gigi to give me a head's up.

"Why are we going to the garage?" The elevator came to an abrupt stop, and the doors slid open. An eerily quiet, kind of gloomy parking garage appeared before us. Gigi immediately walked out, taking a left towards a row of dark SUVs.

"Pete doesn't park on the street if he can help it," Gigi said, leading the way to the end of the row, where a Hummer-like vehicle was awaiting us, lights turned on and engine running.

As we approached the small truck, the driver's window rolled down, and a man peeped out, grinning at Gigi. "Ah, our new girl?" He jutted his chin at me. "Eden, is it? I'm Pete. Nice to meet you. Hop in, we need to get a move on before traffic gets bad."

Gigi and I climbed into the backseat of cozy leather cushions and comfortable headrests.

"Do you even know where I live?" I didn't mean to sound rude, yet my words came out too harshly.

Pete pulled up a map on his phone, docked in the middle console. "Of course." He pointed at the screen, showing my address, and a blinking dot on top of my building. "Gigi texted me."

Ah, that explained why she was on her phone before we got into the elevator.

"And Ms. Bell also sent me your address. Get used to this." He gestured at the sleek interior, the illuminated dashboard, and the seats upon which we sat. "I'll be driving you and her around a lot, though not always in this vehicle."

I tried to settle in as the car took off, climbing up a steep and swerving road leading out onto the street, past a thick, metallic gate.

This was outside of my normal. I'd been prepared to take the subway back to my place and load up a few suitcases' worth of outfits and makeup and bathing supplies, wondering how I'd manage so much luggage on my own.

But Silver had prepared for everything. She'd briefed her staff and took care of me, her new hire, without question.

Once we got to my studio, Gigi accompanied me upstairs, not once cringing at the dire state of my building or the tininess of my dwelling. I was grateful for her lack of complaints.

There wasn't much to pack. I owned a decent amount of clothes, but only half were appropriate for working for Silver. I threw in a few pairs of expensive-looking, knock-off brand heels, stuffed a few tote bags with hair supplies, face moisturizers, and accessories, then stood at my door, searching around for anything else.

All I'd packed was an oversized suitcase of clothes, a smaller one of shoes, a backpack with journals and pens, and a small duffle bag with my toiletries.

I winced, and Gigi caught it, but said nothing until we got to the bottom of my building and waited for Pete to flip the car around.

"She doesn't judge," she said, not looking at me.

"Huh?" I spotted Pete going down an alley, then backing up to turn and come get us.

"Ms. Bell. She doesn't judge any of us. Not our backgrounds, not our funds, not what we do when we're not on the clock. I may have made her sound like a tyrant earlier." Gigi rubbed the back of her neck.

I scrunched my nose. "Not a tyrant, per se, but definitely...strict."

"She's not. She's a very fair, amiable employer, and she's not going to care where you live or what you're bringing with you. In fact," Gigi scoffed, but smiled, "she'll probably buy you a whole new wardrobe to suit her needs. If she hired you, it's because she thinks you're qualified, and that's all she'll judge you on—your performance."

Performance? Heat seeped under my skin. Silver had more than my work performance to judge me on. The other night was...a first, for me. Would she hold that against me now?

I wanted to tell Gigi off for assuming I was feeling unworthy; but then I'd be lying to her, to myself.

Of course I was worried about not being up to Silver's standards. Not being rich enough or well-dressed or having a background in fashion. My resume was exemplary, but would she mind a broke woman handling her affairs?

On top of all that, Silver and I had slept together. She had additional reasons to doubt me, to judge.

We returned to Silver's condo in silence. Pete helped us heave the luggage up to Silver's fifth floor pad, then left us to go about his regular schedule.

Gigi guided me to my room, adjacent to Silver's office. She was inside, the door closed, and sounded like she was having an animated conversation. I grimaced at the noise, but Gigi remained unfazed, leading me into where I'd be sleeping for the next few months or so.

It wasn't a room; it was a suite. The space was almost as large as my entire studio, with a king-sized bed, an immaculate dresser with a flat-screen TV on top, and an oak desk in the right corner with a fully functional desktop computer, waiting for me to input credentials.

"The walk-in closet is through here," said Gigi, pointing at an open door past the computer. "And beyond it is your bathroom."

I peeked in to find a sizable walk-in closet—especially for a guest room—that ended in an ornate black marble bathroom with a fancy sink, toilet, and roomy shower.

I declined Gigi's help on getting unpacked, and she closed the door behind her, leaving me to drink in all the luxury.

A room of my own, across from Silver's office, in Silver's house—well, this certainly wasn't what I'd expected. It was a lot to take in, but at the same time...I was mesmerized. All this space, for me? The bed looked like I'd have the sweetest of dreams in it, and the bay-window overlooking a courtyard gave me butterflies.

When Silver said I'd be staying here, I'd thought of some narrow room with no windows and a tiny mattress and a half-assed closet. I hoped that wasn't Gigi's living situation. This, though? It was over-the-top.

But the longer I paced around the room, taking in every piece of decor, every sculpture and fake plant and painting, the more I smiled.

In the walk-in closet, I flipped the light switch. A faint red glow spilled over me, and I strained my eyes at the crimson-tinted spotlights lining one end of the ceiling to the other.

I felt like I was on a catwalk, photographers perched around me, about to snap shots to share on social media.

When I came back to reality, there were no photographers—but there were outfits hanging from the iron railings to my left and my right.

These were definitely not mine. I hadn't hung anything up yet and hadn't let Gigi touch the suitcases after she deposited them in the room.

I fingered the fabrics, silks, leathers, soft cottons. There were a few exquisite evening dresses, a frilly sundress, a patterned long-sleeved shirt, a textured pair of black leggings. Other items I didn't dare touch.

I checked the tags—some were my size, others were bigger, and the sundress was an extra small.

I was about to take one of the dresses off the hanger—an emerald number that screamed sexy red-carpet wear and that drew my attention most—when I heard a knock on the bedroom door, followed by the door opening.

In my surprise, I gasped, knocking the hanger with the gorgeous dress to the floor.

Silver appeared in the closet's doorway, her gaze fixed on me, then the gown. She had one hand on her hip, the other tucking her short curls behind her ear.

I gritted my teeth, panicking as I bent over to pick the garment up. "Fuck. Sorry. Fuck."

"You say sorry a lot." Silver slithered inside and gently took the hanger from me, fixing my shoddy attempt at re-affixing the dress to it. "It's fine. A prototype." A scent of roses and spice filtered into my nose.

I'd never heard anyone refer to a dress as a prototype before, so I raised my eyebrows, fascinated by her quick work to secure the garment onto the hanger. "A prototype?"

She set the hanger back on the rod, pressing her hands against the dress' silky fabric with a distant smile. "These are all pieces I'm working on for a new collection debuting at my stores soon."

"Oh, gosh." My cheeks overheated. "Then I'm even more sorry. I got curious, seeing them hanging here, and wondered if I'd been assigned the wrong room or something—"

She raised a hand, silencing me in a manner so stern, I didn't dare continue my train of thought. "This is yours, there's no mistake. I don't make mistakes, Eden." Her eyes were sharp like metal, narrowed on me before she moved away and softened. "And they're here to be seen, to be touched, so don't worry. I wouldn't have left them in this closet otherwise. I want my creations out in the open, at some point."

"Your creations." I gulped. "You...you made these yourself?"

She laughed as she ran her fingertips over the other dresses, swaying them to her touch. "I sure did. What, did you think I sat in some dank office bossing seamstresses around? I make all my own prototypes before submitting them for mass production." She wove the sleeves of the shirt around her fingers, staring straight at me. "I studied this; fashion designing, seamstress work, all that. I busted my ass to get this far, and I'll be damned if I let anyone else sew up my visions before I do."

I dipped my chin, frowning. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything..."

She shook her head. "Everyone sees me as the wealthy woman who couldn't have built this brand from the ground up. Not all by herself. How? This male-dominated industry can't fathom that."

I watched her scowl at one of her outfits, her arm muscles bulging, her lips pinched, as if to hold back any more of her thoughts.

"Anyway, I defied all those assholes. I established myself in L.A., I was a household staple there. But now I'm here, ten years later, to start anew. L.A. was..." She flinched. "Toxic. I'm hoping to not encounter the same barriers here."

"I've never been to L.A.," I said, unzipping one of my suitcases. I stopped halfway, blushing at the notion of this fashion genius seeing any of my half-priced, recycled clothes.

Silver cocked an eyebrow, watching me as I fidgeted in place. I was intimidated by her presence, confined in this cramped closet loaded with her elaborate designs.

She was so close, so close, and her aroma intoxicated me, blurring my sense of reality and rules.

I wouldn't make a move, not after basically signing my life away to her. But damn, the way she stood there in her sexy suit with her sexy hair and her hip poked out, I wanted to have her in my bed naked. Again.

"It's not what it seems. I had to get out of there." She rubbed her knuckles to her shirt. "I'm more of an east coast gal at heart, anyway."

As an east coast gal myself, I agreed with a nod. "I've been in New York most of my life."

"Which is why I hired you." Silver motioned at the dresses, the pants, then the shoes that I hadn't noticed on the floor. "Are any of these your size?"

I blinked at her. "Uh...some of them are." I froze. "Wait. Why?"

Gigi believed Silver would buy me a fresh wardrobe for this job. But had she instead made me one? She didn't know my proportions, and didn't know I'd end up being the woman she had a one-night-stand with, but had she been prepared for her new personal assistant and crafted a bunch of pieces in different sizes just in case?

This was a nice gesture, wasn't it? My boss tailoring outfits for me, buying me things to wear, assuming I might not have what's relevant for her branding?

Yet it made me uncomfortable. That she would plan ahead like this, that she'd seek to dress me up like a doll—I didn't know how to feel about that.

"You're freaking out," said Silver, gaze zoned in on my hands as I bent and unbent my fingers, jiggled my arms. "And you should stop. This is nothing unusual in my industry."

I blew out a breath. "I'm sorry, I'm not used to..." I waved around me, "all this. It's...a lot. And now these clothes that you're giving to me—"

Silver let out a sober chortle. "Oh, no, I'm not giving these to you. Borrow, maybe. I was asking if they were your size because I might need you to model some of them out for me before I present them to my team."

I could tell I was already red in the face, but I had no doubt I was now purple. My face was on actual fire. "I'm...sorry, really, I thought—"

"Another rule for you, Eden."

Silver approached me, getting into my space without touching me, but seeming ready to grab my chin, to lift it up, to keep me from slouching. I almost wanted her to, because I didn't have the strength to stand so tall in front of her. The confidence that wafted off her collided into me, making my legs weak.

"You need to stop apologizing. This isn't even technically your first day, and you've said sorry about fifteen times. You're not familiar with this field? Fine. But I am. I make dresses from scratch, and I never give those away, not to anyone. You didn't know this before, and now you do. Don't say sorry for that."

I recalled her mess of an office, samples and tools and supplies strewn all over the place. In a moment of weakness, I envisioned her in there at night, sewing pieces of fabric together. For some reason, I pictured her doing this in her underwear, seated on a stool with her delightful ass half-hanging off, her beautiful body exposed as she stitched and crafted. She wore short pigtails and had a thin needle in her mouth as she concentrated over a pattern that gave her difficulties.

I must have turned the darkest shade of violet by that point. Picturing her near-naked would not get me through this contract's duration intact.

"So, some are your size, you said?" Her sharp voice knocked me out of my dreams, reminding me of my purpose.

"Yes," I said, clenching my fists behind my back. "And if you need me to model them, I'm—" I cut myself off before I repeated all yours, since she'd asked me not to, "—able to help."

She flashed me a knowing smile, as if aware I'd been about to say the words that she'd told me to avoid. "Swell. Get settled and meet me in my office when you're ready."

She departed, leaving me hanging by a thread, wondering how the fuck I'd be able to resist her for a full month. It would be increasingly hard not to fall flat on my face for this woman.