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me towards his clothes. “Now dress me like you would dress your dream guy. That’s your job,” he added, before he leaned forward to whisper, “Carly,” near my ear.
    I spun back to read him more of the riot act, but he had already exited the closet. With a growl, I grabbed the nearest pair of jeans I could find, along with a blue cotton shirt that matched the color of his eyes. It was soft, softer than skin, so I knew it would mold to every muscular contour. He would look amazing in it, but the fucker had the annoying habit of looking amazing in anything he wore. God had made him extra pretty to make up for all his other shortcomings, which made it easier for him to get away with being a jerk.
    He was in the bathroom, putting the finishing touches on his hair, when I finally went to find him. He was still naked, but by then it was old news. Thankfully I was reminded why he was a ginormous dickhead, so I was no longer distracted by his ginormous dick. I tossed the clothes onto the counter. “I didn’t know where you kept your underwear,” I stated simply.
    He grinned at his reflection. “I don’t wear any.”
    “Of course you don’t,” I mumbled.
    Again he chuckled. I spun on my heel and returned to the real task I was hired to do. I carried two boxes out to the limo by the time he was finished. The transformation was simple but striking, and if I found him at all attractive, it would have done a number on me. His fans were going to love it.
    His dirty blond hair was two-toned with platinum streaks, also courtesy of natural sunshine. His toned biceps were cut and defined even in a resting state, which the shirt complimented by stretching thin across his impressive torso. He followed me as I carried my last box.
    “Need any help?” he asked when we were practically at the car.
    I glared at him. If I had been Julie, he would have never let her lift a finger. But because I was voluptuous, zaftig, Rubenesque—fat—he let me do all my own heavy lifting. The driver of the limo, however, was quick to assist me, putting the last heavy box into the trunk while Eli scooted inside. He was pouring himself a glass of champagne when I joined him.
    “Care for a glass?” he asked, surprising me.
    “No thanks,” I muttered. “I’m working.”
    He toasted me with the plastic flute. “As am I.”
    I rolled my eyes and stared out of the window, waiting for this charade to mercifully end. Eli, however, had other plans. He tapped the privacy pane after the driver got back into the car. “Can you stop us by a drug store first?”
    I smirked at him. “Forget your condoms?”
    He chuckled. “Maybe.”
    It was only after our impromptu stop that I realized what he was really up to. He handed me the bag, which was filled with makeup. “What’s this?”
    “I got all pretty for this shindig. I figured you might want to do the same.”
    I thrust the bag back at him. “No, thanks.”
    Undaunted, he handed it back. He glanced over my dressed-down appearance, from my sensible ponytail to my natural face and comfortable work clothes. I was all practical, all the time. This, apparently, was not good enough for the Great Eli Blake. “You’re not an ugly woman. You just need to try a little harder, that’s all.”
    My teeth ground together. “God, you’re such a dick.”
    He withdrew one of the packages. “Come on. A little lipstick at least.” I refused to take it, so he added, “This is part of your job in marketing, Carly. You look good, I look good.”
    If nothing but to provide positive reinforcement for his getting my name right, I grabbed the lipstick from his hand. It was a much bolder color than I would ever wear, given I had pretty full lips myself. But the deep merlot color matched my top, which surprised me that he had even taken notice. I took a compact from my purse and applied the lipstick, the only compromise I was willing to make. This seemed to please Eli, who remained (blissfully) quiet for the rest of our