Chapter 6 DRESS CODE

The meeting was in three days.

Three days until everything would matter.

Rowan told me that morning, casually, like he was talking about weather. Breakfast table. Hotel suite. Sunlight cutting through the curtains like it had business there.

“Dinner party first,” he said, scrolling through his tablet. “The stakeholders are hosting. Informal setting. Tomorrow night.”

I nodded. “And the meeting?”

“Boardroom. The following day.”

Of course it was. Smile first. Decide your fate later.

I took a sip of coffee. Bitter. Too bitter. “Okay.”

He glanced at me then. A quick, assessing look. “Did you come with a dinner gown?”

The question caught me off guard.

“A what?”

“A gown,” he repeated calmly, like I was the strange one. “Formal. Elegant.”

I looked down at myself—tailored trousers, crisp blouse, blazer folded neatly beside me. My entire suitcase was a shrine to professionalism.

“No,” I said. “Mostly business outfits. Neutral colors. Very… corporate.”

Rowan sighed.

Not loudly. Not dramatically.

But the disappointment was unmistakable.

“Then we’ll go shopping.”

I blinked. “We?”

“Yes.”

I frowned. “Rowan, you don’t have to—”

“It’s not optional,” he cut in, tone even but final. “Appearances matter.”

There it was again.

Not a suggestion.

A decision.

An hour later, we were in a boutique that looked like it charged people for breathing too loudly. Soft lighting. Champagne flutes. Dresses hanging like they had stories and secrets.

Rowan took a seat on a leather couch, crossed one ankle over his knee, phone in hand.

“Try things on,” he said. “I’ll be here.”

I grabbed the first dress that caught my eye—a muted blue, long-sleeved, safe.

Very me.

I stepped out.

He didn’t look up.

I cleared my throat.

Still nothing.

“Rowan?”

He glanced up briefly. “No.”

That was it.

“No?”

“It dulls you,” he said, eyes back on his phone. “Next.”

Annoyance flared in my chest.

Fine.

I went back in and tried a pale yellow gown. Soft fabric. Flowing. Hopeful.

I stepped out again, turning slightly.

He looked this time.

For half a second.

Then shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s too bright,” he replied. “You disappear in it.”

I stared at him. “That makes zero sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” he said calmly. “Next.”

I clenched my jaw.

This wasn’t fun. This wasn’t cute. This was Rowan Pierce treating my body like a presentation slide.

I retreated into the changing room, yanked the curtain closed, and pulled out my phone.

Theo answered on the second ring.

“Girl,” he said immediately, “why do you look like you’re about to commit a crime?”

“I’m shopping with my boss,” I whispered.

Theo gasped. “The hot one?”

“The emotionally unavailable one.”

“Oh, that’s worse. Show me.”

I angled the camera toward the yellow dress.

Theo squinted. “Hmm. No. That yellow is attacking you.”

“Thank you,” I muttered.

“You look like a sunflower,” he added. “And not in a Beyoncé way.”

I snorted despite myself.

I grabbed another dress. Green. Structured. Confident.

Stepped out.

Theo winced through the screen. “Oof. That dulls your color, babe.”

Rowan didn’t even look up this time.

I groaned. “I hate this.”

“Relax,” Theo said. “You need drama. Try red.”

I froze.

Red wasn’t in my vocabulary. Red was loud. Red was intentional.

I reached for it anyway.

The dress was… dangerous. Deep red. Off-shoulder. Long slit. It didn’t ask permission.

I changed slowly, heart racing for reasons I didn’t fully understand.

When I stepped out—

Theo’s scream filled the room.

“That. Is. It. GIRRRRRL.”

I laughed, startled.

Theo leaned closer to his camera. “Oh my God. That dress understands the assignment. That dress pays rent.”

I turned slightly, catching my reflection in the mirror.

And that’s when I saw him.

Rowan.

Frozen.

His phone lay forgotten in his hand. His posture—always so controlled—was gone. His eyes were wide. Open. Locked on me like he was seeing something he hadn’t planned for.

For the first time since I met him—

He looked undone.

My chest tightened.

I held his gaze in the mirror.

“Do you like it?” I asked, voice steady.

The question seemed to snap him back.

He stood up slowly.

Too slowly.

He circled me once, deliberate, hands clasped behind his back like he was inspecting a work of art.

“You can do better,” he said finally.

The words stung.

“But,” he added, “I suppose you can manage this.”

Theo made a choking noise through the phone.

I caught Rowan’s reflection again.

His jaw was tight.

His eyes said something else entirely.

Something hungry.

Something annoyed—at himself.

I didn’t care enough to call him out.

“Yeah,” I said lightly. “Sure.”

I turned back to the mirror, adjusting the strap, pretending my pulse wasn’t loud in my ears.

Theo whispered, “He wants you so bad it’s embarrassing.”

I muted him.

Rowan handed his card to the attendant without hesitation.

“We’ll take it,” he said.

No discussion. No negotiation.

Just ownership.

As we walked out of the store, garment bag in hand, I realized something unsettling—

This wasn’t about the dress.

It was about control.

And for the first time since agreeing to this favor, I wondered—

Who was really pretending here?

Because the way Rowan looked at me in that mirror?

That wasn’t an act.