“Someone spilled champagne on my dress. I was trying to fix it.” My eyes dropped to the small, dark stain on her skirt. “It didn’t work.” Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth. “I’m so sorry. I know how expensive it must’ve been. I’ll find a way to pay—” “Fuck the dress.” It’d cost nearly ten thousand dollars, but I couldn’t summon two shits about what happened to it. If I had my way, I would tear it off her myself. A hot, heady awareness replaced my panic. No one else was in the hallway, and Stella’s scent—fresh, subtle, but damn intoxicating—clouded my head.
