The Irish Prince (The Billionaire Dynasties)(9)

By: Virginia Nelson

“Nah, stick with more muted stuff.” Chelsea halfheartedly picked up a pair of jeans. It was too bad, really, that she had no clue what sort of clothes to pack. Would he want to go out to nice restaurants in the evening? If so, she would need to pack something more formal…however, the fact that he had his magic kid—just add sperm!—on the trip implied he would not want to risk being recognized by going to any place his peers might be visiting. So probably casual stuff…?

If he intended for Waverley to get to see the rocks she wanted and be outdoors, she would need casual clothes, appropriate for walking around, but formal enough to show she was the employee and not on vacation herself.

But did it even matter what she wore? If the media did, for some reason, find out they were on this trip, then it wasn’t likely they’d pay her much mind anyway. There were literally dozens of newspaper and magazine articles she’d saved over the years to send back to her dad, all of which only featured her arm or her leg or some other hardly recognizable portion of her anatomy. Most worked to crop her out of the shot because, at the end of the day, she was nothing more than the help. Invisible, until her employer needed her for something.

She liked to pretty it up, to consider herself important to him and to the Kelley empire, but realistically, she was the elbow in the background of the picture, not the focus.

“Are you ever going to explain what we’re shopping for? It would be way easier to help you find whatever the hell you’re looking for if I knew what that was.” Kimmie’s lips went tight and white, an outward sign of her annoyance.

“If I knew what to expect, I’d probably have an easier time telling you what to look for,” Chelsea confessed.

“So you’re going to…”

“The Grand Canyon,” Chelsea finished.

“And you’re going with…”

“It’s for work,” she answered with a small glare.

“With your sexy boss?” Kimmie pressed. Her russet eyes looked particularly dark in the florescent light, gleaming like dark jewels in the warm brown of her skin. “You’re going on a spur-of-the-moment trip to the Grand Canyon with the Aiden Kelley.”

Chelsea shrugged, not wanting to make it seem like a bigger deal than it was. She traveled with Aiden all the time. There was nothing, at least from the outside, which was particularly odd about that. “Yeah, I’m traveling with my boss for work. As one does.”

“As one does, my ass.” Kimmie snagged a cute little pleated skirt in a lovely slate gray off the rack. “You need this. That said, where are you guys staying?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed.

“For how long?”

“Not sure.” She shifted from foot to foot before grabbing the skirt and a couple of other items and heading for the dressing rooms.

“Who all is going? Is Lucy going?” Kimmie wasn’t a big Lucy fan.

“No, from my office, it is just me and Aiden.” She closed the door in Kimmie’s face, hoping she wouldn’t overthink it. “Don’t make a big deal out of nothing. It isn’t what you’re thinking.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” Kimmie asked before letting a garment sail over the door of the dressing room. “Try this on.”

“This is lingerie.” She looked at the hot pink teddy and rolled her eyes. “Also, this is the same color as the bra I found in my office.”

“Which proves he likes that color. Try it on, just for giggles.” Kimmie laughed outside the door, and Chelsea opened it to peek at her.

“I told you not to overthink this.”

“Honey, you’re the one who overthinks it. That man is fine. You never know what will happen. Two attractive people, one big canyon, quiet misty mornings, late starry nights…” Kimmie grinned and pointed at the lace in Chelsea’s hand. “Skimpy hot pink thongs.”

“You’re impossible,” Chelsea said, closing the door. She wasn’t going to try the lingerie on.

But she did hold it up against her chest experimentally, considering her reflection in the dreaded three-way mirror. Kimmie always said that lingerie wasn’t worn for a man; it was worn for yourself. It was worn closest to the skin to remind a woman that she was indeed that—a woman. It was supposed to make you feel good.

Somehow, she didn’t think that wearing a garment that was way too close in color and general style to what she’d found strewn around her and Aiden’s office would make her feel good about herself or even a little sexy. It would make her feel inadequate. Her boobs wouldn’t fill it out, it would be scratchy, and all in all not her idea of undergarments.