What The Hell Are You Wearing

My awareness of my many inadequacies was still spreading through my happiness like a stain.

James was as prompt as he'd threatened to be and he didn't seem to notice my introspective mood as we rode down in a crowded elevator. 

More than one woman in the car cast furtive glances in his direction, but that sort of thing I didn't mind. He was hot. I would've been surprised if they hadn't looked.

He caught my hand when we cleared the turnstiles, linking his fingers with mine. The simple, intimate gesture meant so much to me at that moment that my grip tightened on his. 

And I'd really have to watch out for that. The moment I became grateful he was spending time with me would be the beginning of the end. Neither of us would respect me if that happened.

The Bentley SUV sat at the curb and James's driver Mughal stood at the ready by the rear door. James looked at me.