Chapter 8 Changing Clothes
Naomi stormed out of Jonathan's office, fuming silently.
She wasn't naturally submissive—she simply knew better than to unleash her temper on someone of Jonathan's stature.
But his accusation that she was "greedy" had pushed her to the edge.
Greedy? She almost laughed at the absurdity. He'd forced her into this marriage, and now he had the audacity to call her greedy?
As she marched down the hallway, snippets of conversation about Aurora's new endorsement deal floated around her.
"Is it true? She's the new global ambassador for that luxury brand?"
"Who pulled that off? Was it Naomi?"
"No way. Had to be Mr. Cavendish. Who else has that kind of influence?"
"Those two must have something special going on..."
The whispers died as Aurora herself rounded the corner, her smile dripping with self-satisfaction. She assessed Naomi from head to toe with a critical eye.
"That outfit is atrocious," she declared. "Change before tonight. You're accompanying me to a networking event."
Agents accompanying talent to industry events was standard practice—sometimes for legitimate business discussions, other times to schmooze producers for potential roles.
But these events inevitably involved drinking, and Naomi knew without any established rapport with Aurora, she'd be the designated target for excessive alcohol.
Besides, tonight she was supposed to introduce Jonathan to her parents.
"I'm sorry, I have plans tonight," Naomi said firmly.
Aurora's face darkened instantly. "Excuse me? When I invite you to join me, that's an honor, not a request. What could possibly be more important than company business?"
The hallway had grown quiet as colleagues and other talent gathered to witness the confrontation.
Naomi felt their eyes on her, hungry for drama. Most of them had coveted the position as Aurora's agent, and they were clearly delighted to see Naomi stumble on her first day.
Naomi bit her lower lip, then straightened her shoulders. "Yes, I do have plans that cannot be rescheduled. We can move the networking event to tomorrow—I'll contact the other parties."
"Have you lost your mind?" Aurora's eyes widened with disbelief. "If you won't listen to me, someone else will make you. Just wait."
With that threat hanging in the air, Aurora marched directly toward Jonathan's office, her heels striking the floor like exclamation points.
The onlookers turned to Naomi with expressions ranging from pity to schadenfreude.
"Why would you antagonize her like that?"
"Mr. Cavendish will obviously take her side. Everyone knows they're... close."
"What could possibly be more important than keeping Aurora happy?"
Naomi offered them a tight smile, not bothering to explain. If she didn't bring her new "husband" home tonight, her mother would show up at the office and create a scene that would effectively end her career. Two years of carefully cultivated industry connections would vanish. She couldn't let that happen.
She glanced toward Jonathan's office, then turned to leave. The gathered crowd clearly assumed her career was over.
Then Aurora emerged from Jonathan's office, her face flushed with anger.
As she passed Naomi, she shot her a venomous glare. "First day on the job and Mr. Cavendish says you don't need to attend any events. You'd better never set foot there. Ever."
As Aurora stormed off with Lyra in tow, Naomi exhaled with relief, though she felt no gratitude toward Jonathan.
His intervention had nothing to do with her—he simply needed her available to comfort his grandfather.
When the workday ended, Naomi headed downstairs, expecting to meet Jonathan for the drive to her parents' house. They lived in a neighboring small town, over an hour away by car.
But just as she reached the entrance, she watched Aurora climb into Jonathan's Maybach, which promptly drove away.
Naomi stared after the departing luxury car, stunned. If Jonathan was escorting Aurora to her event, who would accompany her home?
She pulled out her phone to call him, then thought better of it.
Why would someone like Jonathan Cavendish listen to someone like her?
As she stood contemplating how to explain this betrayal to her family, a jarring horn blast cut through her thoughts.
Across the street sat an ancient Volkswagen with tinted windows. The window lowered just enough for her to glimpse Jonathan's scowling face.
"Get in," he commanded.
She approached the car, tapping on the window that trembled under her touch. "Why are you driving this... vehicle?"
Jonathan's lips thinned. "I told you our marriage stays private. Did you expect me to announce my real identity to your family?"
He glanced with distaste at the steering wheel.
Considering his conspicuous Maybach, Naomi had to admit he had a point.
If her parents discovered Jonathan's wealth, divorce would become even more complicated—they might even try to exploit the connection. This decrepit car at least supported the illusion that Jonathan was an ordinary man.
They drove in uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by Jonathan's occasional irritated sighs as the car sputtered and groaned. Clearly, this was a far cry from the luxury vehicles he was accustomed to.
Several times Naomi wanted to point out how his aristocratic bearing made his "poor man" disguise unconvincing, but she bit her tongue.
As they passed a shopping district, Naomi cleared her throat. "Pull over. I need to buy something."
Jonathan parked but made no move to exit the car.
"What's your shoe size?" she asked hesitantly.
"Why?" His tone was glacial.
Rather than answer, Naomi slipped out and disappeared into a store. Five minutes later, she returned with a plastic shopping bag.
"Mr. Cavendish, you need to change clothes." She held out the bag, which he regarded with undisguised revulsion.
Inside was a black polyester tracksuit that screamed "cheap" and a pair of knockoff athletic shoes with a $99 price tag still attached.
Every fiber of Jonathan's being recoiled. He pushed the bag away. "Absolutely not."
"Mr. Cavendish, you've clearly never lived on a budget," Naomi said, removing the items from the bag. "You're driving a decade-old beater while wearing a bespoke suit and shoes that cost more than my monthly rent. My brother will spot you as a rich guy in seconds."
She laid the clothes across the back seat. "I'm protecting you. What if my parents try to take advantage of you? This tracksuit cost fifty dollars, and these shoes were ninety-nine. My bank account is down to triple digits now—this is the best I can do. Please cooperate."