“I told you, I can’t go to the gala,” Clara said, forcing her voice to stay calm, measured. “I’m busy that day.”
Nicholas didn’t even glance her way. “Then reschedule it.”
The words hit her like a cold slap. You can’t reschedule surgery. She swallowed the retort lodged in her throat.
Trying again, this time with the excuse she hoped would finally end the conversation, she said quietly, “I can’t afford to attend something like that.”
Nicholas stopped in front of her, expression unreadable, voice low and sharp as a blade.
“You work for me now. That means you’ll be there. And you’ll look the part.”
Before she could protest, he turned to the saleswoman. “Bring evening gowns. Her size.”
Clara’s throat tightened. The fight was over before it began. Somewhere deep inside, a cold knot of un
