His Housewife Had Secret Identities novel Chapter 73

Niamh didn't put up a fight—not even when Jonathan practically shoved her into one of the Grand Riverview's guest rooms.

It was, after all, the company's annual gala. No matter what bad blood existed between her and Jonathan, the last thing she wanted was to become the punchline of office gossip.

But now, in the quiet of the hotel room with only Jonathan for company, her nerves prickled all over.

Jonathan eyed her, an amused curve tugging at his lips, as if she were a porcupine bristling with quills.

"This dress of yours is worth three hundred thousand?" he asked, his gaze sweeping her up and down.

Jonathan wasn't unfamiliar with the ZM label. But as far as he knew, their gowns rarely went for more than thirty grand.

Niamh could practically read his mind.

She and Lana were both wearing ZM's limited edition, just-released collection tonight. She hadn't exaggerated the price.

"What, Mr. Thomas? Don't tell me you're balking at three hundred thousand."

She knew—no matter how she explained, Jonathan wouldn't believe her.

"I can afford it," Jonathan replied, his tone calm but absolute. "Three hundred thousand, three hundred million—it makes no difference to me."

Niamh's hands clenched tight behind her back.

Jonathan really was willing to go all out for Marina.

He added, "Next time you want to make money, try coming up with a smarter scheme."

His words made her laugh—sharp and a little bitter—but she didn't bother arguing. She had every intention of pocketing the money with a clear conscience.

Money exchanged, she was ready to leave—until a hotel staffer arrived with a new dress.

"If you don't mind walking around looking like a mess, I do," Jonathan said, holding up the fresh gown. "Don't forget whose assistant you are."

The wine had spilled across Niamh's chest, darkening the fabric of her strapless dress in a way that was hard to ignore.

She could feel Jonathan's eyes lingering on her, which made her skin crawl. She reached out a hand, impatient. "Give me the dress. I'll change myself."

"Turn around," he ordered. His voice was mild, but there was no mistaking the command in it.

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