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“You know my fiancé, Jamie, is working here today, too.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Come meet him.” Bettina pulled Theodosia toward a makeshift bar lined with champagne bottles and glass flutes, and quickly introduced her to her fiancé, Jamie Wilkes.
“Oh my gosh,” Theodosia said. “You’re not even in the family yet and Delaine’s put you to work.”
Jamie cocked his head to one side. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with longish light brown hair and a sort of surfer-dude look. Theodosia figured most young women would consider him a serious hunk.
“Wouldn’t you know it?” Jamie said with a wry smile. “The bartender who was scheduled to work here called in sick this morning so Delaine asked me to pinch-hit. Or so the story goes.”
“There’s a lot of pinch-hitting going on,” Theodosia said. Like Jamie, she figured the “called in sick” excuse was Delaine’s way of cheaping out and getting them both to work gratis.
“Anyway,” Jamie said. “It is what it is. Say, would you like a glass of champagne? I’m getting rather skilled at pouring bubbly into tall glasses.”
“Since I’m still on duty as a model I’d better not,” Theodosia said. “Maybe later when I’m finished with this crazy gig.”
Theodosia wandered off through the crowd, pausing every now and then for Delaine’s guests to get a good look at her outfit. The informal modeling was probably a very smart marketing tactic for Delaine’s boutique, but to Theodosia it was downright embarrassing. It was for sure no picnic being forced to smile, carry a little card with a number on it, and answer any questions that were asked about her outfit. And, strangely, there were quite a few.
“Is that dress made out of silk?” one woman asked.
“It’s light and airy so I believe so,” Theodosia responded with a friendly smile.
The woman pushed her glasses up on her nose, clearly not satisfied with the answer. “Well, is it silk or isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry, I’m just the model here, the hired help. But you see that woman over there?” She pointed to Delaine. “That’s right, the one who’s probably on her second or third glass of champagne. She’s the store owner and I’m sure she can answer all of your questions.”
Another woman smiled at her and said, “It’s refreshing to see a model who’s not all skin and bones. Who doesn’t have an eating disorder.”
“Thank you,” Theodosia said. “I think.”
As Theodosia took a final spin around the boutique, deciding enough was enough, another woman tapped her on the shoulder. “Excuse me, but I have a daughter who’s interested in becoming a model. Do you have any advice? Anything she should take under consideration?”
Theodosia nodded. “Tell her it helps to have thick skin.”
Determined to escape while she could, Theodosia headed back to the dressing room and changed back into her own civilian clothes. A nice pair of jeans, loafers, and a silk blouse. Nothing froufrou, nothing transparent, thank goodness. She peeked around the end of the curtain, saw that Delaine was at the far end of the shop pitching two young women on the merits of a bustier teamed with a flouncy ballroom skirt.
Time to make my escape!
Theodosia dodged through the crowd, wove her way around two rolling racks, and was making a beeline for the front door when she skidded to a stop. There, checking out the silk scarves, was Carly Brandt.
Weird.
Of course Theodosia was curious as to why Carly was there. Was she really checking out scarves—or was she checking out Delaine?
* * *
By the time Theodosia got back to the Indigo Tea Shop, she was feeling exhausted, both mentally and physically.
“So now you’re a model,” Drayton called to her from behind the counter, where he was arranging tea tins. “How did it go?”
“Drayton, you don’t want to know.”
“Actually, I do.”
“For one thing, Carly Brandt showed up.”
Drayton looked surprised. “Morro’s Hollywood girlfriend?”
