Page 43 of The CEO Alpha’s Substitute Mate

“Certainly.” She turns to me with a tablet. “What would you like to wear? What is your preferred style?”

I get as far as opening my mouth. “Flattering cuts,” Callum says. “Slacks. Pencil skirts. Evening dresses.”

He keeps going for another eight items. The woman writes all of it down. I stand there in a coffee-stained sweater with my hands in my sleeves, being described.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting you properly outfitted.” He doesn’t look up. “Do you have a catalog?”

She brings it on a stand, a book the size of a paving slab bound in something soft. The two of them go through it while Luca climbs onto a chair to see, and I watch a man who runs four thousand employees turn pages of women’s clothing at the speed he’d read a contract. He points, she writes, and nobody consults me about anything.

Half of me wants to take the stairs down and keep going. The other half has noticed that he hasn’t pointed at anything with a slit in it, or anything backless, or anything those women in the lobby had on. He’s picking clothes I could teach a class in, then sit through a dinner in. I try not to think too much about that. Luca puts his whole hand on the page. “Mom, get this as well. You’d look really nice in it.”

It’s a dress the color of a burnt orange leaf, and the price beside it has four figures. “Baby, this place is too expensive.” I crouch beside his chair. “You can pick clothes for me when we go shopping at Marlow’s.”

“You have your own income now,” Callum tells him over my head. “If you want to get your mother a dress, just tell the salesperson which one.”

Luca lights up like a slot machine, and I say quickly, “Absolutely not.”

“But Dad says I can.”

Dad. How convenient that he chooses this moment to call him that.

It hasn’t escaped Callum’s notice as well, and for a moment, I catch him staring at Luca with a complicated expression on his face.

“I’m telling you you can’t.” I turn my attention back to Luca.

“But Dad says I can. He gave me pocket money.”

He turns back to the catalog with the argument settled to his own satisfaction, and I’ve been voted out of my own wardrobe. “I want this one for her, and this one.” He looks up at the saleswoman. “And this one.”

“Luca.”

“You can’t scold me. Dad says it’s my money.”

“You’re too young to have money.” I get up off the floor and turn on the actual problem. “He’s six.”

Callum shrugs one shoulder. “There’s no such thing as too young to have money. He needs to learn how to spend money and save money.”

“He’s six.” My voice goes up. “He doesn’t need to know any of this right now. That’s our job as parents.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

He gives me a look that has me sitting down on one of the four chairs and giving up. The woman comes back with a tape over her shoulder and asks me to stand up again, so I do. She takes my measurements and writes them down.

“That’s fourteen pieces, plus the three the young master selected. Delivery will be in two days. I will send everything to the estate with a tailor. Any adjustments will be onsite.”

“Tomorrow evening.” Callum adjusts his sleeve, not looking at her.

“Mr. Vance, that’s cutting it very close.”

“I’ll pay twenty percent more. I want them tomorrow.”

The woman agrees almost immediately. I just look between the two. How are they planning to finish fourteen plus clothes in one night? What kind of magic elves work for them? Luca holds my hand going out to the door and swings it. “Are you still mad at me?”

“I’m mad at your dad,” I tell him. “I didn’t even know you got pocket money.” I lift my gaze toward Callum, who just looks away. “That is something I should have known.”

“Do you want my pocket money, Mom?” Luca asks innocently. “I have lots.”