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I have a feeling I wouldn’t get very far if I tried that. Besides, I need this time. This month.
Is it naïve to think that if I stay here, in this penthouse, that if or when Liza tells Sean about me, maybe he’ll think I’m gone—that I took off—and I can slip back into my life once the month is up?
And with Hawk, I think I’m safe even as that image of him last night, that of the raging beast, flashes in my memory.
Who’s going to keep you safe from Hawk?
I’m about to go back into the bedroom to get dressed, thinking I’ll wear the jeans and top I’d quickly shoved into my tote last night when the elevator dings, announcing someone’s arrival.
The doors slide open and a woman steps out, giving me a once over. Two men follow her, each pushing a rack into the penthouse.
“Put them there,” she tells them.
“What’s this?” I ask when she introduces herself as she tugs the cloth covering the first rack off.
I forget her name as soon as she says it when I get a look at what’s on those racks.
Clothes. Not just any clothes.
Two racks full of designer clothes.
Casual and formal wear, dresses and jeans and tops and boxes and boxes of shoes.
“I think he got your size right. A four?”
“What?” I ask.
“Mr. MacLeod ordered the clothes. He said if you don’t like something, you’re to send it back.”
What did he do?
She must think I’m an idiot when I stand there staring at the racks.
“I can help you get dressed if you like,” she says.
“I don’t need help getting dressed, thank you.” I look at the clothes. “These are for me?”
She nods.
I walk to one of the racks and run my fingers along the fine fabrics, and gawk and a price tags that I can see.
“I don’t...Are you sure?”
“Yes, Miss. Take your time. Look through everything. If anything doesn’t fit, or you don’t like something, let me know. And if there’s anything else you require, let me know that too.”
She hands me a business card.
I take it absently.
“I don’t need all these clothes,” I say, confirming what I’m sure is her opinion of my idiocy.
“I’m here all day and when I’m not, there will be someone in the shop to help you. We’ll be back later to put the things you want to keep in the closet. Two more racks will be brought up later today. Take your time deciding.”
She doesn’t wait for me to say anything else before, with a wave of her hand, the men march back onto the elevator and she follows. They’re gone and I’m left staring at the racks, with Brian, my babysitter, hovering in my periphery.
I walk back into the bedroom and close the door.
I feel like a whore. A prostitute.
The money’s in my bank account and another sort of payment is out in the living. Racks of designer clothes I’d never buy even if I could afford them.
My cell phone rings, interrupting my thoughts. Deirdre’s name pops up and I swipe the screen to answer.
“Hello?”
“Hi honey,” comes her warm, grandmotherly voice. “I’m sorry to call so early.”
“No, it’s fine. What’s up?”
“Well, the little munchkin’s pinkeye has cleared up but as with everything else with the germ-magnet, guess who’s got pinkeye now?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “You guessed it. Me. Except that mine’s come with a full on cold, too. I don’t think I’ll be able to come in this morning, hon. That’s why I was calling so early.”
“Oh, it’s all right, Deirdre. Don’t even worry about it. I was planning on going in today anyway,” I say, even though I wasn’t. “You just stay home and get better.”
“Thank you so much, honey. I really appreciate that.”
“It’s no problem, Deirdre. Feel better.”
We hang up and I think about those racks of clothes out there and the fact that I run a second-hand clothing shop where fifty-percent of the profits are donated to the local shelter. How would it look if I walked in there in brand new D&G dress and Jimmy Choo heels?
That’s not even me.
I give a shake of my head, find my jeans and top that I’d stuck into my tote yesterday and put them on. I then towel dry my hair, braiding it into a fishtail down one side.
When I’m back in the living room, my babysitter’s eyebrows go up. I’m sure he’s wondering who’d be stupid enough to put on these old things when they have access to what’s on those racks.
“I need to go to work,” I tell him.
He nods and turns to insert a key into a slot on the panel beside the elevator and soon, the numbers on the display start climbing as it comes to the top floor.
I hold my tote on my shoulder and look straight ahead.
