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I smile and keep my mouth shut. Morning traffic is picking up, but my car is small, and my reflexes are to die for.So to speak.I gun the engine and weave my own personal lane through the cars, brushing past them with millimeters to spare. Her little gasp and the way her knuckles are turning white on the door handle makes my lips twitch upward in a grin, and I push the car to go a little faster.
She doesn’t say a word until I’ve drifted down an off-ramp and spun into the parking lot of a small, expensive boutique. I’m not sure she even took a breath. I flash her a smile as I turn off the engine, then slide out of the car, intending to open her door for her—and perhaps catch her if she decides to faint. But she beats me to it, shoving her way out of the car with wide eyes.
“Holy hell.” She blinks, her throat moving as she swallows. She turns to me, her hands anchored firmly to her hips. She’s shaking, but I can’t tell whether it’s from adrenaline or fear. “So… you just don’t follow any traffic laws do you? That car is gorgeous, but it’s not gonna last long, the way you drive.”
“I like to go fast. It’s efficient,” I tell her with a smile, enjoying the flush of color that’s worked its way up her cheeks. “And we are, after all, a bit pressed for time today.”
She crosses her arms and makes a show of peering around behind me to squint at the hours posted on the boutique’s door. “They don’t open for an hour and a half.”
“Ah.” I turn toward the door and wait a beat. A flicker of movement inside the store complements my timing perfectly. “They don’t open to thepublicfor an hour and a half.”
As I finish speaking, the door swings open, and the stylist inside smiles at me.
“Mr. Hale,” she greets me warmly.
Sophia stiffens ever so slightly, and I feel another smile pulling at my lips. Her jealousy, while adorable, will exhaust her quickly if she allows it to continue. What can I say? Women love me.
Demi, the stylist, ushers us inside and immediately begins sizing Sophia up. The stylist locks the door behind us, then walks a circle around my newest employee, casting a critical eye over her hair, waistline, shoulders, and hips, taking mental measurements, and comparing color swatches in her mind. She’s the best at what she does. I wouldn’t spend my money here otherwise.
She cuts me a look and shifts her weight to one hip as she asks, “Work or play?”
“A bit of both,” I tell her. “Office appropriate for the bulk of it, but we’ll need a few on-the-town looks, a few things suitable for red carpet events, several black-tie worthy items, and whatever one would wear to one of those casual dress-down events which is truly neither of those things.”
Demi nods sharply. Sophia is gaping at me, her eyes wide. She snaps her mouth closed when Demi addresses her, turning to face the other woman.
“Come on in here, then, let me get your measurements,” Demi say. “I trust my eyes, but it’s always good to double-check.”
She ushers Sophia into a curtained-off room to work whatever magic she intends to work. After a moment of tense silence, the women begin a quiet conversation regarding underthings. Sophia tries to object, telling the woman that I never said anything about this and as it’s my money, she can’t agree to anything. They don’t intend for me to hear them. If I were human, I likely wouldn’t have.
“Add any base garments or accessories you believe are necessary, Demi. Leave nothing out,” I call to them, wandering through the front of the store as I speak, to give the impression that it was merely an off-hand comment and not a response to their whispered conflict.
A burst of nervous giggles assures me that the women are getting along just fine.Excellent.Demi is a fashion goddess, but she is also human. I once saw her convince a beautiful woman to wear what amounted to a jumble of boxes stuck together to a formal event because she didn’t like the woman. She wouldn’t dare try anything like that with one of my employees, but things always go so smoothly when people are eager to please rather than terrified to disappoint.
They reappear a few moments later with Sophia looking rather uncomfortable. Demi, however, has that half-mad gleam of genius in her eye and flashes me an excited, almost manic, grin as she scurries by.
“Will you please explain to me what is happening?” Sophia asks in a whisper.
“I thought it was rather obvious,” I drawl.
“You’re buying me clothes. Why?”
I look over her sensible suit slowly. It’s a flattering cut—for someone two inches taller. It’s a cheap blend, which means it doesn’t emphasize her curves, but rather attempts to anticipate them. The light blue pinstripes are just a bit off from the shade of gray they furrow through, and both shades mute the color of her stunning green eyes. Her shoes are an issue for another shop. I intend to run her ragged, and she certainly won’t be able to do that effectively in cheap pleather.
My examination of her outfit complete, I meet her eyes once more. She’s frowning at me defensively and tugging on the hem of her shirt in a fruitless attempt to get the curves of the garment to align with her own.
“There’s nothing wrong with my clothes,” she says hotly. “I’m dressed to work, not to turn heads.”
I could argue with that, pointing out that she would turn heads no matter what she wore. Instead, I settle on giving her a deliberately patronizing smile. Sophia narrows her eyes at me, and I suppress the urge to chuckle.
“Your clothes are perfectly suited to manning the reception desk at a motel or dentist’s office,” I tell her with a gracious nod. “But I didn’t hire you to work as a receptionist. You’re my personal assistant. As such, you represent me whenever you interact with anyone else.”
A touch of color creeps across her cheeks.Is that chagrin I see?Her walls slam up in an instant, and she gives me a cool smile, disguising whatever reaction she had to my explanation. A rack of clothing rolls in front of us before either of us can say another word, guided by Demi’s deft hands. She draws it to a stop and pops out from behind it, sweeping her hands in a dramatic gesture.
“The pick of the litter,” she says lovingly, gazing at the clothes. She turns to Sophia, only including me with the briefest of glances. “These are only suggestions. Look them over, try them on, and see what you like. I’ll pin them for you so you can see how they’ll look once they’re altered for you.”
Sophia’s eyes widen in surprise. “Altered?”
Demi smiles at her, her eyes sparkling. “Of course, dear. We don’t do off the rack here. Well, not for the good clients, anyway.”
