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“Sometimes I sit with my bags. I’ll hold them like a baby. Pet them and tell them they’re pretty.” I glance over at her, catching the cheeky smile on her face. “There aren’t enough days in the year for me to use all of those bags. My collection is kind of excessive.”
“Kind of?”
“You should see my mom’s closet. It’s even bigger.”
I don’t know how that’s possible.
She adds, “And I don’t have anything against Gucci, but my father does.”
“What’s he got against Gucci?”
“He was supposed to sign with them back in the nineties and be one of the faces of Gucci. But then Tom Ford took over as a designer, and my father and Tom, they clashed. My father walked away from the deal and banned Gucci from his life ever since.”
“I love Gucci,” I admit.
“Better not tell my father. He’ll do his best to convince you it’s a bad idea to wear their clothes.” She’s smiling.
I’m smiling.
It’s... nice. Spending time with her in her house. Her bedroom. Maybe she’s more easygoing with me because she’s in her home and she’s comfortable.
And I like that.
Instead of continuously wringing her hands and worrying about me being in her closet, Scarlett gives me a mini closet tour, explaining some of the items and where they came from. Mostly it’s gifts from her parents, though the stores will send her stuff as a thank-you for her mom’s purchases.
“Especially when I was younger. Mom would buy a jumbo-sized Chanel bag, and they’d send me a small one in the same color. My mom is a huge supporter of Chanel. I told her if social media was a thing back when she was my age, she probably would’ve been sponsored by them.”
I stop in front of what looks like the dress section of her closet. “Where’s the party dress?”
She frowns. “What party dress?”
“From your birthday.” I send her a look, my memory filled with images of Scarlett in that dress. Holding her close despite all the layers of pink tulle.
A memorable dress for a memorable night.
“Oh, it’s at a specialty cleaner. They’ll spot clean it, preserve it, and put it in a protective bag for safekeeping.” Her cheeks turn the faintest pink. “That dress is too much to wear more than once, you know?”
“It was pretty iconic,” I agree.
“You really think so?” She sounds surprised.
“Definitely. A total showstopper.”
She smiles. “You sound like your manager right now. Simon.”
“Hey, at least I don’t sound like Roger. He’d say something like ‘Seeing you in that dress made me come in my jeans, you looked so hot.’”
The moment the words leave me, I realize my mistake. I probably shouldn’t have said that to her. The deepening pink on her cheeks tells me she’s embarrassed. Despite her looking pretty fucking hot in that dress, I’m not sure if that was her intention.
“Roger is a rather... unique character,” she finally says, clearing her throat.
“That’s one way to describe him.” I contemplate telling her what I really thought of her in that dress and decide to go for it. “You did look pretty hot, though. In that dress.”
Her entire body goes still, her big eyes wide as she stares at me. “You really thought so?”
I take a step closer to her, catching her irresistible scent. Damn, she smells good. “Definitely.”
“It was so poufy, though.”
