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“Well…” Minka’s eyes flicker to me and then back to Wren. “Our clients don’t generally care, to be quite blunt.”
She thrusts the sweater in Minka’s face. “How much is this one?”
“Wren—”
“How much?” she insists over my warning growl. “Tell me a number.”
Minka looks to me for guidance, so I just sigh and throw my hands in the air. Glancing back to Wren, she mumbles, “The Angelique sweater with Peruvian cashmere retails for four thousand, eight hundred, and seventy-nine dollars, ma’am.”
I’ve never seen someone’s jaw drop so fast or their skin pale so literally. Wren hurls the garment back onto the display like it’s on fire and takes off away from it like she’s fleeing the scene of a crime.
“Hell to the no,” she calls back as she vanishes into the distance. “I’m good.”
Poor Minka looks completely out of her element. Barely hiding my smile, I give her a nod. “We’ll take the ivory and the taupe. Throw in the jade green, too.”
“Yes, of course, sir.”
“I have a feeling she’s going to be difficult today,” I continue. “So just take note of every piece of clothing that she admires, however subtly, and get it in every color.”
“Understood, sir.”
I spend the next hour trailing after Wren as she goes through the charade of interrogating Minka for prices, only to hyperventilate at every single one she’s given.
“Ten thousand dollars for a dress! I could buy a first-class roundtrip to Asia.”
“Three thousand for a blouse? Get fucking real.”
“Five hundred dollars for a headband? You people are out of your goddamn minds.”
Once we’ve circled the store, Wren turns to me indignantly and drops her voice. “This is ridiculous. There’s nothing in here I would buy.”
“But is there anything in here you like? If it’s money you’re concerned about, it goes without saying that I’m footing the bill.”
Her eyebrows pinch together. “I’m not wasting money. No matter whose money it is.”
“Very noble. Also, very stupid.”
She rolls her eyes. “Can we please just go? I’m done here.”
“Do you want to check out the childcare section? It’s the floor?—”
“No,” she insists firmly. “I’m tired.”
“So be it. I need to speak to Minka. Then we can leave.”
She rolls her eyes and I leave her to her judgmental examination of the store. Bee’s forced me on enough of these shopping sprees that I thought I knew what to expect of them. I’d been prepared for boredom, impatience, and annoyance.
And instead, what I’m left with is something that closely resembles… enjoyment?
What fresh hell is this?
24
WREN
Why do I keep looking over at the baby section?
I stand by my statement: this place is absolutely ridiculous. And yet… I find myself looking longingly at the gorgeous black silk pants and the soft cotton blouses with all this intricate lacework and wishing. Hoping. Wanting.
