I nod because I’m not sure what else to say.
“I’ll make that appointment for you,” she says.
“Thanks.”
She leaves without fanfare. I’m going to see her tomorrow, and she can probably sense that I’m not in the mood for a long goodbye. Not when she did the equivalent of planting a couple sticks of dynamite in my brain. Because this is true, Sally has been on my mind non-stop, and it’s only been a day. I look over at the window where she looked out of it last night and see a tiny smudge where her nose met the glass.
Everything does feel different, and there’s a part of me that welcomes that relief. The other part of me has seen this before, and isn’t sure that the world turning upside down is a good thing. But what am I going to do? I’m not going to stop. I can’t, because there’s a need to find out where this goes, and it’s running so deep through me that I don’t think I could change course if I tried.
So we’ll see where this leads.
I pick up my phone and text her.
Aurelia’s Boutique. I think they’ll have some things that will look absolutely stunning on you.
I wait for a second.
And off you.
There’s typing.
That’s the most expensive boutique in the city, are you serious?!
Very.
She doesn’t say anything for a while. And I open my email to find the damage. Jennifer was right, this is actually way better than I expected. I guess the worst of my problems were yesterday. Or at least I hope that’s the case. Whatever happens now will be almost impossible to fix without great cost anyway, since tomorrow is the ‘big day.’
Fucking Valentine’s.
Bianca was right about one other thing, the fact that I like Sally is going to make going to this party bearable. Though I highly doubt I’ll have a good time. I don’t think I’m capable of having fun on a day that’s basically a set-up for people to get hurt. It sets unreasonable expectations and is nothing more than a money trap. Love, real love, doesn’t need to be stated with chocolates and flowers and a special day to recognize that you found a good partner in your life.
My phone vibrates, and it’s in my hand before I can blink.
Okay. I’ll see you at noon.
Good. Now I have something to look forward to. The image of Sally’s face as she came on my hand pops into my head again, and I have to breathe through the tightness in my pants. Curse whoever designed my office to be entirely glass so I can’t spend some more intimate time thinking about her, because I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it to noon, let alone the end of the day.
But I don’t have a choice.
I open the first email and begin.
7
Sally
Well, that went well.
Even my brain is sarcastic about it. There’s no way that could be considered ‘going well’ in any universe. Even having Iris put in a good word for me didn’t save me there. I just…completely bombed. It’s not like being a personal shopper was my dream job or anything, but I need a job. I can’t exactly survive without one, and the money that Mr. Ferguson reluctantly paid me is barely enough to cover my bills for the month.
I kind of want to buy a pint of ice cream, go home and sit in my bed and watch re-runs of bad sitcoms for a while. But I can’t because I’m meeting Eric at Aurelia’s. Aurelia’s. I think my jaw dropped when he sent me that, and after that, I was straight blushing because he said I might look good out of the clothes.
Some people might think that’s a bit forward for flirting, but I can see the way he would say it if he were standing in front of me, that little sexy smirk and a wink. Besides, he’s already touched me and made me come. Basically indicated that he wanted to take my virginity. Given that, it’s okay that he’s a little forward.
But that doesn’t stop the flames that heat my cheeks when I read that text or the way my body heats, remembering the pleasure he gave me. When I woke up this morning it all felt like a dream. There’s no way that that actually happened, right? But it did.
I waited for the other shoe to drop, for him to tell me that he didn’t need a date to the party anyway or just ghost me without every hearing from him again. But when his text came through this morning, I almost fell over. I knew that I was going to be swimming in new waters going on a date with a millionaire, possibly billionaire, but I’m completely out at sea. What do I do here?
And more importantly, what do I tell Iris? Because she’s standing in front of the café waving at me and she’s going to want every little detail. Shit. But then again, Iris might have some good advice for a virgin like me. And I know she’ll pester me until I tell her.
“How’d it go?” she asks as I walk up.
I make a face. “Not well. She didn’t seem to like any of the answers I gave her about personal style or fashion, and it only got worse once she started asking me what designers I like to have in my own wardrobe. I just got tongue-tied and sounded like an idiot. I was only in there for fifteen minutes when she thanked me for coming in.”
Iris grimaces as she loops her arm in mine and walks me into the café. “Sorry. That doesn’t sound great. But you’ll find something soon. You’re talented and brilliant and—”
“And qualified for nothing,” I remind her.
“Don’t be silly. You’ve got a degree. You’re qualified. You just haven’t found what you love to do yet.”
We sit at a table near the window and I close my eyes, letting the spring sun fall on my face. “Yeah. Who knows.” When I open my eyes she’s staring at me. “What?”
“Are you really going to make me ask how it went last night?”
I bite my lip. “No. I mean, I assumed you were going to ask, I just thought we might get the food first so that we’re not interrupted.”
“Okay,” she gives me a look. “We can do that. But if you don’t want to be interrupted, that means something happened."
“Not necessarily,” I say, lowering my voice. “Maybe I just don’t want anyone having the chance to eavesdrop about the fact that I went on a date with a very rich, very famous, very fucking attractive person last night.”
“Let’s be honest,” Iris says, looking at her menu. “Fucking attractive doesn’t even cover it. I think what you’re referring to is ‘One look could shred the panties off a hundred women’ hot.”
I’m still laughing when the waitress takes our order. I only get a salad. After this, I’m going to have to try on ball gowns, and there’s no chance in hell I want a food baby when I’m trying on what are going to be very expensive dresses. Iris doesn’t even know about that yet.
“Okay,” she says, “we’ve ordered. For the love of God just tell me what happened.”
I blush, because I don’t know how I’m actually going to say this out loud. But I do. I narrate from getting followed into the club to talking and to dancing and kissing and…everything after that, and Iris is looking at me like I’m an alien with three heads.
“Holy shit, Sally!”
“Shhhh,” I say, looking around, concerned that someone might have heard me. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Um, excuse me, this is a huge deal. How long have you been waiting for something like this and now it happens with Eric fucking Marshall?” She whispers his name. “This is huge. And good for you girl, it’s about time you got some.”
I laugh, and then clam up as the waitress puts my salad in front of me. “And he’s taking to me Aurelia’s to shop for the party.”
Iris puts down her fork. “What?” I tried to throw it out there like it wasn’t a big deal, but in Iris’s world, this is like being invited to the Oscars. “Really?”
“At noon. Hence the salad.”
“This is absolutely insane.”
I nod my head. “You’re telling me. All because I’m an idiot, day-dreaming klutz. I never knew that that could be a good thing.”
“Oh my God,” Iris says. “I didn’t connect the dots before now.
Aurelia’s is owned by Bianca Marshall. I don’t think I ever knew she was connected to the card company. Holy shit. If you guys get married, I want to be able to take my clients there.”
I choke on a piece of lettuce, but manage to swallow. “Iris, we’ve been on one date, and I’m going to a party because I owe a debt. We happened to have chemistry, and maybe, maybe we might have sex. That’s a long way from marrying someone.” But even as I say it, I know that it rings wrong. It’s not just chemistry. It’s something deep and unexpected, something that I can’t put a name to. But even if that is true, I haven’t even known him a day.
Given that, everything that’s happened is kind of embarrassing, and I tell Iris that. She shakes her head. “Why? You went out with a guy you liked and he made you come. Do you think it’s embarrassing for him?”
“I—” I freeze, thinking through what I’m actually saying. “No, I guess not.”
Iris shrugs, taking a bite of her sandwich. “So you had a one-night stand without the full stand. Even if you had, it wouldn’t be embarrassing.”
“Thanks.”
“If you end up fucking in the dressing room at Aurelia’s, I’m going to die.”
My eyes go wide. “That’s not going to happen! That’s basically the whole reason he stopped. I get the feeling that if anything happens, it’s going to be in a bed. Which is daunting in its own kind of way.”
She makes a sound that’s very inappropriate for where we’re sitting. In public. “God, I bet he has a great bed.”
“Iris.”
“Oh, and you didn’t say, did you feel him? Like how big?” I can’t even speak, but I think the red rushing to my face is answer enough because Iris is laughing, and I’m hiding my face in my salad. “I’m teasing you,” she says. “But seriously, I think this is so good for you. You need a man who’s not going just run away. It’s stupid, and they need to get their shit together. But it looks like Eric already has his shit together.”
“Yeah,” I say. I would agree. The way he touched me, like he knew how my body would respond better than I did, the way he kissed my skin and tangled his hands in my hair…God. I can’t think about that or I’m going to be wet and wanting when I see him and that might end up with us fucking in the dressing room. I’m not exactly opposed to exhibitionism, but two sexual encounters in public spaces in twenty-four hours would be a lot for me.
So I shove the thoughts of my orgasm aside to keep for later when I have my vibrator handy. There’s no chance that’s not happening.
We spend the rest of lunch chatting, and me deflecting Iris’s teasing about Eric. But all that does is make me want to see him more. I want to find out if seeing him in person is going to elicit the same kind of response that it did last night. So once we’re finished, I head out to Aurelia’s. I know where it is—every woman in the city knows where it is. Because we all secretly want to shop there. I never thought that I’d actually get to.
I hesitate before I go in. This is a store that celebrities shop in. And rich people. Not me. Not people who just had a failed interview and are wearing a suit that was a hand-me-down from my sister because I couldn’t afford to buy a new one. But Eric said that he’d meet me here at noon, and it’s almost that time.
Taking a deep breath, I go inside. I’m immediately struck by how classically beautiful the store is. The window displays are a curated chaos of flowers making up gowns for Valentine’s Day, but the interior is sparse and white with clean lines and open spaces. It smells delicious and because of the way it’s set up, it almost feels like you’re stepping outside instead of in.
The displays remind me that Eric hates Valentine’s Day, but I still don’t know why. It doesn’t make sense to me. But I’m not sure that’s something that I’ll be able to ask him about so soon.
There’s a woman standing there in a crisp black suit, and she’s looking me up and down. I can already see in her eyes that she doesn’t think I belong here. And I don’t, really. But I don’t see Eric anywhere. Maybe I should have just waited outside. I peek at my phone, and it’s 12:01.
My first thought is that it’s a trick and that he told me to meet him here to embarrass me. But that’s not true. My gut tells me that Eric wouldn’t do something like that. God, the men I’ve dated really are horrible people, if that’s my go-to assumption.
The woman clears her throat and takes a step forward. “Can I help you?”
“Um…no,” I say. “I’m just waiting for someone.”
She smiles in a way that’s not entirely friendly. “I’m sorry, our store is by appointment only.”
“I know, I just—”
“She’s with me,” Eric’s voice comes from behind me.
I turn and smile at him, relief flowing through me. That was probably about to get really awkward. “Hi.”
“Hello,” he says, and the smile he’s giving me puts honest to God butterflies in my stomach. Holy shit. Eric leans down and kisses my cheek softly, and a burst of heat shoots through me.
I guess that answers the question of whether or not I’ll react the same. Just the soft brush of his lips and his hand on my arm has me ready to be back in that club hallway.
“I’m sorry I’m a few minutes late,” he says. “There was some traffic. I trust that isn’t a problem?” He glances at the woman, who’s looking between him and me with a kind of dawning horror.
She’s realizing that she was about to be rude to the guest of one of her really important clients. I watch as she schools her face into a smile. “Of course, Mr. Marshall. Miss Bianca informed us you’d be stopping by. You can follow me.”
Eric takes my hand and guides me along, giving me a conspiratorial smile. The situation that he walked into isn’t lost on him. It’s my own Pretty Woman moment, minus being a hooker I guess. “I really can’t believe that I’m here.”
“Why not?”
“You know how many women want to shop at this place? I didn’t know that your sister owned it. I told my best friend I was coming here, and she nearly lost her mind.”
He laughs softly. “I’m not going to tell her that. It would go straight to her head. But I told you that I would take care of your clothes for the party, and I’m doing that. If you see anything else you like, that’s fine too.”
I tug on his hand to stop him for a second, and we fall a little behind. “Why? I don’t understand.”
He turns to face me, and he doesn’t let go of my hand. The look on his face doesn’t tell me anything. Then he leans down and kisses me. Oh. I lean into the kiss, letting him pull me closer and letting that precious heat bloom inside. God it feels good.
“I can’t lie,” he says. “I don’t know why. But there’s something here, and I want to find out what it is.”
I bite my lip. “Me too.”
“This might be too much too soon, but I’ll tell you that money means very little to me. I know that’s a privilege. But I like using it to make the lives of people in my life better. Give them things. Make them happy.”
“So you’re saying…”
“That I like buying things for people, and you need a dress. So try on whatever you like, and buy whatever you like.”
I start to laugh. “This is crazy.”
“Maybe.”
There’s another woman waiting for us along with the first, in a smaller room surrounded by mirrors. The first woman smiles at me. This time it’s overly friendly, and I can tell she’s trying to make sure that I know that she’s not judging me. That she doesn’t want to offend Eric. She gestures to the second woman. Still in a crisp black suit, but with darker hair and a naturally friendly face. “This is Anita. She’ll be helping you today with whatever you need.”
I glance at Eric, and see his mouth twitch up into a smile. He noticed her emphasis on ‘whatever’ too. “Thank you,” he says.
There’s an awkward moment when we all just stand there, and wait until the first woman—she didn’t mention her name—leaves. And it’s still a little awkwar
d after she’s gone.
“What can I help you with today,” Anita says finally.
“My family is hosting a party tomorrow,” Eric says. “Sally is a guest. She needs attire for that, and if she sees anything else she likes, she’s welcome to have it.”
I blush instinctively because this isn’t really life. People don’t actually say things like that or get chances to just try on gowns that cost thousands of dollars.
“Perfect,” Anita says. “Sally, why don’t you come with me and we’ll find you some things to try and you can tell me a little more about your style. Mr. Marshall, you can remain here for now. Refreshments will be along shortly.”
He sits down on one of the chairs, and Anita guides me through a door and into the gallery space which is large and open like the entrance. This place is huge! There are dresses on mannequins that I don’t even want to know how much they cost, and more on racks. Holy shit this isn’t happening. There’s a giddy feeling in my chest and if this actually turns out to be a dream, I really don’t want to wake up.
“Do you have an idea of what you’re looking for?” Anita asks me.
“I honestly have no idea,” I say. “Guide me. Please.”
She laughs. “Sure. What colors do you like? We’ll start there.”
“For clothes, blue, purple, red, green. Richer colors.”
“Okay,” she nods, “Do you have a preferred silhouette?”
I shake my head. “My best friend is a stylist. I wear what she tells me most of the time. Today not included.”
We both laugh. “Well, I’ll show you some things, and if anything jumps out at you, tell me.”
“That I can do.”
We walk around the showroom together, and I’m overwhelmed by the choices and fabrics and colors. It feels like there’s an infinite number of options. I wonder how long it would take for someone to try on everything in the store. Days, probably.
Valentine’s Day Virgin Page 6