by Cynthia Dane
“You know where I live, of course. Your assistant already tracked me down there.”
“It was easy enough to pull it from your personnel file. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” The man had already used his power once to rope her into sex. What was a second or third time? “Besides. There are some things I want to talk to you about as well.”
“Oh?” He leaned back again. “Care to give me a preview?”
“I’ll wait, thank you.” How the fuck do I say “PAY ME” without sounding like a desperate escort? Not that Alice was seriously entertaining the idea. Not like that. Except if Monroe was offering to wine and dine her in return for sex, there were definitely ways she could flip that further into her favor. “I’m looking forward to a date with the great Damon Monroe, I have to admit. What did you have in mind?”
“Dinner, of course. Then whatever strikes my fancy.”
“Your fancy, huh?”
The driver rounded the back of the car again, opening the door beside Alice. Sunlight blinded her. “I think you’ll find it easier if we follow my whim, Ms. Culver.” Those were his parting words as the driver escorted her out of the limo. “I thank you for your time, as always. And I look forward to seeing you on Friday. If there are any changes, you’ll be sure to hear from my assistant.”
Heaven forbid the man contact her himself. Well, I guess he did this time. Still, the whole situation was nuts. How many girls could say that rich, hot billionaires tracked them down with standoffish assistants who only cared about their paychecks as opposed to what kind of fucked up hanky-panky went on right in front of them? Or at least she hoped that Sarah and Nigel Clayborn were not interested in what their boss was up to. He probably paid for their indifference.
Alice watched as Monroe’s bodyguard and assistants got back in the limo and took off. The other men in suits got into a black sedan and followed the limo. When she walked back into the restaurant, she met Maddie and Scott, both of whom gave her reverent looks while trying to navigate the early dinner rush. Alice hopped right in. No way was she going to linger on strange thoughts of Monroe and his stranger ideas of dating and romance. If she could even call it that.
Chapter 8
Candice was beside herself when Alice announced she was going on a date with Damon Monroe in three days’ time. She was 100% convinced that Alice was going to be whisked away to the opera or a spur of the moment showing of Hamilton! on Broadway. Thus, it was only natural that they spend all of Wednesday night going through Alice’s closet and finding the perfect, upscale outfit for her to wear.
Suffice to say, it all sucked.
Sure, Alice had collected some nice clothes over the years, but none of it was date with Damon Monroe material. Too bad she and Candice weren’t the same size. Trying to fit into one of Candice’s size 2 monstrosities would be like trying to cram herself into a corset. My breasts and hips ain’t that big, but she’s got less than me!
“No, no, no.” Candice had created a large pile of silk and cotton on Alice’s bed. Who was going to put it all away? “Don’t you have anything by a designer? Like Chanel or something?”
Alice slowly shook her head. “Who can afford that?”
“Damon Monroe, that’s who. Probably affords some designers we can’t even conceptualize right now!”
Unless Monroe had plans to buy Alice some clothes during their date, however, they had to work with what they got.
Alice returned home on Thursday after an afternoon shift at Blue Bird. Ever since Monroe made his grand – if not awkward – entrance into one of his family’s holdings, people had treated her differently. Especially Scott. They got along fine before that, but the guy was as fake as some of the tits Candice saw on her sets. Now that it had been established she had ties with one of the big guys upstairs? She was looking at getting those good weekend shifts sooner rather than later.
Still didn’t save her from the hell that was her bedroom. Someone had never bothered to put it away after Candice was done destroying everything Alice had carefully stored over the years.
Turned out that was the least of her concerns when she arrived home.
“What the hell!” Someone had helped themselves into her apartment. Not any someone, either. This was not a burglar, or a home invasion, or something as nefarious as any of those. While the person – people! – in the apartment certainly had no right to be there, they probably thought they did. As soon as a tycoon’s money greased their hands, they went where bade.
Apparently, a team of stylists were told to come to Alice and Candice’s apartment.
Candice wasn’t home yet. If she had been, surely she would’ve texted Alice about the woman and man tearing up the bedrooms to get a feel for “what they have to work with.” Alice happened to walk in as a tall, broad man in a lavender suit asked, “Is this a joke?”
“Um, hi.” So much for her plan of grabbing a cranberry juice and watching Candice’s recorded episodes of Gold Rush. “Can I help you? What are you doing in my freakin’ house?”
The woman, who had hair so blond it bordered on white, stood up from the couch and extended a soft hand to Alice. “I’m Rayne. Mr. Monroe sent us.”
“Rayne, huh?”
The stylist pretended she didn’t hear that. “He’s asked us to help you dress for tomorrow’s meeting.” Meeting? Were they going to discuss stocks and bonds over their candlelit dinner? “I can see why now.”
Such was her summation of Alice as she took in the Blue Bird uniform. Polyester not good enough for you, huh? Alice couldn’t argue, really. It itched like the devil, and was such a monster to get stains out of. She always had stains. Even as a hostess, she was getting ketchup, snot, and the public’s judgment spilled on her. There wasn’t enough Clorox in the world.
Had these people ever seen a bottle of Clorox before? Probably not. Why bother when a team of dry cleaners were at your disposal?
“Tell me, Renaldo,” Rayne said, staring at poor Alice in the middle of her living room. “What’s our budget again?”
The man in the lavender suit flipped through his tablet. “Considering how much work we have to do… we can afford Barney’s and Pauline for hair.”
“Che,” Rayne muttered. “I could recite what Barney’s has this season. As for Pauline? We can’t get Laryette?” She looked back at Alice. “This girl needs Laryette.”
“It will depend on what we get at Barney’s, but I can schedule an emergency appointment with Pauline, for sure.”
An exasperated sigh blew through the apartment. “Fine! Give her fair warning about the horrors we’re about to unleash, though.” Rayne grabbed the bottom of Alice’s ponytail! Excuse you! Alice swatted her like the obnoxious fly she was.
“Can someone please explain to me what’s going on?” Alice asked.
Renaldo stepped between her and Rayne, who was more concerned with making hair and makeup appointments than taking another look at the disappointing canvas she was given to work with. “As we said, we’ve been hired to help you dress for your meeting with Mr. Monroe tomorrow. No charges at all for you. Everything is complimentary of Mr. Monroe.”
“I’m sure it is.” Alice was trapped between fuming and swooning. Come on, the woman had grown up watching those makeover shows. Sometimes she sat in cafés or parks imagining two stylists walking up to her and saying “We’re here to save your sense of fashion!” Now that it had happened, however? Something stank. It was probably Monroe’s money. This wasn’t something fun and nice done for her. This was Monroe taking more control of their interactions by determining what Alice would look like… for his pleasure. So much for surprising him with a new blouse or something.
“We don’t have much time,” Renaldo continued. “If you would please come with us, we would appreciate it. We don’t have a whole lot of time to kill.”
Alice remained firm where she stood. “Nobody cuts my hair.” She had been growing it for years, ever since a botched cut when she was in tenth grade.
Sure, she trimmed it here and there, but she knew these stylist types. Long hair? Hack it off!
Another exasperated sigh. “We can at least clip the bangs and split ends, right?”
“Sure…”
“Great! Let’s get the fuck out of here then. Everywhere I turn it’s the same fucking carpet. How can you live like this?” Rayne stared down at the black polyester uniform still bedecking Alice’s physique. “Seriously. I would’ve killed myself long ago.”
Renaldo leaned in toward Alice’s ear. “She’s a bit dramatic, but she’s one of the best at her job. Trust me. I’ve seen her do some remarkable style makeovers.”
Alice almost didn’t believe him. “Will I still look like myself?”
He shrugged. “Think of it this way. It’s still your body and your mind locked inside it. All we do is change the window dressing.”
Somehow that did not inspire a lot of confidence in the situation.
***
“Black again?” Alice asked, incredulous as she stood in front of the mirrors at the downtown Barney’s. “Don’t they carry any other colors here?”
“There are some,” Renaldo began, hanging up more black dresses and blouses next to the mirror. Alice was in the midst of shimmying out of the latest dress when Rayne walked back in, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe Alice would dare to defile such a piece of priceless fashion.
“If we buy you something from here, Mr. Monroe will be expecting his favorite color.”
Of course it would be black. No wonder he kept getting the hots for her. First she was wearing that little black dress at The Dark Hour, then she was wearing her black pencil skirt and black and white blouse. He had no problem ripping apart her black tights, right? Did he get a boner from my polyester black Blue Bird uniform?
“What, is he looking at my label when I walk into the room?”
“He’ll see the statements after we’re done here.” Rayne’s face softened for the first time in hours. “Trust us, you want us to build up the anticipation for you. We’re not only helping you because we’re being paid to.”
Alice didn’t think twice about spinning around in her underwear. Everyone in the changing area had seen her like that for a while now.
Rayne was more critical of her body than Renaldo was. The man made a flippant comment about her hip to waist ratio and how good that was for a certain style of dress, but otherwise he said nothing, and Alice was glad of it. Last thing she needed was more opinions, let alone male ones.
Not that she saw a huge difference in these dresses either. Sheath dresses, halter dresses, A-line, Queen Anne, cashmere or silk… at the end of the day, they all looked the same on her. Or so she swore as yet another knee-length dress was put on her body.
“Hmm.” Rayne rubbed her chin. A few feet away, Alice’s cell phone continuously buzzed in her purse. Must have been Candice, wondering where the hell she was. Alice barely had time to leave a note before being kidnapped. “Why don’t we try the floor length gown?”
Renaldo thumbed through the rack with a sigh. “I had them put it back already. I couldn’t imagine us actually using it. This is a date, not a gala or other such function.”
So they were going to admit that this was a date and not a “meeting?” Great. “We can make it work,” Rayne insisted. “Get it on her before I change my mind.”
Rolling his eyes, Renaldo escaped the dressing area to hunt down this dress he had already discarded once. A floor length gown, huh? Was this a prom do-over? I didn’t have a date for my prom. It might be nice, I guess. She couldn’t imagine Monroe being her date, though. That guy would roll up in his million dollar limo bearing a tiger lily corsage and a peacock to use as the biggest prop for their date. He wouldn’t even take me to the prom. He’d take me to a house party and do me dirty in some guy’s mom’s bedroom. Oh, who was she kidding? The party would be at Monroe’s place!
As she stood, half naked, Alice imagined being whisked away to that penthouse suite at the top of that downtown building. She had only seen one room out of how many? An empty office? Maybe tomorrow night would be the night for checking out Monroe’s bedroom. Or at least one of his bedrooms. Would the bodyguard be coming along as well? Damn, she hoped not! She didn’t care how much those guys were paid to look the other way while the boss got his cock sucked. An audience was an audience!
“Here we go.” Rayne held up a… yup, that was a fancy, expensive prom dress. Okay. So a grown woman could definitely wear a Barney’s gown to the red carpet, a wedding, or as Renaldo said, a gala. On a date? “Try it on.”
It took both her and Rayne to get it on. I have to admit, I look pretty nice. After Renaldo pulled her hair back into a bun, Alice’s eyes widened. Was that what she looked like when dressed so fancily? Her mother would roll over in bed to see it. She’s always saying I need to dress up nicer. Unfortunately, hostess work didn’t allow for many gowns. She was lucky to work at a place that let her wear nice pants or, gasp, a decent skirt.
“It looks great up top,” Renaldo said. “But that skirt is not going to win us any favors with Mr. Monroe. If we sent her to him dressed like that, he’d think we were mad. Or nuns. Not the fun kind, either.”
Rayne nodded. “That’s why we’re going to cut the skirt. The focus point should be her chest, anyway.”
“My… chest?” Alice looked down. A large keyhole expanded from the bottom of her cleavage to the top of her navel. It didn’t show off much, but she did look respectable for once. Quite the feat since she couldn’t wear a padded bra to play up what she did have.
“You have a great chest for your physique,” Rayne said with a wave of her hand. “We should show it off. None of the other dresses do you any justice like this does.”
“It’s either that or show off your ass.” Renaldo tilted his head. “And, honey…”
Alice clapped her hands on her ass, as if that would make it bigger! All of this was good enough for Monroe to help himself to. Then again, with the man paying for this expensive dress, she might as well humor the squad he sent after her. “Who am I to say no at this point? Just don’t show off my nipples.”
Rayne and Renaldo exchanged looks. What? Was there something on her face?
A seamstress was brought in after the final decision was made. After taking fifteen minutes’ worth of measurements, Alice was allowed to step out of the dress and into her work clothes. No one had given her enough time to change out of her Blue Bird uniform.
“Yikes,” Renaldo muttered. “Play your cards right, sweetie, and you’ll never have to wear something as garishly made as that again.”
Alice was almost afraid to ask, but as she pulled the shirt over her head, she inquired, “Why’s that?”
He grinned to the sounds of Rayne and the seamstress bickering over a centimeter. “Damon Monroe is one of the biggest paydays in town. Women have been fighting amongst themselves at the country club to even get a look at him, let alone marry him.”
“Whoa.” Alice left her buttons undone. “What are you talking about? He and I aren’t…”
Renaldo stepped closer, voice dropping. “Damon Monroe has only publicly dated a handful of women since coming back from Princeton. Now, many would say that means he’s dating behind closed doors. This is true. A man like that? He gets around, but he doesn’t date unless it’s for publicity or if he’s courting a potential Mrs. Monroe. His family is old-fashioned like that.”
Alice frowned. “I still don’t follow. I’ve only met him a couple of times. He asked me out on a date. So what?”
“So. What?” Renaldo was loving this way too much. “So for him to formally ask you out on a date and go this way with you… that means you’re pretty fucking special, Alice.”
“I’m not…”
“Word to the wise. If a man of that caliber decides you’re special for whatever reason, then you bet your ass that you’re a special little snowflake. Own up to it. Make hay while the sun shines. All that jazz. Clichés, clichés…”
>
Alice finally buttoned up her shirt. “Still…”
“Do you want to keep having to wear shirts like this? Think about it, Alice. One of the few eligible bachelors of comic proportions left wants to date you. It may not last very long… or it may last for as long as you want it to.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“There’s a reason that guy is single.”
“Do tell?”
Renaldo looked around before answering. “He’s a perfectionist. Some say he’s OCD. He also works nonstop and has to outsource his bowel movements because he doesn’t have time to waste in the bathroom like the rest of us plebes. Get my feeling?”
Alice nodded. “I definitely got that impression.” The child inside of her wondered how one outsourced bowel movements. Also, how much did it cost? She might want to look into it.
“He’s publicly dated both high-profile women and women nobody has ever heard of, like you.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Renaldo shrugged in his lavender suit. “It’s a harsh truth. You date him long enough, though, and people will soon know who you are, whether you like it or not. What I’m trying to tell you is that you’ve got a big opportunity to make some serious money, girl. The Monroes aren’t just rich. They’re so stinking rich that even Forbes doesn’t bother to tally up their goods anymore. Too much work, you know? Besides, they pay listers to keep their family out of the public eye. Money is such a non-object that you could probably get him to pay off some of your bills. Not that I’m saying you should demand such a thing right away. Work into it.”
Alice snorted. “You sound like you have a lot of experience in this.”
“Honey, I didn’t make it this far without learning a thing or two about rich-ass men. Unfortunately, most of them aren’t into me.” He winked. Alice giggled.
“Thanks. Think I’ll see where it goes first.”
Rayne rejoined them after the seamstress left with a huff. “First place you need to go,” Renaldo said loudly, holding up Alice’s ponytail. “Is Pauline’s. We don’t have any time to waste. It’s time to get you a new hairdo. Now.”