Hello (Dressing A Billionaire #1)

by Jamie Lee Scott

  I sat on the paisley print club chair, already contemplating my second S’more latte, when Gwen and Orlean stepped through the antique front doors together. A twinge of jealousy struck me as they laughed and smiled at each other on the way in. I missed them and their friendship. Thank goodness for FaceTime, Facebook, and Snapchat, so we could stay in touch.

  Once their eyes adjusted from the bright sunshine to the dimly lit café, they both ran to me.

  “Maisy, baby!” Orlean got to me first. She squeezed me tight and then held me at arm's length. “Y’all don’t look nearly as bad as Bruce described.”

  I looked at Gwen, who rolled her eyes and shrugged.

  “Bruce? Since when do you and Bruce chat it up?” I frowned at her.

  Orlean immediately stepped back. “Oh, I saw him at the convenience store last night.”

  Gwen stepped in and hugged me tight. She whispered, “How’re y’all doing?”

  They’d picked that southern twang right back up since coming home. I wondered how long it’d be before I said “y’all” and “honey.”

  I whispered back, “How much did my dad tell you?”

  “Nothing. He said he didn’t know what had happened. It’s all good, honey.”

  We parted. “Yeah, I only told him and Mom later last night.”

  Gwen and Orlean sat on a burgundy velvet love seat across from me. I looked at them and marveled.

  Gwen Murray with hair the color of espresso, matching eye color and long dark lashes, turned heads when she entered a room. The dark accents against her pale skin and cherry red lips made her look sexy without trying. She’s oblivious because she’s so in love with her man, who happens to be in the military and deployed somewhere horrible. I want to be jealous of her athletic body and perfect features, but she’s my best friend.

  Orlean, on the other hand, quaffed to perfection, works at it. She’s a cross between Audrey Hepburn and Adele. She’s short, stocky, and has shoulder length wavy brown hair, only almost no one knows how long it is because it’s in a perpetual French twist. Her classic style represents her well in her career, as she’s a sales representative with a showroom at the Dallas Market. She reps Gwen’s jewelry line.

  “So, I know we’re in touch, but tell me, what have you not shared with me?” I said.

  Orlean piped up and leaned in close. “Have you seen Gwen’s newest line? Oh, my, it’s to die for.”

  Gwen touched Orlean on the arm. “But we aren’t here to talk about us.”

  Orlean bit her perfectly stained berry-colored lip. “That’s right. What the hell happened to you?”

  Now Gwen slapped Orlean hard on the arm. “Orlean!”

  Leaning back a bit, she said, “We’re excited to have you back in Texas, but not excited at the reason. Sorry, I lost myself.”

  I shook my head and picked up my coffee cup to take a sip. “Are we ordering?”

  “Looks like you already did,” Gwen’s gaze fixed on my coffee cup.

  “I didn’t know how long you two would be. You’re never on time, and I needed caffeine. I’ve had a rough week.” I held up my cup in a cheers motion.

  Gwen stood and smiled at the pimple-faced young barista, who smiled and waved.

  “The usual?” he asked.

  Gwen smiled. “Times three today.”

  The boy grinned ear to ear, then held up three fingers.

  “Wow, you two are regulars, I see.”

  “He’s creaming his khakis right now,” Orlean giggled.

  “Gwen, have you been teasing that boy?” I asked.

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s not my fault he gets a woody whenever the wind blows.”

  “He’d probably cum all over himself if she touched him,” Orlean said.

  The thought made me gag. “I can’t see Gwen touching him that way.”

  Gwen laughed. “She meant just touching his arm.”

  That had us all cracking up.

  “Stop stalling. What happened? And why have you been ignoring my calls and texts?” Gwen grilled me.

  I put my cup on the long wooden table in front of us. “I couldn’t drive and text, and I didn’t want to break down in a blubbering flood of tears, so I couldn’t talk, either. But I’m here now.”

  My phone buzzed. I pulled it from my pocket. “It’s my dad.” I swiped my screen and answered. “Hey, Dad.”

  His voice loud enough for Gwen and Orlean to hear, I tried to turn down the call volume. “Did you get in touch with Mr. Popovits and pay him back yet?”

  “I’m having coffee with Gwen and Orlean, then I’ll head over there to pay him.”

  “Maisy, stop stalling and get over there. I don’t want that family to think we need handouts.” A pause. “You did shower and clean up, right? We can’t have them thinking you’re homeless. Because you sure looked homeless yesterday.”

  “Dad, please stop saying homeless. Anyway, I’ve gotta go. Love you.” I disconnected the call.

  “Homeless?” Orlean asked.

  The barista must have dropped everything to make our coffees.He stood next to Gwen and placed them on the table, along with an assortment of biscotti. Gwen touched his arm and handed him a twenty and said, “You’re the best. Keep the change.”

  Orlean and I looked at each other and suppressed our laughter. She looked at his crotch as he walked away.

  “Maybe the nice tip distracted him,” I said.

  Gwen put her finger to her lips. “I’ll have to give him another twenty, because I feel bad that you’re laughing at him.”

  Gwen could afford to be generous, since her jewelry designs sold to the nicest, and most high-end stores and galleries in the country. And not on commission, either. Her one-of-a-kind glass bead and mixed metal jewelry designs had graced the covers of Town & Country, Italian Vogue, InStyle and lord knows how many other magazines.

  Yet, she sat across from me wearing a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up, skinny jeans, and black pumps. No jewelry, not even earnings. Last year, she’d said, “I’m so over being a walking advertisement. That’s what I pay Orlean for.”

  “Excuse me. I’m waiting to hear how you’re homeless,” Orleansaid.

  I told them the whole sordid story, not leaving out any details like I’d done with my parents. I also told them about my stupid car and Hugo helping me.

  “My mom says to give it thirty days. By then I’ll be over him, but until then each day will suck. She said day thirty is like magic, you wake up and you’re over the asshole. Those were her exact words.”

  Orlean said, “Your mom said asshole?”

  “I know, right?” I said.

  “She’s right, even though I’ve never exactly counted the days.” Gwen said.

  “Anyway, here I am. Homeless, living out of my car, single again.”

  Orlean said, “Hugo Popovits? I don’t think I know him.”

  Gwen looked at Orlean. “From that whole horrible story, Hugo is what you take from it?”

  “No use in beating a dead horse. You and I both know we hated Miles anyway.”

  Gwen gave Orlean a sideways glance, but didn’t say anything about her comment. “I’ve met Stella. She owns a few of my pieces. I know she’s a twin. I wonder if Hugo is her twin brother. I should know these things, in case we’re ever in the same circles.”

  “You didn’t like Miles?” A revelation.

  Orlean flung her arms in the air, her biceps muscles tense and quite visible, since Orlean rarely wore anything with sleeves after March. “Like we didn’t tell ya a hundred times when we lived with you in L.A.”

  I looked to Gwen for confirmation, hoping she’d look away or drink her coffee, but she nodded.

  “And you let me move in with him?” Flabbergasted, I slapped my hands on the coffee table.

  Gwen put her coffee down and picked up a biscotti. “Don’t even go there, honey. We told you many times that we didn’t trust him. And when y’all went and moved in with him, we didn’t fuss, because you didn’t listen
to us about anything else regarding Miles.”

  I could feel a tension I hadn’t felt since…OMG, since the last time the three of us discussed Miles. I couldn’t admit I remembered, so I said, “He’s the past, moving on. I have so much to tell you, and I need your advice.”

  Completely oblivious as to what I’d said about advice, Orlean said, “So, darlin’, did you flirt with Hugo?”

  Gwen wiggled her perfectly arched brows.

  “Girls! I had been in the same clothes for three days and was wearing a Depends diaper, no I didn’t flirt with him.” I cringed at the reminder half of Dallas had probably driven by to see my homeless look.

  Orlean’s fingers flew across her phone screen, and she smiled, then frowned, then smiled again.

  “Are you even listening to me, Orlean?”

  She looked up. “He’s single. The Dallas Times magazine has him listed as Texas’ most eligible bachelor.”

  “Ooh la la,” Gwen cooed.

  Orleans said, “Boy, howdy. I’m tellin’ ya!”

  “Please,” I groaned. “Are there pictures of him? He looked like a surfer slash caveman to me. Not homeless, since all nasty smells were coming from me that day, but still.”

  Orlean tapped and swiped a few more times, then turned her phone screen to Gwen.

  “Gross. He doesn’t even look clean in that photo.” She shivered and shook her head.

  A recent memory crossed my mind. “But he smelled divine. I couldn’t place the cologne, but it wasn’t Calvin Klein. This fragrance isn’t from Macy’s.”

  “So he’s clean, or at least smells like good cologne.” Gwen now had Orlean’s phone in her hand. “Ha, he is Stella’s twin brother.”

  I blinked and remembered his icy, vacant gaze. “That explains the gorgeous blue eyes.”

  “You’re gonna look him up and give him his money back, right?” Gwen leaned in. “I mean, you’re single now. And you’ve had the chance to meet Hugo Popovits, and now you have the chance to enter into a hilarious conversation about how you met.”

  “He knows how we met, and I’d really rather not remind him.” I flushed at the thought of how bad I’d looked. “I never want to see him again.”

  Orlean said, “He does look antisocial. Even I don’t think I’d like him. It’s like he’s got an armadillo shell coverin’ his skin.”

  And Orlean never met a man she didn’t like. Except maybe Bruce. She and my brother didn’t get along, because they both spoke their minds.

  I looked at my phone. “I guess I should make the effort to get him his money. I’m going to Popo Industries right after this to see if I can catch him there.”

  “Looking like that?” Gwen said.

  “What’s wrong with the way I look?” I’d taken extra time with my makeup and hair, and I thought I looked fine.

  “You look, how do I say this? You look so Target.”

  I looked down at myself. I’d been so used to wearing designer clothes, I’d forgotten how to make my less-expensive clothes look rich. No, I hadn’t forgotten. I just didn’t care.

  “You might run into Stella!” Orlean jumped up and grabbed her briefcase off the chair next to her. “I have the perfect piece.”

  Orlean dug around and pulled out a jewelry box. She opened it and revealed a glass bead bracelet.

  “Perfect,” Gwen said. “This is my classic style. Everyone will know it’s mine. It’ll dress up your style, and at least step you up to Neiman status.”

  I didn’t need Gwen’s bracelet, but it could be collateral if I did see Stella. The chances were so incredibly slim. I put my wrist out for Orlean, and she fastened the signature Gwen clasp. Though I easily could have put the bracelet on myself, since Gwen had designed her clasps for ease of attaching and removing with one hand.

  The handmade glass beads looked like individual lollipops, but with depth of color that only a seasoned glass artist could pull off. Topaz blended with a mix of ivory and a deep ocean color I couldn’t quite describe. Between the beads, a bouquet of chocolate, black, and ivory pearls nestled to make the bracelet a classic design. I wiggled my wrist to listen to the pearls make their distinctive sound.

  “I can’t afford this. You know that, right?” I continued to move my wrist and watch the colors change in the light.

  “I’m not giving it to you,” Orlean cried. “It’s a loaner. And if you lose or break it, you damn sure will pay for it.”

  Gwen winked and said, “Wholesale price, of course.”

  I couldn’t even afford the wholesale price, which was likely in the four-figure range. “I’ll take very good care of it.” I looked at myself now. “Do I really look that cheap? I mean I’m a stylist for goodness sake.”

  Gwen winced, then said, “You look like you’re trying too hard. And this definitely isn’t your style.”

  “Gwen’s right, it looks too put-together. Maybe you can tuck part of your blouse in, in that rushed style you wear so well.” She dug around in her handbag as she spoke.

  I guess I hadn’t been thinking about impressing anyone when I got dressed. Not in the sense that someone would ask me what I did for a living. I did want to look fabulous for my friends, so they didn’t think I’d been pining away for Miles. Sure, I’d cried a couple of times, and every time I had to tell the story about seeing him with Marla, the crack in my heart enlarged. I’d walked out of the house in a beige cotton top with a high collar, center gold buttons, and fitted three-quarter length sleeves with a turned-up cuff, tucked into a beige-with-butterflies skater skirt and white sandals. I looked fine, but not Marla’s top-dollar fine. She’s have sent me home if I came to work in this. Especially because I didn’t wear accessories.

  Orlean handed me a ring to compliment the bracelet. One of the same glass beads nestled in a tangle of mixed metal wires. I swooned! “I can’t get used to this stuff, I can’t afford it, and I won’t want to give it back.”

  “Well, get a job, and maybe I’ll make you a gift.” Gwen looked at her phone. “I’ve got to go. I have a meeting with a manufacturer. We’re working on a new clasp design. I’m so excited.”

  Orlean said, “Drop me at the mart first?”

  They both stood.

  “I’d better be going, too. I hope I can just drop the money with a receptionist and be done with this.” I stood.

  Orlean downed the rest of her coffee and wrapped the biscotti in a napkin and shoved them in her purse.

  We air kissed on both cheeks, and Gwen said, “You’re the only person I know who looks a gift horse in the mouth.”

  I stiffened. “What does that mean?”

  “You meet the richest bachelor in our state, and you don’t even care. You’re going to find him today, so you can give back the money he paid for your tow, you look stunning, and yet you don’t even seem to care.”

  “I care. I want to look good. I want to start my stylist business here,” I whined.

  Orlean said, “She’s not talking about your career. She’s talking about your love life.”

  “What she said,” Gwen agreed with Orlean.

  “Sweetie, you need to get laid. I mean really laid, like ‘Oh, my God, that was better than chocolate’ laid. Not the missionary shit Miles liked.”

  “He wasn’t that bad,” I said. “I should never have told you about our sex life.”

  “Told us, more like complained to us,” Gwen giggled. “Poor girl.”

  “That’s last year’s story, hon. Let’s make a new one,” Orlean hugged me.

  As we all headed out the door together, I said, “I’m still wounded from the last one. I have no desire to move on to another heartbreak.”

  “Attitude is everything,” Gwen said as she got in her car.

  What was wrong with my attitude? And who cared if Hugo was rich? He had the personality of a dead armadillo on the side of the road, to borrow from Gwen’s assessment. I needed a live armadillo, or a knight in shining…condoms.

  Chapter 6

  Why do industrial parks mak
e the parking lots like a maze? I hit three dead ends before I found the lot closest to the front door of Popo Industries. I stood outside the car, staring at the massive glass building. As I walked up to the front, I could barely distinguish the front doors, but it didn’t matter, because they opened before I had a chance to reach for a handle.

  Inside, the reception area measured about half a football field in length and width, with walls and floors in varying shades of gray. A stunning blonde stood behind a desk and greeted me with a broad smile. People came and went at a leisurely pace through a secured door to my right.

  “Good mornin’, may I help you?” Her teeth gleamed against her tanned skin.

  “I’m not sure if I’m in the right place,” I said, “but I’m looking for Hugo Popovits.”

  Her smile immediately faded.

  I tried to decide what this meant.

  “I’m sorry, Hugo doesn’t take any unsolicited visitors. But thank you for stopping by.” She sat down at her desk.

  “I’m not a visitor, and I don’t really care if I see him or not.” It dawned on me that she might think I’m a gold-digging groupie.

  “Right,” she said politely, but firmly.

  “If you want to leave your name and number, I’ll leave a message with Mr. Popovits. If he’d like to make an appointment, he’ll have his assistant take care of it.” She handed me a pad of paper and a pen. A Mont Blanc pen. I guess this is how they do it in the billionaire life, no promotional freebie BIC pens here.

  I did my best not to snatch the pen from her, taking it calmly, I wrote my name and number. Not that he’d remember me, so I also left a note telling him who I was. I pushed the paper and pen back at her.

  She looked at it and said, “Oh, you’re the reason he was late to his meeting yesterday.”

  As she said this, I heard a click-click-click across the marble floor and turned to see Stella Popovits walking toward me.