Hello (Dressing A Billionaire #1)

by Jamie Lee Scott

  “Pumpkin beer? I didn’t think they made this in the spring and summer.”

  “In Texas we do things differently. And better. Pumpkin beers can be enjoyed year ’round.”

  She popped the top on her own bottle, then took a long drink. “Now, back to Hugo.”

  “There’s nothing to get back to. I’ll be dressing Stella for the gala, and I’ll definitely need a stunning piece from you.” I licked my fingers, then grabbed a rag and wiped them off.

  “The timer is set.” Gwen turned and leaned against the counter.

  “From now until it goes off, we’re talking about you, not me.” I poked at her with the head of my beer bottle.

  “Not much to say. I’m still making my jewelry, business is good. I have a very high end clientele, so I don’t have to make many pieces, but I do need to be extremely clever in my designs, and I have to purchase extraordinarily expensive gems and findings. Though my clasps really do sell the bracelets by themselves. It’s getting harder and harder to be creative, so I’m hiring a design team. My meeting today got the ball rolling.”

  “Speaking of jewelry, I have your ring and bracelet in a box on the table.” I pointed to the dining room table. “And I don’t want to hear about your business life. I’m talking about your love life.”

  Gwen smiled a knowing smile. “It’s the same. Ian’s still deployed. You’d never know the wars were pretty much over. He’s been home once in the last three years, and now he’s back in the sandbox. At least now it’s not as volatile as it used to be.”

  “Thank goodness for FaceTime, and Skype, right?”

  Gwen smiled bigger and winked. “Oh, the things that can be accomplished with FaceTime and Skype.” She giggled.

  I shook my head and put my hand up. “I don’t want to know.”

  “Good, because I don’t FaceTime and tell.”

  I plugged my iPhone into the external speakers my mom had installed under the kitchen cabinets, and we listened to Drake, while we prepped the three other pizzas.

  The timer went off for the artichoke pizza, and at the same time, I heard pounding on the front door.

  I looked at Gwen. “Did you lock the door behind you?”

  “I don’t remember, why?”

  “I’m wondering why Bruce didn’t just walk in.” I headed to the living room. “I’m sure he has his own key.”

  Annoyed, I flung the door open, ready to jump all over my brother.

  Chapter 8

  I’m not sure the look on my face said what I thought in that moment.

  “Hello,” Hugo said.

  Stunned, I stammered, “Hello.”

  I mentally patted myself on the back for not changing my clothes. I’d planned to change into sweats and a T-shirt before Gwen came over, but I hadn’t had time.

  “You called me earlier today.” He stood in all his hairy glory, wearing a different graphic tee and cutoff sweatpants. His Crocs had been replaced with running shoes, which made me look at his calves. Mmmmm, nice.

  “I did.” I stood frozen in place, gripping the door’s edge.

  Gwen sidled in behind me. “No, Bruce, you can’t join us for pizza.”

  I looked back at her.

  She looked at our guest. “Oh, you’re not Bruce. And you can join us if you like.”

  I glared at her.

  “Girl, where are your manners? Let the man in the house.” Gwen pulled my hand from the door and opened it wider.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Please, come inside. We’re making pizzas if you’d like to join us.”

  I didn’t want him to come inside, embarrassed at our middle-class home and belongings. So stupid to even think something like that, but he probably looked down on people like us.

  Hugo looked behind him at the car parked at the curb. He turned back, “I can’t stay, my driver is waiting. I wanted to give you this. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at nine. I value promptness, so don’t keep me waiting.”

  I took the card he proffered. “So, you’re going to let me dress you for the Diamond Jubilee?” My heart skipped.

  “I didn’t say that. I said I’d meet with you in the morning.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of this sweatpants.

  I flinched at his reply. “Okay. I guess you could have called me to say that.”

  “Yes, I could have, but I wanted to see for myself that you looked human. Pretty, even. My sister is known to exaggerate.” The corner of his mouth moved under the facial hair.

  I smiled. “I hope I pass the test.”

  “It wasn’t a test. I just didn’t believe Stella. But I’ll be damned, she told the truth.” He turned on his heel and walked away. “See you in the morning. Enjoy your pizza. Oh, and nice to meet you Gwen.”

  Gwen and I looked at each other. “How did he know who I am?”

  “Google,” Hugo said from a ways down the sidewalk.

  I closed the door and fell against it. “What just happened?”

  Gwen doubled over laughing. “He googled us.”

  I slid down to sit on the floor. “I can’t believe he googled us.”

  “He googled you, anyway,” Gwen grabbed my hand and pulled me up. “And found me, too, since I just happen to be attached to you at the hip.”

  We walked back into the kitchen.

  “You know this means our night just took a 180 turn, right?” Gwen grabbed a butcher knife and cut the artichoke pizza into slices. “We have some work to do.”

  Gwen pulled her MacBook Pro from her handbag, and her fingers flew as we came up with terms to search. If Hugo knew about us, we’d know about him.

  Gwen and I traded off typing while the other one ate. At one point she said, “Orlean should be here. She’s got an eye for new designers we don’t even know about yet.”

  I slapped my hand on the counter. “That’s perfect. I’ll call her in the morning and go down to the mart to see who’s there.”

  Gwen threw back her head and laughed. “Sweetie, those designers won’t be at the mart. But Orlean will know how to contact at least half a dozen who would die to see their dress, or tuxedo, on the Popovits twins. This will be your secret weapon.”

  With that, Gwen and I continued our search of billionaire families and charity balls. I had to be sure no one had worn what I planned for Stella. And I had big plans. Her platinum blond curls and blue eyes would distract from almost any gown, but I’d do my best to find the gown she’d been born for.

  Gwen and I fell asleep on the carpeted floor in the living room, and even slept through my parents coming home. When my alarm went off on my phone, I reached out to quiet it, but it wasn’t near me.

  Gwen groaned. “Turn that off. I don’t have anywhere to be. Go back to sleep.”

  I had to get up off the living room carpet to find my phone, which had lodged between the cushions on the couch. Thank goodness it kept trilling until I found it, or I’d panic, thinking I lost it. Which I sort of had.

  When I had it in my hot little hands, I looked at the screen to silence it, and saw a text.

  9 am don’t be late

  I squealed. “Hugo.” I looked at the time on my phone.

  I had less than an hour to get ready and get to the address on the card. I punched the address into my GPS. Thirty minutes if the traffic allowed. A busy commute could double that time. I ran to my bedroom, tossed six different outfits out on my bed, then decided on a white and sheer horizontal striped A-line skirt, a black silk sleeveless T-shirt, and gray flat mules. I pulled off the clothes I’d slept in, thinking I needed to drop that habit. Showering and dressing in record time, I wrapped an oversized belt around the tee and pulled my hair up into a messy bun at the top of my head. I’d put my makeup on in the car.

  Gwen had moved to a sitting position against the couch, with her phone in her hand. She barely looked up as I flew by. “Have fun.”

  “No,” I groaned.

  “What?” Like she really didn’t care that much. Gwen isn’t a morning person.

&nbs
p; “I didn’t ask my dad if I could borrow the car.” I was so screwed.

  I opened the door to go warm up the car before asking my dad if I could take it, and realized I wouldn’t need to be borrowing it after all.

  Standing about twenty feet away, a man in faded jeans, a polo shirt, and leather loafers approached.

  “Timmy?” I asked.

  He reached out his hand. “Timothy Oldermeyer.”

  “My mistake, Timothy. I’m Maisy.” His brisk, brief handshake indicated all business.

  “Is that what you’re wearing?” he asked.

  I looked just fine, and I knew it. Except my face. I still had no makeup on. Not that I looked hideous without it, but I looked better with. I didn’t need to look gorgeous, just presentable. Right? Besides, I wasn’t looking for a date, just a job.

  “Are you driving me to Hugo’s office?” I didn’t bother with his question.

  “We’ll be going to the house.” Timothy stepped to the side to let me pass.

  “Hold on, I need to grab my handbag and something else. I’ll be right back.”

  I closed the door and said to Gwen, “He sent his driver.”

  “Uh huh,” she didn’t even hear me.

  I snatched up my purse and makeup bag, and my phone, then left without another word to Gwen, who looked engrossed in her phone. I walked to the car, and Timothy held the back passenger door open for me.

  I stepped inside the brown and copper Bentley Mulsanne. “Your boss likes Bentley.”

  Timothy closed the door without responding.

  I’d forgotten my manners and as soon as he sat in the driver’s seat, I said, “Thank you so much for picking me up.”

  Looking at me through the rearview mirror, Timothy said, “Hugo wasn’t sure your car had been fixed yet.”

  “It hasn’t. Again, thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome.” His sincerity got lost in the words.

  I’d never ridden in a car this nice. The ivory harlequin pattern of the leather upholstery hugged me, and the sunroof tempted me to push the open button and stand up to poke my head out of the top. I didn’t, of course.

  Timothy played classical music from the stereo up front and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He didn’t attempt to engage me.

  I knew the roads in and around the city, and even some of the country roads of the little towns, but I didn’t recognize the route Timothy had chosen. For a millisecond, I thought maybe I’d been kidnapped by a crazy man, then I looked at the interior of the Bentley. I could be dead wrong, but I didn’t think most kidnappers owned cars like this.

  Thirty minutes later, Timothy turned off the road and drove up to a security gate.

  And what a house! Not that I could actually see the house from the road. The driver stopped the car at the gate, rolled down the window, then put his thumb on a screen. The gate rolled open, disappearing into the thick hedges surrounding the property.

  “How many acres?” I asked.

  “On this property, twenty acres, give or take.” Timothy looked at me through the rearview mirror as he answered.

  On this property, I thought. Must be nice. I looked around at the landscaping. The asphalt driveway had to be at least a quarter of a mile long, lined with weeping willows and immaculately manicured lawn.”

  “Drought didn’t bother you much here?”

  “What drought?” I saw him wink at me through the mirror.

  I smiled. I guess if you have the money, you can get your water trucked in.

  You know those movies you watch, where there’s a long driveway to the home, and when the landscape opens up, you see a massive southern plantation house? Yeah, this was that, only this plantation had an attached garage.

  The driveway ended in a keyhole type shape with a hook off to the left that led to a five-car garage. The entire house a light gray, with even lighter gray trim. Two stories from what I could see from my vantage point in the back seat. Definitely a plantation-style home with pillars and wrap around porch.

  Timothy pulled the Bentley up to the front of the house, then stopped the car, leaving it running, and got out to open the door for me.

  “Thank you so much.” I felt the urge to curtsy.

  “You’re so very welcome.” He closed the door and walked me to the entry. “Ring the bell and Bobby should let you in. I’m going to put the car away.”

  I headed to the front door. The walk landscape dotted with pansies, and sculpted topiaries flanked the stairs. Old wooden rockers moved with the wind, and a porch swing gave the porch a family feel. Nothing else about the house seemed homey. The front door: black with silver hardware. I rang the doorbell.

  I don’t think I’d waited three seconds before the door opened. Bobby looked a whole lot like Hugo, same beard, long hair, and clothing style. Then again, this wasn’t Bobby.

  “Nice to see you’re timely.” Hugo opened the door wide and swept his hand out to let me know I should enter.

  “Wow, Bobby, you look a lot like Hugo,” I said, trying to break the ice.

  “Bobby’s busy at the moment.”

  I may have been right about the sense of humor. None.

  I looked up to see double arched stairs descending down to the round foyer, creating a two-story entrance. The floor, gray wide plank wood and polished to a blinding shine, led straight into the interior of the house and to a dining room.

  I could see a long table set with eight upholstered chairs. The fabric, a diamond pattern in black and white. The colors of the dining room, complimenting the entry, where the flat gray walls led to the white of the stairs with black railings. When I looked up, I saw that the landing held a masculine chandelier of black and ivory. I could see the doors to the rooms upstairs.

  To the left, a gray table with three drawers held an array of family photos in black and silver frames. To the right, huge gray pots filled with mini palm trees. I started to sense a pattern, guessing maybe he liked gray. I mentally patted myself on the back for this.

  Hugo wore a hot pink graphic tee with a spiral pattern on the front, white linen board shorts, and surprisingly un-hairy bare feet. I froze. I’d already made my first mistake.

  “Should I have taken my shoes off?”

  Hugo laughed. “Heavens, no. I never wear shoes inside, but I don’t want to see anyone else’s feet.” He put his hand on the small of my back, steering me to the right. “Let’s head upstairs.”

  At the top of the stairs, on the landing, my breath caught. The room before me had wall-to-wall windows in an arc, floor to ceiling. Unlike the rooms downstairs, this room had been painted in pale yellow and off white. The floor, the same as downstairs, caught the light from the windows and looked lighter. A conference table graced the center of the room, with a dozen comfy looking ivory leather chairs tucked round it. To my left, a wall of white cabinets and a wet bar. To the left, a wall of monitors, all off at the moment.

  The windows looked out onto a lake. “How do you get any work done with that view?”

  Hugo picked up a remote control, and the blackout shades dropped as the lights came up. “Like this.”

  I laughed. “That works.”

  “Let’s go to my room.” He walked in front of me, and I followed down the hall.

  Damn he looked good from this view, except for that straggly hair hanging to the middle of his back. If he ever put it up in a man-bun I was outta there. Though I’ll admit, this view of him made my tummy flutter. Yummy!

  Chapter 9

  Hugo’s demeanor kept me off kilter. Gracious enough, his vibe still screamed standoffish. Like he didn’t want me in his house, but he’d tolerate me. I’d be more comfortable anywhere else, or with anyone else.

  “I don’t mean to intrude on your privacy. We could’ve met at a men’s store,” I offered.

  He opened the door to his bedroom. “How would you see my wardrobe?”

  Skype? I thought.

  If I’d been surprised by anything in this house, I certainly w
asn’t prepared for this. The room stood nearly empty. The walls a stark white. A king-size bed with white sheets at the far end of a room that rivaled the size of my parent’s home, and a single chrome night stand. Apparently the decorator hadn’t had time to do this room yet?

  “You haven’t lived here long?” I asked.

  “Four years, why?” Hugo turned to look at me. Those blue eyes biting into mine.

  “Just curious. Everything looks so pristine and new.” I couldn’t exactly say, “Because your bedroom isn’t finished yet.”

  “I don’t have much company. Or at all. Just me and my staff, and the employees of my gaming company.” He walked to the far side of the room and opened the double doors.

  Revealing an empty walk-in closet. I tried to hide my disappointment by saying, “Gaming company? I thought you worked for Popo Industries.”

  He shook his head, but didn’t say anything.

  I chose not to push the subject and walked into the closet and looked around. The white shelves and rods could’ve held thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes, but were empty. Empty shoe racks and hanging rods made the closet look as if no one lived in this house. I did spy a collection of Crocs and a few sets of running shoes in the corner.

  “Where do you keep your clothes?” I asked.

  Hugo opened a drawer at the back of the closet, then another. “It’s all right here.”

  I looked at the shorts and T-shirts, then at Hugo. “Why am I here, then?”

  “Because I lost a bet.” He looked everywhere, but at me.

  “I should go, because there’s nothing for me to work with here. And you’ve made it perfectly clear you don’t want me here.” I backed out of the closet.

  “Stop.” Hugo hadn’t moved.

  I stopped. “What?” I couldn’t hide the irritation in my voice.

  “My hesitation has nothing to do with you. I like my life, and I’m not thrilled to have lost this bet to my sister. She’s the socialite, not me. I prefer no one know I exist.” He walked toward me, then past me, out of the closet.