I closed my computer, set an alarm on my phone for seven in the morning, then put on Pandora radio. Tuning into a jazz station, I put my phone on “do not disturb” and crawled under the covers on my bed.
Monday morning, I awoke before the alarm, spent extra time with my hair, using the flat iron to curl into ringlets, and steam ironed my outfit for the day.
I’d picked something comfortable, in case we went shopping. The chic, lightweight ivory dress I’d picked had a bold abstract floral print and relaxed shape. The ideal dress for this outing. And the sleek point-toe flats in a glossy patent-leather with a double ankle strap teamed perfectly, especially the tiny gold lock charm on the buckle of the straps. I picked pearl earrings and a bright yellow cross body messenger bag as accessories.
I filled the bag with all of my research and felt guilty as I got in Hugo’s car to drive to my meeting with Derek. I couldn’t exactly show up in my jalopy and try to pull off a “successful personal stylist” vibe.
I’d set out my rates with Derek’s manager, hoping I didn’t price myself out of a job, but he didn’t flinch, just said he’d pay half up front, and I needed to send him an invoice. Since I didn’t know what half would be, I requested a thousand-dollar retainer, and I’d bill him for the rest or refund the balance. He said Derek would have a check for me when I arrived.
Derek opened the door to his condo himself. Unlike the billionaires, he didn’t have a butler, and a “man” who catered to him. Yet. Maybe when he went from a condo to a mansion, he’d get somebody.
Dressed in Dallas Cowboys nylon shorts that hung beyond his knees and a black tank top, I marveled at his muscles. Hugo’s body was fit, but Derek’s body was obnoxious in a breathtaking kind of way. Looking at him made me want to take Hugo up on the “anytime” offer at his private gym. Derek’s black wavy hair looked mussed, like he’d recently run his fingers through it. And his amber eyes melted me.
“Miss Maisy?” He opened the door wide.
“Mr. Gattis.” We shook hands.
“Derek, or we’re not going to get along very well.” He grinned, and that smile almost blinded me.
I liked him instantly.
“Your manager thinks you need a wardrobe makeover.” I didn’t want to get too familiar, I was the hired help, after all. I think you look fine, really fine, just the way you are. I mentally slapped myself for that thought.
“I’m the big and tall guy, so I hate shopping for clothes. I practically live in these.” He pulled at his shorts, and I tried to look only at his legs. His buff, freaking dark, freaking gorgeous legs.
“Let’s sit down and I’ll show you what I’ve come up with.”
We walked through his sparely furnished condo, painted in shades of gray. Really? Really? What was it with men and minimal furnishings and the color gray?
But he did have a very comfortable looking sectional with recliners, cup holders, and remotes built in. And on the wall? The largest flat screen TV I’d ever seen.
“That’s huge,” I said, admiring the TV as we passed.
He said, “Oh, that’s nothing. You should see the one in my movie room.”
This guy may not have Hugo beat in the money department, but he blew him out of the water in the TV and muscle department. Focus, girl, focus.
We walked into the dining room, where Derek had a laptop open, and a pot of coffee on a warmer.
“I already ate before practice this morning, but I can get you something,” he offered.
“I’m good, but I’d love some coffee.” I drooled at the coffee pot.
“Black, cream, or cream and sugar?”
“I think I’ll take it black this morning,” I said. “I need it strong and black today.”
Oh, holy shit, what did I just say? I couldn’t look Derek in the eyes suddenly. I looked down, and then I realized where I had looked and I turned to face the table.
Derek smiled and said, “Yes, black is good.”
I blushed. Before I could make a bigger fool of myself, I put my messenger bag on the table and pulled out my prints.
Derek poured black coffee for both of us, then put creamer in his. “I like mine a little lighter, and sweeter.” He winked.
I sat down. Jumping right into business and ignoring his comment. “Do you have an aversion to tailors?”
“Taylors? Like Taylor Swift or Taylor Lautner?”
I frowned. “You don’t like Taylor Swift? I’m not sure I can work with this.”
He shrugged. “I like Swifty just fine. Lautner, not really my type. Too werewolfie for me.”
I laughed and shook my head. “T A I L O R, not T A Y L O R. If we find clothing you like, but they need to be tailored?”
“Well, in that case, no.”
“Do they make house calls? I’m pressed for time, and it’s hard enough to go shopping, much less make more appointments.”
“That can be arranged.” I spread out the outfits I thought would look good. “Neiman has a great selection for athletic men. We could start there.”
I hoped he wasn’t so rich that “off the rack” offended him.
“It depends. I’m on a budget.” He flipped through the pictures.
“Budget?” He’djust signed a ten-million-dollar bonus last year on top of his crazy salary.
“Look, I’m a wide receiver. I don’t know how long my career will last. I’m not blowing my money on clothes, when I could be investing for my future.” He slapped his huge hands over the papers.
I looked at him, stunned. My eyes wide, and my mouth agape. When I could finally find words, I said, “I think I love you.”
“Excuse me?” He moved slightly away from me, actually scooting his chair.
I laughed. “No, I mean, this is so smart. I’m not used to this mentality. I mean, just last week I paid twenty-two thousand dollars for a watch for a client. And the guy didn’t blink. This is refreshing.”
Derek leaned in. “Girl, you don’t have that much for my entire wardrobe. And I’ve got to pay your fees, too.”
“No worries. We’ll definitely start with Neiman. And we’ll purchase classic pieces, so you’ll be able to mix and match and look fresh.”
He ran his hands over his torso. “I already look fresh.”
I nodded. “Yes. You. Do.”
“And if you can improve on this, my dear, you’re a genius.”
I looked him dead on in the eyes and said, “I am a genius.”
He winked and said, “I think I love you.”
We both laughed.
“So, are we looking at just summer clothing? Or do we want to go with a year round wardrobe?”
“What’s the difference?”
I drank a sip of my coffee before answering. I rearranged the photos and pulled a few out.
“So, for summer, we’d be looking at lightweight fabrics: polo shirts, linen, a button down, and maybe even a wild print. For pants, I’d say khakis, linens again, and possibly tropical wool trousers.”
“My manager wants me to purchase a decent suit, or six.”
I pulled out a picture of an earthy colored gabardine suit. “This would be great for summer, and into early fall. Or we could go with a lighter shade in poplin.”
“Gorgeous, but you’re speaking French, or Portuguese, as far as I’m concerned. Say cotton or nylon, and I’ll understand.”
He made me smile. I liked this guy. Easy to work with so far, and funny. “The fabric names don’t matter. It’s more important that you like the look.”
“Not so sure about the print shirts, but we can look at some. The rest is cool.”
I continued. “Shoes could be casual slip-ons, deck shoes, or even Oxford lace-ups. I think the oxfords would look fabulous with this suit.” I put the two photos next to each other.
“You got taste, I’ll give you that.” He drank his coffee. “And I don’t want to just fit in, I want to stand out. But not look like a dick doing it.”
Somehow this statement reminded me of Stella.
“You’ve hired the right girl.”
He looked me up and down, and I felt my body grow warm. “Yes, I think I did.”
“Do you want to shop for fall and winter clothing, too?”
He spread the photos out. “Look at this, all of this makes me exhausted. And I’m an athlete. Let’s stick to summer, and if you don’t kill me with this shopping shit, I’ll bring you back for more.” His lips quivered a bit. “That is if you can take more of me after a whole day.”
I nearly choked, since I’d been sipping my coffee when he said it. “Uh, um, you’re funny.”
“Let’s get this show on the road.” He stood. “And if you’re a good girl, I’ll take you to lunch.”
Thinking he had a great sense of humor and knowing I wanted him as a client, I said, “You’ll be amazed at how good I am.”
“I’m sure.” He looked down at the mess of papers on the table. “Do we need to bring all of this?”
I gathered everything up and put it back in my messenger bag. “I think I’ve got what I need in my head now.”
He grabbed my hand and said, “Let’s do this.”
“I thought you said you’re on a budget. This car fits into your budget?” I’d asked when we walked into his garage.
“A man has to have two things, and two things only. Other than a good woman. That’s a fucking rad car and a bullshit big TV.” He revved the engine as the garage door opened.
Derek maneuvered his Maserati through traffic like a pro and parked on the far end of the lot at the mall.
The thing I hadn’t thought of: photogs.
“Are you used to being hounded? Because these assholes will be gettin’ in your face and asking questions.” He looked at me before opening his car door.
“I’ve been snapped a few times lately. No questions, though.”
He put his hand on my thigh, and before I could say anything, the paps moved in closer. “Stay in the car. I’ll come around to get your door. You can look at them and smile, but don’t answer any questions.” He looked out the window. “Because whatever you say will be taken out of context and come back to haunt me.”
I nodded. “I might be a bit scared.”
“Don’t be. I’m here. And I’m used to it.” He got out of the car and walked around to get me.
As we walked, he had his arm around my shoulders, and the cameras surrounded us.
“Derek, your new girlfriend?” “Mr. Gattis, are you in love?” “Yo, number twenty-seven, I thought you’d sworn off women.” The questions, repetitive and moronic, came at us fast and furious. “Hey, pretty lady, what’s your name?” “Come on, just your name?”
They stopped their bombarding of us just outside the door of the store.
I stood on my toes and whispered in Derek’s ear as he leaned down. “Are they going to follow us into the store?”
“They don’t usually. It’s private property, and they can be removed. But someone will sneak in and try to get a cellphone photo or two. Are you okay with this?”
Was he kidding? My heart pounded in my chest. “I’m terrified, but you’ll keep me safe, right?”
He nodded and once we entered the store, silence.
Derek pulled his phone from his pocket and sent a text. “My manager is calling the store to talk to the mall or store security. We should be left alone for the most part.”
And we were. I got a good idea of the sizes for him, then sent him into the dressing room. While he tried on clothes, I shopped and brought him more to try on. Usually the salesperson at Neiman would do this, but I insisted I do it. The salesman stood by just in case we had questions and warned off anyone coming near the dressing rooms. Derek made sure only he and I were allowed in.
“Girl, stop. You’re killing me,” he protested when I brought him another armload of selections.
“You’re the fussiest man I’ve ever met.” He’d rejected ninety percent of what I brought him. Refusing to try on most items.
He did like the sunglasses, though.
We’d been shopping for about two hours when I got a text from Stella.
Moving on, I see. It had a photo of me and Derek with his arm wrapped protectively around me.
Out of context, the photo looked cozy.
I texted back. You referred him. And I thank you for that. XOXO
She shot back a smiley face. Sorry I jumped to conclusions about you and Hugo. I think you’re good for him. He seems less stressed today.
I didn’t respond.
Derek yelled from the dressing room. “Come in here!”When I walked in, Derek stood posing. “Well?”
He’d tried on the chocolate-colored gabardine suit I’d picked out.
“Holy smokes. You look amazing.” I pulled at the fabric at his waist. “Needs to be fitted, but wow.”
“Getting down with my bad self.” He changed poses.
“You know you looked freaking hot in everything you tried on, right?”
He unbuttoned his suit jacket and started on the zipper of his pants. “I know. But I was havin’ a bit of fun with you.” He unbuttoned and pulled down his trousers. “You’re a genius, just like you said.”
Yes, yes, I am. Another zillionaire. Touchdown!
“My work here is done.” I beamed.
Chapter Five
Derek spent almost ten-thousand dollars before we left the store. And he smiled even when he didn’t like my choices. But the best part had been lunch. We splurged and ate at McDonalds. Drive-thru. I collected my retainer and drove Hugo’s car back home, calculating the total invoice for Derek’s shopping spree. I might be able to get my own place sooner rather than later at this rate.
When I got home, around three in the afternoon, I pulled the car in the garage and walked into the kitchen, smiling to myself. The day had been fun and productive, and I hadn’t thought of Hugo or Miles at all. Except for the small bit from Stella. And that didn’t count.
I didn’t need Hugo’s business anymore. Derek said he’d tell his buddies about me. “Especially the wives. They’re always trying to one up each other. Those WAGS be bitches.”
“WAGS?”
“Wives and girlfriends.”
“Ah, I see. Is it true you’ve sworn off women?” I’d asked.
“I don’t have time for the drama. I have a career to worry about. Besides, they don’t give two shits about me. They like the ‘Number 27’ me.” The look on his face made me sad.
When I entered the kitchen, all thoughts of Derek and his funny ways vanished.
On the dining room table, flowers. So many roses, in so many colors, I couldn’t see the top of the table.
From behind me, in the kitchen, my dad said, “Arrived about an hour ago.”
“From who?” I asked as I walked up to the table and sniffed at the white roses.
“Not my place to read the card,” he said.
“Did Mom read it?” I knew she did.
“She hasn’t seen them yet. She’s going to flip out. ‘Where will we serve dinner tonight?’”
“If you didn’t look at the card, how do you know who they’re from or for?” I pulled the card.
Dad said, “The delivery guy said, ‘Hugo wanted me to tell Maisy hello.’”
I opened the card. It read: I miss you!
I dropped into the closest chair.
I continued reading. Hope you had fun shopping today. Can’t wait to see you again.
“What the…” Stella had shown him the photo of me and Derek. I spoke to the card, like Hugo could hear me. “What, you want your stylist all to yourself? Well, I’m not your beck-and-call girl.” I slammed the note on the table.
Another part of me screamed, He misses me. He’s jealous. He misses me. He likes me.
“What are we going to do with them?” I asked my dad.
“There’s got to be a couple hundred of them. We could put them in every room and keep them fresh as long as possible.” He walked up and stood next to me. “Honey, I think that
boy likes you.”
I beamed. “You think?”
“Maybe,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder.
“But we barely know each other,” I protested.
“Or maybe he’s just being nice. And he likes your stylist service. He packs a hearty thank you, doesn’t he?” He ruffled my hair and walked out of the room.
I picked up my phone and started to send Hugo a text. I hesitated. Then I did it anyway. Thanks for the lovely flowers! Had the best day ever. Shopping was a blast. We should do it together sometime.
I’d barely hit send when I got a text back.
You’re everywhere. Another photo of me and Derek attached. This text came from Gwen.
I texted back. Damn, those photos hit the press in a big old hurry.
Thought you might like to see how cute you look with Derek. Replacing Hugo so soon?
There was never a Hugo to replace. We’re done…I think. I’m not sure.
I snapped a pic of the kitchen table and sent it to Gwen. From Hugo.
That doesn’t look like over to me.
I sent back a smiley face. We need to chat. Want to go to dinner?
Can’t. I’m headed out. Flying to Germany. Ian is waiting for me. He sent me a ticket.
That text warmed my heart. She and her boyfriend rarely saw each other because of his military obligations.
XOXO safe travels.
She didn’t text back.
I picked up the pink roses and took them into the living room. Then I grabbed the yellow ones and went outside to Bruce’s cottage.
I knocked with one hand while balancing the vase on my hip with the others. Roses with water are heavier than I realized.
No answer. I tried the knob. Open. I almost pushed the door open, then thought better of it. But when I saw the blinds move, I did it anyway. At least one person wasn’t in bed.
I hauled the door wide open. “Anyone home?”
No answer.
Orlean put her game controller down and said, “Oh, hey.”
“Am I interrupting?” I didn’t even care.
Style (Dressing a Billionaire Book 2): A Romantic Comedy Page 5