I turned to go check out the bedroom when I heard a knock on the door. My heart jumped. Hugo had come back! I opened the door to find the bellman. He walked in with my bag and asked if he could get me anything else. Nope. I tipped him and waited until the door closed, then jogged to the bedroom.
Oh my! The full-length windows had the drapes drawn in the bedroom, and the headboard of the bed matched the size of the windows. The black frame held in white diamond tuck leather over a bed made up with white sheets and a chocolate brown spread. Pillows of white, orange, and khaki had been placed evenly across the head of the bed.
I didn’t even look at the nightstands, except to see the illuminated lamps had a round silver base and chocolate brown shades. I swept my hand across the bed and sent the decorative pillows to the floor, then I rolled on the top and pressed the remote button to open the drapes. I lay staring at the lights of Vegas until I fell asleep.
I awoke in the morning, still laying on top of the bed and in my clothes from the night before. In my dreams, Hugo had come back to me, undressed me, and we had sex in every room in the suite. In reality, he hadn’t even called the room, or my phone. I went back to the dining room, where I’d left my purse, and pulled out my phone.
Gwen had made it safely to Germany, Orlean jumped for joy at repping my mom’s dolls, and Dad left a voice message checking to see if we’d arrived safely.
I called my dad and left him a message, so he wouldn’t worry, then I looked at the room menu and ordered room service.
By the time the coffee and pastries arrived, I’d showered and dressed in a simple black shift dress. Going for the same casual look I’d used when shopping with Derek, I even wore the same shoes I’d had on when shopping with him. They went with so many outfits, they’d been worth the $800 price tag.
I pulled my laptop out of my overnight bag and opened up my blog to start an article. It’d be fun to take pictures and write an article about shopping in Vegas. I figured Hugo would either call my phone or the room when he was ready to go shopping.
I’d written most of the introductory article, showing pictures of the suite, and explaining I’d be working with a client on this trip, but that the client would remain anonymous.
A tapping at the door knocked me out of my focus. I got up and opened the door.
Hugo leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. This time I didn’t make it awkward.
“Don’t you look lovely?” he said.
“Thanks.” I looked at his attire. Boxer shorts and no shirt.
“Do you mind starting without me? I haven’t slept yet, and I’m beat.”
I glared at him. “So, you worked last night?”
“Yes, I got a call shortly after arriving, and I’ve been on a conference call all night.” He cocked his head. “I’m sorry. So much for escaping the real world.”
I bit my lip to keep from saying what I wanted to say. “Fine. I’ll take the tram to Bellagio and go shopping without you. You want me to pick out some things, and maybe later you can come try them on?”
“Tram? You’re not taking a tram.”
“I’ll be fine. Get some sleep. I’ll have you exhausted in no time when I return.”
“I look forward to it.” He hugged me. “I just need about four hours, and I’ll be good to go.”
Before he disappeared down the hall, I asked, “Did the launch go off without a hitch?”
He grinned from ear to ear. “It did. And we’re flying high.”
I smiled and shut my door.
Full of pastries and coffee, I headed to the Caesar’s Forum Shops. True to his statement, I wasn’t going to take the tram. Hugo made sure the doorman knew I was exiting the hotel, and he said he had a car waiting for me. Once again, I’d been driven to my destination in a limo. I could get used to this. No, no, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. This lifestyle didn’t suit me at all. I snickered to myself, Oh, yes, it does.
“Here’s my number. Call me when you’re ready, and I’ll pick you up at the front door,” the driver said as he dropped me near the shopping entrance.
I had the jitters, being so excited to shop without a limit, and I shivered when I entered CD (I’m using initials to protect both the guilty and the innocent) store. A pale, thin man who’d been standing with two bulimic women in their twenties approached me. The girls peeled off, as if fleeing a swarm of bees.
The pale man, who looked more like a ghost in fine clothing, said, “May I be of service?”
I smiled a friendly smile, fully aware my entire outfit, including my $800 shoes didn’t cost as much as the shoes he wore. But then, I paid retail, and he likely purchased his at a hefty employee discount.
“Yes, I’m writing a blog about fashion and dressing the uber-wealthy,” I said. “And I wondered if you could help me by answering some questions?”
The look of disdain he shot me felt like a twelve-gauge shotgun to the gut. “People that wealthy don’t buy off the rack. I don’t think there’s anything I can help you with.”
“Really?” I said. “That’s weird, because I’m staying in the Penthouse at Aria, and my client asked me to go out ahead of him and scout. You know, look for clothes he might like.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” The silver hair on this pin head sparkled as he turned his head toward the door.
Having a Pretty Woman movie flashback, I said, “You obviously don’t get paid on commission.”
“Right,” he retorted. “And I’m making a mistake. A big, big mistake.”
“So, you’ve seen the movie? Thanks so much for your insight. I’ll be sure to tell Hugo Popovits you weren’t interested in his business.” I turned and walked out, not even looking back to see if he believed me or not.
And just like the pretty hooker, Vivian Ward, what should have been a fun morning of shopping turned to dread. But I moved on and window shopped until I found a store I wanted to explore more. I went into six other stores and avoided even looking at the sales staff, because I didn’t see anything Hugo might like. Then I walked into EZ and got lost in looking at the skinny jeans and wonderful colors for men’s clothing.
“Excuse me, Miss, you look like you’re not finding what you need,” a young Hispanic man with short cropped brown hair said.
His physique smallish, but athletic, he wore an eggplant purple cashmere V-neck sweater with brown stretch skinny jeans, and gray mélange highway driving shoes. I estimated his ensemble at roughly two grand. And I marveled how he pulled it off with no socks and still managed to look professional.
“I like what you’re wearing,” I said.
I gave him the same spiel I’d given the skinny asshole at CD. After avoiding the last several store salespeople, I’d gotten my nerve back.
“What does he like?” The man asked.
“Board shorts and graphic tees,” I said. “Honestly. I’m not even kidding.”
He didn’t laugh or eye me from head to toe and decide if I could afford his store. And I remembered, I still had Hugo’s credit card. I could buy this whole damn store if I wanted.
“Okay, that’s a start.” He walked me to a rack of short-sleeved shirts.
“We’re from Dallas, and it’s hot there right now. I mean not as hot as this place, but hot enough,” I offered.
He pulled several shirts from the clothing rod and placed them on a couch. All poplin shirts in a variety of geometric prints. Then he grabbed half a dozen pairs of jeans in various colors and a polo shirt. “We don’t carry shorts this time of year. We’re moving into our Fall/Winter line.”
I didn’t even care. This store rocked with its casual vibe, rich fabrics, and even richer prices. I tried not to look at the tags, because it didn’t matter, but the polos started at $275. “I love the patterns.”
He’d spread out short-sleeved button front shirts in lightweight fabrics. Plaid, solids, mosaics, and polka dots.
“You said he liked graphic tees, so I think this is still original, but a step up. And the jeans and shorts aren’t your
typical denim.”
By the time he finished bringing me selections, the couch he’d placed them was barely visible.
I stepped up and arranged the shirts with the pants I liked, then rearranged them.
“Oh, I like that combination,” he said, and pulled out his cell phone to take a picture. “I may put that on a mannequin.”
I did a mental fist pump. Yes, I still had my touch. I could dress a man. Hell, Derek had been happy. Maybe I could get Hugo into a more stylish look after all.
“What’s your best-selling shoe?” I asked.
He walked me to the shoes and picked up a loafer. A loafer, go figure.
“Suede. And available in an array of colors. Dark chocolate is a bestseller.” Then he looked down at his feet. “And these driving shoes are quite comfortable.”
“I noticed them when you walked up. Unique, and yet stylish, and they’d go well with most of the outfits I put together.”
I smiled.
“I know it’s summer, but I really like your sweater, too. What other colors is that available in?” I reached out and stroked his arm. Yummy cashmere.
He walked me to the shelf with the sweaters. “We’ve got it in lavender-blue, orange, yellow, purple, and green.”
He made the colors sound like children’s finger paint colors, but they melted me with their soft fall hues. “I’ll take one of each color.”
I gave him Hugo’s sizes and pointed out what I wanted. I’d been in there an hour, and he’d worked with me as if I’d been the only customer he had. Which I definitely wasn’t. We even looked at three different tuxedo jackets.
“Do you have a tailor on staff?” I asked.
He didn’t miss a beat. “Of course.”
“If you can hold these, I’ll be back with Hugo, so he can try them on. I’m not buying all of this only to have to bring it back.”
“When do you think you’ll come back?” he asked.
“He’s sleeping right now, so hopefully we’ll be back before five.” I sort of said the last part as a question. I had no idea when I’d get him out of the room.
“Where are you staying?”
“Aria,” I said.
“Would you like them delivered for him to try on in his room?”
Sure he was pulling my leg, I said, “Can you do that with two sizes of each of what I picked out? I can put a deposit, or pay in full, if necessary.”
He waved me off. “I’ll deliver them myself.”
I mentally told the prissy pale man at CD to fuck off.
“You’re a gem. I wish all of the other stores I visited were this accommodating.”
“I’m the manager, Miss, so I’d be honored to do what it takes to make your client happy.”
Not to mention, you’ll have a nice dinner on the commission, I thought, but then felt bad, because he’d been so incredibly nice.
And I suddenly fell in love with another man: this wonderful store manager with the mocha skin and the black hair. And who probably had a sexy name like Alejandro, Antonio, or Fernando.
I gave him my room number and my cell phone number. “Around four?”
“I’ll make it happen.” He walked me out of the store. “I look forward to seeing Hugo in these.”
With that satisfaction. I took myself out for a cappuccino. I sat on the terrace of the café and watched the throngs of people walk by. I wanted to tell the CD guy he was an asshole, and that I’d found a store that wanted my money. Instead, maybe I’d waltz right in there and mess with the guy.
“May I…oh, you again.” The disdain in his voice palpable.
I pulled out Hugo’s Centurion card and said, “Do you take American Express?”
He nodded. His eyes wide.
I pulled down a dress and looked at the tag, “This dress, $5000.” I picked up a pair of men’s shoes, “These shoes, $2500.” I walked to the menswear. “This shirt, $1200.” Then I turned on him. “The look on your face when I pulled out my Amex card? Simply priceless.” I turned on my heel and muttered under my breath as I walked out the door, “Fucking priceless.”
Until I walked into that store, I’d thought the Pretty Woman scenario had been “made for the movies.” Now I knew. People worked in stores where they couldn’t even afford the merchandise and still look down their noses at people of their own class. What a pity.
Chapter Seven
I knocked lightly on Hugo’s hotel door. I’d been back at the hotel for a few hours, but I’d treated myself to a massage, manicure, and pedicure. Oh, and just in case I got lucky at something other than the slots or poker tables, I got a wax, and I’m not talking about my upper lip, though I did have that waxed, too. When I was finished, I had nothing left but a landing strip.
I didn’t want to wake him up. But after the pampering, I couldn’t wait any longer. If I had the guts, I’d have stood outside his door in nothing but a tie, but that’s so cliché.
He opened the door, still dressed as he’d been that morning.
“Hey, I got a massage and stuff from the spa and put it on the room. Let me know what it comes to and I’ll pay you back.” I pushed by him and into the room.
His room looked much like mine. Elegant and modern. The white carpet and walls the same, but different artwork.
“You don’t have to repay me. It’s all on me. I’m just glad you agreed to get away with me.” He followed me as I walked in and sat down on the brown leather sofa.
“What are friends for?” I mused. “Our rooms look very similar,” I said. I got up and walked into the bedroom.
The bed looked like mine, but without a headboard, and different colored pillows on the bed.
“So,” I said. “You’ve been up for a while?”
“Actually, I got up when you knocked.”
“Where’d you sleep?”
“I fell asleep on the couch.”
The couch looked comfy, but not that comfy.
“What time do you want to try on clothes?” I swept through the room and into the bathroom.
Similar white marble floors, heated. An oversized tub and a heated towel rack.
“Let me shower, and I’ll be ready to go in thirty?” He sounded perplexed. “Is everything okay?”
I turned to look at him. “Just checking out the room.” Wanting to be sure you’re alone, I almost added.
“Are you sure?”
I pulled a Hugo and leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sure. I’ll call and let the store know you’ll be ready in thirty. They’re delivering my picks to the room.”
“Oh, Maisy darling, that’s going to be such a hassle to return them. We can go back to the store.” He walked over to the shower and turned on the water.
“Fine. I’ll wait for you and call the store to let them know we’re on our way.”
I waited for him to drop his boxers in front of me, but he didn’t move. Finally, it got awkward, and I went to the living room.
We arrived at EZ within the hour.
The manager greeted us. “Hugo? I’m Mario Estrella.”
Gracious as always, Hugo shook hands and said, “Hugo Popovits.”
I think Mario’s eyes almost popped out of his head, but he covered well. “Maisy, I thought you said he only wore…”
Hugo had dressed in the jeans I’d bought him, along with a button down shirt. “Yes, well, never brag on a man or a dog, they’ll make a liar out of you.”
Mario laid out the choices we’d picked, and Hugo loved all of them. He went into the dressing room and refused to come out. Mario came and went, and I sat on the couch scrolling through Facebook. Then I decided to take photos of the outfits I’d put together, so I could write a blog post on men’s fashion and colors.
Almost an hour later, Hugo emerged. “Now all I need is pajamas.” He looked at Mario, and handed him a credit card. I’ll take everything on the left. The stuff on the right didn’t fit. But you already know what worked. Thanks.”
He sat down on the couch with me. I sai
d, “Don’t I get to see you in the clothes I picked?”
“We’ll have a fashion show later. Right now, I want to shop some more.”
Mario brought Hugo’s card and receipt to be signed. “I’ll have everything sent to your hotel.”
Hugo stood and handed him the slip, taking his card. “It’s been, well, sort of fun.”
“It has. Thank you, Mr., I mean, Hugo.”
Mario leaned in to hug me and said, “He didn’t try on anything. He was on his phone the whole time. If something doesn’t fit, send it back, I’ll take care of everything.”
I kissed Mario on the cheek. “Gracias, Mario, you’ve been a peach.”
I glared at Hugo as he strolled out of the store.
Hugo said, “Pajama shopping?”
I bumped him and said, “I prefer you without pajamas.”
“A little forward, aren’t you?”
Apparently not forward enough. I rolled my eyes.
We walked by the CD store. Hugo stopped. “Let’s go in here.”
I offered a sick smile. “Let’s.”
Prissy boy greeted Hugo, then glared at me. “Hello, sir. Let me know if I can be of any help.”
Hugo walked around, looking at the dull white, gray, browns and blacks the store offered. He picked up a pair of shoes. Shiny leather lace ups. “What do you think of these, Maisy?”
I looked up from the floor, where I’d been concentrating my efforts with the toe of my shoe rubbing the surface. “Nice,” I responded.
“Can I get your size?” the salesman offered.
Hugo looked at him. “I don’t think so. They’re a bit stuffy. In fact, your entire store is a bit stuffy. Not my style at all.”
“Excuse me?” The salesman said, trying to contain his anger.
Hugo turned to me and whispered, “Thanks for not putting me through this. I realize now, you know my taste very well. This store makes me feel…I don’t know.”
Style (Dressing a Billionaire Book 2): A Romantic Comedy Page 7