“How will you get home?” I asked.
“I’ll call Uber.”
“Oh, Liam. I’m so sorry.” Haylo pouted. It would be annoying if she wasn’t so sweet. “Amelia, go with Liam. Ethan and I will drive back together.” She did her clingy arm thing to Ethan even in this nasty-level heat.
Ethan slipped from her grasp. “No, we should all leave together.”
“I need Amelia for the testing,” said Liam. “I need her input.”
Ethan stepped closer to me. “Well, I don’t think she should be left to find a ride home all the way from Miami Beach.”
Liam moved forward, matching Ethan’s intensity. “She won’t be left. She’ll be with me.”
The two brothers stood with barely a slow summer breeze between them. Ethan folded his lower lip in, like he held his words with his teeth. Liam stared back with a fierceness.
Haylo moved into their tense space. “Guys. No one is asking Amelia what she wants. Including me. Sorry, by the way. What do you want to do?”
Three pairs of eyes turned to me. Waiting.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Shoppers swarmed past as Ethan, Liam, and Haylo waited on my answer.
What did I want? How about a day filled with shopping and good times? That’s what I’d signed up for. Not whatever this had turned into.
“I want to help Liam,” I said, thinking about my commitment to him and the app. “And I want to help Haylo, like we planned. I don’t want to choose.”
“Don’t choose, then,” Liam said. “I’ll figure out the testing myself.” He turned and knocked against a shopper’s bags.
I couldn’t let him walk off. “Liam, wait. I promised to help you first. I won’t back out.”
He faced me. “But you don’t want to. Scanning UPCs isn’t as exciting as buying designer clothes. Or hanging out with a celebrity. Or my brother.”
My mind flashed to Ethan’s hand clasping mine. If Liam only knew Ethan said it was good I didn’t have a crush on his brother.
Haylo’s blond waves entered my peripheral. “Amelia. You helped me already today.” She held up her shopping bags. “It’s my fault I have to go so soon. Stay. And here.” She handed me a wad of bills. “This is for a cab, or a pair of hot shoes. You deserve it.”
I stared at the money. Several twenties and a fifty. All for an hour of pulling gorgeous clothes off a rack.
“Don’t tell me you don’t deserve it.” Haylo pointed a finger at me. “Off, you two. See you tomorrow at the party?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
Haylo hooked her arm through Ethan’s. He looked back at me, his expression unreadable.
I had the feeling I disappointed Ethan. He’d held my hand and I ran away! What a crush to his ego. But, I hadn’t known what to do. Or how to feel. Ethan holding my hand should have been exactly what I wanted. I was here in my element, working as a stylist with my dream guy beside me. Except right now I had a job to do. I turned back to Liam, ready to apologize.
“You ready?” he asked. “I’d like to get back inside to air-conditioning.”
I nodded, grateful for the escape—from thinking about Ethan, and from the heat.
We continued on to the store where Liam worked out a deal to access their storeroom. Inside, Liam approached the assistant manager. The woman’s grimace telegraphed her disapproval of our fashion credentials, possibly based on Liam’s dumpy cargo shorts and unremarkable T-shirt. Not really his fault, though. Clothes simply happened to Liam.
He placed something on the counter in front of the woman. I couldn’t see. Figuring he had it handled, I checked my phone.
What’s the 911? Remember your pact! No Ethan!
Right, my distress text. I typed back I’d succeeded in resisting. Ethan left with Haylo, and here I was working on my original promise to Liam. Crisis averted. Plus, a little money in the bank from my hour of personal shopping.
Careful …
I’m with Liam. No worries.
I know what I said.
Whatever. Liam and I worked well together. I’d have to think over the Ethan stuff later when I had time alone.
Liam signaled for me to follow to the back of the store. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said as the woman, a bone-thin brunette in a fitted tube dress, opened the door.
“Surveillance cameras,” was all she responded before she left us. I turned my attention to the ceiling and walls looking for hidden lenses.
“Nobody likes to be called ma’am,” I told Liam after the door closed.
“It’s a form of respect.”
“It makes women feel old.” I watched him stuff a card into his wallet. “What’s that?”
“Nothing.” He pulled out his tablet and assessed the storage space. He focused on a rack of dresses. “Tell me about these. Which accessories go with them?”
I sorted through the rack. “Statement jewelry, since the dresses are classic styles and solid colors. This is the perfect foundation for accessories. Scarves for sure. Necklaces, big earrings.” I watched him tap on his tablet. “Why did you need the storeroom?”
“I need to scan larger quantities into the app. Like, one shirt but all the colors. I have to test the functionality of the app with the style and color codes. I’m going to scan, and then I’ll need to photograph the clothes for the beta version. In the future, the photos will come directly from the partnership with the store.”
“Will it be like a QR code on the tag, and it will translate onto the app?”
He looked up, his expression softening. “Yes. The buyer wants exclusive content for their stores.”
I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t thought to ask. “Who is your buyer?”
“DeCoursey’s.”
I inhaled on my own spit and coughed to clear my throat. “DeCoursey’s department store?” As in, one of the South’s leading retailers. “You never said DeCoursey’s wanted your app! Why do you leave out such crucial details?”
Liam scrunched his nose. “I told you I had a potential buyer.”
“I know, but DeCoursey’s is major. Aren’t they headquartered here?” Slow, creeping horror struck. “Are you presenting your test app in person?” I watched his fingers tap fluidly over the tablet screen, his focus intense.
“Yes. The meeting is with the DeCoursey’s buyers, some of the board, one of their webmaster liaisons.” He returned to snapping pics of tags with his tablet’s camera option.
I stared at him, my fear spreading like a stain. “Who else?”
“Who else what?”
“With who—whom—are you presenting your app?”
“Just me.” Tap-tap-tap.
“Liam.”
Tap-tap-tap.
“Liam, look at me a second.” I hovered my hand over the tablet screen. “You are presenting this to the board and the buyers and their feedback will determine whether you can sell your app?”
He looked up and squinted. “Yes.”
I braced myself. “You need me at your meeting.”
Liam did that blinking thing. “I admit, I never knew what a shrug was besides what you do with your shoulders until you told me otherwise, but the presentation, I can handle.”
I shifted back and gave him a once-over. “What are you wearing?”
Liam looked down at his clothes.
“Not now, I mean to the meeting.”
“Oh.” He sucked in air. “I don’t know. I think I have a suit my mom put in my closet.”
I steadied myself with a nearby stack of boxes. Practiced a few rounds of deep breathing. “No one wants to buy a fashion app from someone who has a suit his mom bought in his closet. You need to look good. Every detail needs to be considered.”
“I’ll be fine. I have visual data put together and a rather compelling slide show.”
I imagined business executives outfitted in Alexander McQueen two-button wool suits waiting on a red-faced and stuttering Liam in pleated, wrinkled khakis and a past-season Mathletes T-shirt. Project: Outfit
Liam was more crucial than ever. “We have work to do.”
“Obviously—that’s why we’re here.” He scanned a row of shirts and managed the data on his tablet.
“I mean your look, Liam. You can’t walk into a presentation wearing an afterthought.”
“I’m not the one on display—my app is. The app speaks for itself. I shouldn’t have to buy expensive clothes to impress people.” More than a hint of hurt filled his words.
I let the statement sink in. “Is that what you think about what I did for Haylo? That the clothes are all about impressing people?”
“Aren’t they?”
“Haylo doesn’t want the reality show turning her into a ditsy blond in skimpy clothes. She wants a style that reflects who she is as a person beyond a stereotype. She happens to have money enough to afford the good stuff. It’s about making her feel like the person she wants to be. The same way I found what works for me, even if it’s not Prada.” Though a little Prada would be nice. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” I said more softly. “The thing is, you said you want to be taken seriously and not treated like you’re a kid. That means you can’t dress like someone who just ditched his books in his locker. What you made matters, and how you present yourself matters just as much.”
He let out a sigh and collapsed back against a narrow space of wall between two storage racks. “I told you I was in over my head.”
“No.” I placed my hands on his shoulders, looking him square in the face. “We’re a team. We’re going to do this. I’m going to help you. In fact, I may already have in my possession an inspiration board titled Liam’s Looks. Sorry for the lack of creative title—I was tired.”
A fragment of his hurt expression broke away. “You made an inspiration board for me?”
“As if I could help myself.” I realized our closeness, and the creeping security cameras likely pointed on us, and let my hands drop to my sides. “I want this project to be awesome. It’s my time invested, too. You asked for my help and I’m ready to give it.”
“And apparently that help requires a makeover.”
I grinned. “No worries. You’re in good hands.”
Liam and I used as much time in the storeroom as we were allowed. The third time the assistant manager checked on us, we got the boot. By then, I’d formulated more of a plan to outfit Liam. Since we were here at the shops, I convinced him to try a few stores.
“I don’t understand spending ninety dollars on a white T-shirt.” Liam scowled as he sorted through a rack in a world-famous designer’s store. “I understand compensating fairly for quality work, but look. This one’s ripped. Intentionally. What kind of business gets away with this?”
A store employee narrowed his eyes at us from behind a mannequin draped in a splatter-painted tunic.
I turned my back to the employee. “Then don’t buy these clothes.”
“But you said I needed to dress the part.”
“I think you need a good suit that fits you. For everything else, we can go to where I shop instead.”
“Like a regular mall?”
“I hear The Gap calling our names.”
Three hours later, we arrived to the Laurenti estate loaded with shopping bags and empty froYo cups. We clattered up the stairs to the second-floor lounge, our testing headquarters. I wanted to see everything we bought for Liam all spread out to further show him how we could coordinate the pieces.
“Thanks for letting me get the Hogwarts shirt.” He pulled out a blue T-shirt with a faded Ravenclaw crest across the front.
“Like I could say no.” I held up my own Gryffindor patch I planned to sew on my fabric bag.
“I’m still surprised you approved. Ethan would never wear this.”
True, he wouldn’t. I laid out a pair of plain black cotton blend shorts. “I think style is about taking what you like and making it work for you. The Hogwarts shirt fits you. There are no holes, and the color works with the other items we bought. Anyway, you’re probably sick of me lecturing you about clothes.”
He clipped the tags from a lightweight button-down shirt. “This was the most fun I’ve had shopping basically ever. For real. I didn’t hate it.”
My heart filled. He hated shopping and thanks to my help, the experience sucked less. “We should tell DeCoursey’s to market the app to dudes who hate shopping but who like tech. It could make buying clothes more tolerable for them, too.”
He paused from rooting through his loot. “Not a bad idea.”
“Speaking of, I want to see these presentation slides of yours. I need to see how ‘compelling’ they are.”
Liam left and returned with his laptop while I texted home my whereabouts. He grabbed snacks from the lounge mini-fridge and settled in on the floor beside me next to the beanbag chairs.
“You’re close with your mom, aren’t you?” Liam noted my text. “I wasn’t reading, I just saw the name.”
“My family is pretty tight. Sometimes they’re a little too much in my business.”
“I bet your grandmother cooks you food every day.” A wistful note clung to his words.
“My grandmother cooks for you every day.”
“Our family kitchen is cold and no one’s ever cooking. It’s kind of ridiculous.” He opened a bag of chips. “Anyway, the slides. Here you go.”
The slides looked organized and professional, though a little on the dull side. “Would you mind sending these to Desiree? She might have suggestions.”
“You trust her? No offense, but I won’t send my material to just anyone.”
“What? Of course. Why?”
“Weren’t you and Desiree fighting in New York?”
Raking up the memory stung. “Yes, but we’ve worked out our issues. I trust her.”
He nodded. “Then yes. You can send the presentation to her. I’ll e-mail it to you.”
Thoughts of when I’d pretended Ethan was my boyfriend invaded my mind. How good it felt for a little while, the fantasy. How good it felt to stand beside him for real on the yacht, and for his warm hand to find mine. Then why had I run? People didn’t tend to run from their dreams unless they were scared. So, I was scared, or worried, or something.
I snapped out of my thoughts. “How about public speaking skills? You good on those?”
Liam looked up from the screen. “I could be better. Do you think I should practice?” He clicked the calendar icon in the lower right of the screen. “There’s not much time. We still have so much to work on. This deadline; it’s too soon. You’re coming, right? You said you wanted to come to the presentation.”
His words were speeding up and becoming frantic. “Yes. I’ll go with you if you want me to. I’m not awesome at public speaking either, but I’m sure there’s stuff online we can find for that.”
“We don’t have time for a class.”
“I was thinking more like YouTube.”
On my phone, I searched online for motivational speaker tips as Liam returned to the slides. I found a website called How To Turn Dreams into Cash, which listed ten essential steps for closing a business deal.
“Eye contact is crucial to success,” I read from the list. That was number three: Eye contact is crucial to forming a connection with your potential client. “Let’s practice.”
Panic crossed Liam’s face. “Now?”
“You already said we were short on time, so, yes. Okay. I’ll think of a scenario.” I scooched myself closer so I faced him more directly. “Let’s use a real-life scenario. Imagine we’re at school. I’ll go first. ‘Good afternoon, Mr. Wilmington Prep teacher. Here’s my book report a full week early.’” I lasered my attention on Liam until he finally looked away.
He laughed at my exaggerated example. “A book report? I haven’t done a book report since fifth grade.”
“Okay, then: ‘Here’s your proof of the quadratic equation, Mr. Random Teacher.’” I mimed handing in homework and did the laser-eye focus again.
Liam stared.
&nb
sp; “So, that’s a no on math jokes.” I faked checking off a virtual list.
“Not a no.” He watched me as if trying to unearth a mysterious part of me. The part that made math jokes.
“See, now you’ve got the eye contact.”
Liam blinked about a million times. He didn’t look away. Wow, he really was trying to maintain eye contact. The practice session was actually working. Though, something told me this wasn’t part of practicing for the presentation. The room around us stilled.
I looked back, matching his intensity. Only our breath danced between us.
“Are you doing yoga?”
I jumped at the sound of Ethan’s voice. The connection between Liam and I severed. My palms were damp and I wiped them against my skirt and moved myself to the end of the sofa. “Yoga? No. Eye-contact exercises.”
Ethan sauntered into the lounge and plopped down on the sofa beside me. “That’s a thing? Eye-contact exercises?”
Liam stood, brushing his shorts free of wrinkles, or trying to. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Ethan looked over the clothes spread across the floor. “What’s all this? Did you do your personal shopping for Liam already?”
Liam turned to me. “You told him you were going to shop for me?”
“While we waited for Haylo in the fitting room,” I said. Before he made that move to hold my hand. “With the presentation coming up, it was the perfect time to get Liam outfitted.” I grinned at Liam, but his attention was everywhere else but me.
Ethan looked from me to Liam. “So tell me more about this project you two are working on.”
Liam picked up his open laptop and set it on the end table. “You’re only interested now that Amelia’s part of it.”
“Not true,” said Ethan. “I didn’t get why you were making a fashion app, since you hate fashion. I was confused. Now I’m not.” He directed his focus to me.
His tone made me uncomfortable. “Liam’s app fills a marketable niche. That was all established before I was involved.” I wasn’t sure why I felt it necessary to explain this, but I did.
Ethan kicked his legs up on a beanbag. “Seems rather coincidental. You came home from a fashion internship just in time to help Liam on a project needing exactly that expertise.”
Alterations Page 18