by James, Leigh
I looked down at it skeptically. “How many things do you want me to get her?” I asked.
“Not just her — you, too,” he said. “But please get Catherine everything she asked you for, and also pick up some toiletries for her, pajamas, sweats, long sleeve tee-shirts. Things she’ll be comfortable in, in the hospital,” he said, looking down. I could see in his face that it was weighing on him — his decision to have her assessed and possibly committed on Monday.
“Okay,” I said, thinking that I would hit Victoria’s Secret and pick up things for her there, and anything else I could think of that constituted “girl stuff.” Maybe that would score me some points with her, enough so that she might consider seeing Ian.
“And as for you…” he said, looking back up at me. He put his hands on my hips and pulled me to him, possessively. He flexed his fingers against me and I felt myself flush with heat and pleasure. He leaned over me and I looked up at him, lost in his sudden proximity, his smell, his strength. His thick brown hair had flopped down over his forehead and I pushed it back, smiling at him, never taking my eyes from his piercing blue ones.
“Yes?” I asked. He seemed to have forgotten he’d been speaking. He was pulling me to him, and I could feel him getting hard through his jeans. I rubbed myself up against him, unable to stop myself. Mmmmmmm, I thought, maybe this shopping could wait.
But Michael was out there. I could hear the SUV idling through the screen door.
He heard it, too. He pulled back and smiled at me. “As for you,” he said, and straightened his white button-down shirt, open at the throat, “I want you to buy a dress for dinner Sunday night. I also want to you buy a whole bunch of regular clothes — jeans and shirts and pajamas and shoes — just so you have some things to wear that you’ve picked out, not just the stuff we picked up for you a few months ago. I want you to buy yourself enough clothes to last forever.”
“John, I have plenty of clothes out in Vegas —”
“And I want you to buy workout clothes,” he cut me off.
I looked up at him and scowled.
“You’re not getting out of it,” he said, and traced my lips with his finger. “You need a bunch of stuff — a couple of pairs of everything, including sneakers. If you see something you like, buy five of them. You’re gonna go through them pretty fast. You need clothes for cross-training. Running and yoga and marital arts.”
“Martial arts?” I asked him. “As in, breaking a piece of wood with my bare hands? Are you freaking kidding me?”
“Nope,” he said, “but you’re right to wish I was. It’s intense training.”
A whine escaped my throat. He shot me a look and I ceased, immediately. “You need to buy clothes for all of it. We’ll deal with the things you need for South America right before we travel. I’m hoping you’ll have gained some weight by then.” He flexed his fingers against my hips again and even though I was mad at him, my body lit up on fire. Stupid body, I thought. You won’t be so hot for him next week, when you can barely walk or lift your arms after you’ve trained all day.
“If you want me to gain weight, why don’t you just let me sit around and eat? Instead of running and doing downward dogs and karate-chopping things?” I asked. I could gain weight, no problem. Just give me a bunch of macaroni and cheese and a couch. Duh.
“You need to gain muscle, Liberty. I’m not backing down on this — that is, of course, unless you’ve changed your mind about going,” he said, and smiled down at me.
I glared at him. “I’m not changing my mind. You can make me run until I throw up,” — and you probably will, I thought — “but I’m going with you to South America, and anywhere else that’s dangerous you might want to go.”
“Great,” he said.
“Great,” I said. We looked at each other, neither one budging an inch.
I turned to go and he slapped me playfully on the ass. “Don’t forget the tiny dress. And the sporting goods store,” he called.
I looked back over my shoulder at him and couldn’t help myself — I smiled. “What’re you going to do?” I asked.
“Work out with the guys who’re here this weekend. Sit down with Ian to go over the books. Design our workout schedule for the next month. Wait for you — you know, the usual.”
“I love you,” I called.
“I love you too, babe,” he said as the screen door closed behind me.
Michael was the oldest of John’s employees, maybe fifty. He was a physician, so he handled any and all of the guy’s medical issues, as well as those of the occasional prisoner. He’d served with John, and after he’d retired he came right to work with him. He also handled a lot of the management of the company — ordering, planning menus, hiring staff. Every night at six o’clock, he had a margarita. You could set your watch to it.
“Where to?” he asked, smiling at me.
“Wherever John told you,” I said, and laughed. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“You’re a woman — you’ll figure it out,” he said, not unkindly. “But John said Neiman Marcus first.”
I wished I had telepathy so I could beam an image of Neiman Marcus to Catherine, so maybe she’d smile. “He’s the boss,” I said.
The salespeople were extremely helpful, even before they saw John’s fancy credit card, which was swiped many, many times. They found everything on Catherine’s list. This included the print tunic she’d requested, which was over six hundred dollars. My jaw dropped when I looked at the price tag. I asked Michael for his phone so I could text John.
“$600 for a shirt? For Catherine?” I wrote.
“Sounds good,” he texted back. “<3 — BTW, that’s a ball sack!”
I shook my head and just handed the phone back to Michael. He looked down at the phone. “He says not to forget the stuff you need for yourself,” Michael called, as I headed off towards the desk to pay for the ridiculously expensive shirt and several pairs of $400 jeans that she’d also asked for. Not to mention the $400 La Ciel face cream.
“Now, what else can I help you with?” asked the sales clerk. He had shiny black hair with side-swept bangs and the coolest indigo-framed glasses I’d ever seen. He was wearing some sort of velvety blazer and skinny trousers. I would have felt very frumpy in my plain green tee-shirt had he not been so down to earth and kind.
“I need a dress,” I said, frowning at him.
“What kind of dress?” he asked, frowning back at me. “Who frowns about buying a dress?” he asked.
“Me,” I said. I sighed. “I need a tiny one. For dinner,” I said, and followed him off through the racks.
“Boyfriend’s orders?” he asked.
“How did you know?” I asked.
“That’s my job,” he said, and ushered me into a changing room.
In under a minute, he’d given me three dresses to try on. “Try the gold one first,” he said. “You seem like you’re burning out, and your buddy out there said you have a lot more shopping to do.”
I nodded at him and looked at the dress. It was a light golden color, with thin spaghetti straps and thousands of sparkly beaded fringes hanging in tiers. It was tiny and very, very pretty. Delicate. Almost too pretty — it was a cocktail dress for a princess. I was afraid I was going to break it as I pulled it over my head.
I came out of the dressing room and the clerk slapped his hand over his heart. “Damn, girl,” he said, beaming at me.
I turned and looked in the mirror. It was very pretty. It was also very small. John would approve, I felt sure. I looked at the price tag. It was very expensive — as in very, very expensive.
“It’s two thousand dollars,” I said, turning to look at him, feeling betrayed.
“Honey, your boyfriend will love this dress. If he has a pulse, he will absolutely love it,” he said.
“But —”
“Honey?” he said, cutting me off. “You seem like a nice girl. But maybe you haven’t been around so much?” He looked at me and smiled.
He leaned in closer and spoke to me conspiratorially: “Guys who have credit cards like the one your boyfriend has?” he asked. I nodded warily. “Guys like that don’t care about a couple thousand dollars,” he said. “It’s chump change to them.”
I knew he was right about John — he wouldn’t even blink at the price. I, however, found it ludicrous, bordering on immoral. “Can you find me something cheaper?” I asked, looking in the mirror. I loved the dress, but the price was unthinkable.
“Cheaper is as cheaper does,” he said, clearly joking. I burst out laughing. “But yes, I will. I’m putting this aside for you though, just in case. You look hot in it. Your name’s Liberty — right?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, Liberty, let’s go to the cheap seats and see what we can find for your hot little body.” He charged off, like he’d had about a dozen lattes, and I less than eagerly followed. He was fun, but shopping for hours? Not my thing.
An hour later, I’d tried on over fifteen dresses. None were as pretty, as tiny, or as expensive. Michael had taken a seat on a couch in the middle of the shoe showroom and looked as if he wished he were sleeping — maybe after having a margarita.
“What do you think?” Justin asked me. I was sure he worked on commission, but he didn’t seem to be focused on finding the most expensive things. He wanted to make me happy, and he clearly loved shopping.
“I don’t know anymore,” I said, hanging up the most recent dress. It was black and small. It was fine, but it wasn’t special. Not like the gazillion-dollar dress that was still bothering me.
Justin showed no signs of slowing down. He seemed to genuinely want to find me the perfect dress — and the perfect shoes and the perfect pocketbook, he’d told me. And then the perfect wardrobe to take back to Warwick. I, however, was ready for my sweatpants and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Shopping was exhausting. It was almost as bad as training. Almost.
“I have to check in with my buddy,” I said, motioning over to Michael.
“I’ll keep looking,” Justin called.
“Hi,” I said, sheepishly, as I went over to the lounge area in the shoe showcase. Poor Michael — we’d been here for over two hours, and it was well past lunch time. He was sitting slumped on the couch, parcels laid out all around him — the reams of clothing we’d bought for Catherine. There was also a garment bag next to him.
“How’re you holding up?” I asked.
“Fine,” Michael said, looking up and smiling at me pleasantly. “John called while you were trying stuff on. He said to get you the dress that you wanted, especially if it was expensive. I went over and asked that gal over there” — he motioned to a six-foot tall stunner with auburn hair falling in loose waves to her shoulders — “and she said you’d liked this one.” He pulled the garment bag up a bit and I could see the delicate gold fringe peaking out. “So I bought it. She said your friend there, the one with the funny glasses, would get the commission.”
I shook my head at him. “When did you talk to John?” I asked.
“About a half hour ago,” Michael said. “I bought it right after that.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. Michael smiled up at me. “Say, these shoes look like they’d match perfectly.” He pointed to a pair of tall golden wrap stilettos.
“They look perfect,” I agreed. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to walk too far in them, but they matched. “I’ll get Justin. We’ll get the shoes, then we can get out of here and have lunch,” I said.
“I know I’m not done,” I said, when I reached Justin, “but I’m done.”
He laughed. “I know your boyfriend got you the dress. Tabby told me. Congratulations.”
“Shoes,” I said, like a zombie. “Pocketbook. Athletic clothes, jeans…” I stared at him helplessly. “I don’t have the endurance for this sort of shopping,” I said, lamely.
“Let’s get the shoes and the bag, so you’re at least ready for date night,” Justin said, efficiently. He walked over to where Michael was sitting and examined the same gold sandals that he’d pointed out. “These are approved,” Justin said, nodding to Michael. “Good eye. Liberty, I’ll take pictures of things I pull for the rest of your list, including the workout clothes. I’ll text them to you — with the price tags showing. And then you can text me back which things you like and which things you don’t. You can send someone in to pick up the things you want, when it’s convenient for you.”
“Really?” I asked. That seemed too easy. I was totally exhausted, but it still seemed too easy.
“Really,” Justin said. “It’s amazing what a fancy credit card can buy you.” He winked at me and bent over, kissing me on both cheeks. “Have fun in your dress.”
“Thank you,” I called, wearily, as he took the shoes over to another sales clerk.
“Can we get drinks at lunch?” I asked Michael.
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he said, and beamed at me.
All in all, it had been a successful outing. I had takeout sushi for Catherine, I had all the clothes and makeup on her list (and a slew of items that weren’t, which was just me trying to get in her good graces), a fancy dress for my dinner date with John and a new best friend named Justin, who promised to pick out all the clothes I needed so I never had to shop again. Not ever.
We got back in the early afternoon. I could hear John and some of the guys out in the yard, counting. They must be working out, I thought relieved. I missed it!
Michael and I brought the shopping bags to Catherine. “She’s had some water and crackers since you came out earlier,” Jake said. He looked wistfully towards the yard, where the others were working out. “She’s still a flight risk, though.” He sounded glum. He’d been on guard for about ten hours — he was probably itching to join the others and work out — use those big muscles of his to do something besides pace outside his boss’s daughter’s door.
“You go,” Michael said, motioning towards the yard. “I’ll stay here. I can’t work out after all the Mexican food Liberty and I ate, anyway.” And the two margaritas apiece we had, I thought. Apparently shopping drove us both to drink.
“You sure?” Jake asked, hopping up without hesitating. “Thanks!” And he was gone.
“I wish I had his energy,” I said, looking at Michael.
“If you’re going on the next assignment, you’re going to need it,” Michael said. I felt like I’d made another friend today in Michael; his tone was now fatherly, protective. “South America is no joke. And going undercover there will be very, very intense. You’re going to have to do everything John asks in order to be ready.”
I nodded at him. Hearing this come from Michael, who was more normal than the rest of them — i.e., he liked to skip workouts sometimes, too, and liked to eat lard-laden Mexican food as much as I did — made me take it to heart. “I know,” I said. “I’m pretty much totally dreading it.”
“Forget about it for the weekend,” he said. “Enjoy the time off with John. He was a wreck when you left. He’s so much happier now, even with everything else that’s going on…” His voice trailed off and he motioned towards Catherine’s door.
“Thank you, Michael. You are now officially my shopping buddy. Let’s never go again.”
“Deal,” he said.
“Catherine seemed happy,” I told John later, after we’d had dinner with his father and camped out in the living room. The Red Sox were on. In my brief experience living with both cable and John, it seemed like the Red Sox were always on.
“She tried on all the clothes and she even ate some sushi.” And she didn’t even call me a fuckwad, I thought. Imagine that?
“Thank you. You’re perfect,” he said, kissing me lightly on the nose. “Michael said you got some shopping done for yourself, but that you didn’t get everything you needed.” He looked at me sternly. “You know we start Monday. You need proper clothing.”
“My new best friend’s taking care of all that,” I said, leaning back with my
hands behind my head.
“The salesman who helped you today? Michael mentioned it was a young guy who was helping you,” John’s voice trailed off and he looked at me expectantly.
“Young? Yes. A guy? Yes. Do you need to be threatened by Justin, my personal shopper? No,” I said, and giggled. “Although maybe your credit card should feel threatened. Seriously, though, Justin was great. But he’s not my type.”
“What — young, well-dressed and handsome isn’t your type?”
“No,” I said. “He was sweet, but I don’t like my men in skinny pants.”
He leaned over towards me. His handsome, chiseled face and bright blue eyes were right in front of my face. As was his massive chest, covered by a thin tee-shirt. “What, exactly, is your type?” he growled at me, kissing my face lightly.
“Well, that depends,” I said, pretending he wasn’t making me totally hot. “Sometimes I like my men dressed up, in a nice suit and tie. They look so polished that way. So powerful. So handsome.
“Other times,” I said, tracing my finger over his tee shirt, outlining his enormous pectoral muscles, “I like them sweaty and dirty. In a tee shirt and sweats. Or naked.” I giggled at him like I was kidding but it actually got really hot between my legs when I said it. John must have sensed it, because he brushed his lips down my neck, pressing his chest up against me. I stroked him and laughed — his muscles were all rock hard.
“You’re flexing for me,” I said.
“I’m just trying to fit the bill, babe,” he said, and kept kissing my neck.
“The main thing I like about my men — all my men, mind you,” I laughed, “is that they’re older,” he kept kissing me, “handsome,” he cupped my breast with his hand, “sexy,” he squeezed it, almost painfully, “and bossy.” I arched my back so he could press himself against me. I could feel all of him, every inch, and I moaned.
“Then you’ve hit the jackpot, baby,” he said, lowly, moving from my neck to lips, crushing his lips against mine. I moaned again and grabbed his ass, trying to press all of him against all of me.