I grip Christopher’s hand with white-knuckle force as we walk down the street. I peer around like a child seeing the world for the first time. A million cars, beautiful people, and I can hardly see the sky for skyscrapers. The shops look like luxury stores, nothing at all like where I would normally buy my clothes. Even the mannequins in the windows are hot.
And tiny.
Does anyone sell anything in normal sizes?
Madison Avenue . . . code for teeny tiny.
I look around at all the women who are buzzing around in a hurry, stylish and gorgeous, groomed to perfection. I catch sight of Christopher and me in a shop window, and I inwardly cringe. He’s looking all suave, in black jeans and shirt, and I’m wearing a casual T-shirt and shorts that I’ve practically lived in for over a year.
They’re worn and faded. My hair is all over the place, and I have no makeup on. I look like a complete wreck, and last night’s crying puffy eyes and face don’t help my cause.
I sure am missing our relaxed backpacking life right now.
We walk past a huge fancy boutique, and the mannequin is wearing a black dress and nice shoes. “In here,” Christopher says.
“It looks expensive,” I whisper.
He widens his eyes.
“Fine.”
He pulls me in by the hand. “Hello.” He smiles.
“Hi.” The shop assistants smile as they look him up and down and then to me with a subtle frown.
Great, I must look like his fix-up-the-hooker project or something.
“Can I help you with anything?”
Christopher goes to open his mouth, and I throw him a look and cut him off. “Just looking, thanks.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Don’t even,” I whisper.
He rolls his lips to keep his mouth closed and loiters behind me as I look around.
I see a nice black dress, and I look at the tag.
$4300. 00
“What the . . . ,” I whisper as I drop it like a hot potato and keep walking.
He takes it off the rack and throws it over his arm.
“Don’t bother,” I whisper. “That’s daylight robbery, Christopher. I’m never paying that for a dress. Does it have gold fucking stitching or something?”
“Shh . . . no talking,” he whispers as he fakes a smile at the salesgirl.
I widen my eyes, annoyed.
He gestures to a rack of dresses. “What else do you like?”
“Nothing here,” I whisper. “These prices are ludicrous.”
He puts his hand around my waist and pulls me in and kisses me softly as he lowers his voice. “When we get to Bumfuck, Nowhere, you can go shopping wherever you want. But tonight, we have a dinner date for you to meet my family, and we need to buy you a dress and shoes. So humor me and try some things on, or this is going to be an all-day fucking ordeal.”
I stare at him.
“Comprender?”
“Fine.” I flick through the rack. I get to a nice gray dress, and I turn the price tag over, and he snatches it out of my hand before I get a chance to see the price.
I roll my eyes and keep walking.
“Do you have these dresses in her size, please?” Christopher asks the shop assistant.
“I’ll check, sir.” She smiles before walking out the back.
“How does she know what size I am?” I mutter under my breath.
“Because it’s her job,” he mutters back. “You get what you pay for in New York.”
“So there’s a car hiding in that dress, is there?”
He chuckles as he keeps looking. “Maybe.” He takes a few more things off the rack and throws them over his arm.
“Well, where are we going for dinner tonight, anyway?” I ask him. “Do I really need to wear a dress? Couldn’t I just wear jeans?”
He smiles softly and leans in and kisses me. “I love you?”
“Is that a no?” I frown.
“That’s a”-he stops while he chooses his words-“that’s a . . . you wear whatever you want, sweetheart, and I will love you in it.”
I roll my eyes. He thinks I should wear a dress. “Fine.”
The shop assistant comes back over. “I have the dresses waiting in the changing room, ma’am.”
“Hayden,” Christopher corrects her. “Her name is Hayden.”
“Hello, Hayden.” She smiles. “I’m Camelia.”
“Hello, Camelia,” he says in his sexy, deep voice.
“And your name, sir?”
“Christopher Miles.”
Her eyes widen, and she glances to the other girls. “Mr. Miles.”
She knows who he is.
Fuck.
“That’s right.” He smiles. “Hayden has a”-he pauses-“a special occasion tonight, and she’s from out of town. Can you help her find what she’s after, please?”
“Of course, sir.” She smiles knowingly.
Oh crap.
I totally do look like his fix-up-a-hooker project. I exhale heavily as I look around. This is so embarrassing. He walks over to the counter and slides his credit card across to the girl. “Hayden has no clothes with her at all.”
“Yes, sir.”
He comes back and kisses my lips. “I’m going to get a coffee next door, sweetheart. I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Camelia.”
You’re leaving me here?
“I’ll be just next door,” he replies as if reading my mind.
“Fine.” I scratch my head in embarrassment and watch as he walks out the front door.
“Hayden.” The assistant smiles, bringing my attention back to her. “Let’s make you absolutely stunning for tonight.”
“Not sure that’s possible.” I exhale, feeling defeated.
“Where are you going, darling?”
“I’m meeting his parents.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “We need to bring out the big guns.” She walks around me as she looks me up and down. “Stephanie,” she calls to the other assistant.
“Yes.”
“Can you ring the salon and make an urgent hair appointment for Hayden, please? She needs a blowout.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?” I frown.
Camelia raises an eyebrow. “Everything, darling, everything.”
I glide the lipstick smoothly over and roll my lips to my reflection in the mirror.
“Seriously, though,” Christopher murmurs into my neck as he nibbles down to my collarbone.
“Stop.” I shrug him off and look down at myself. I’m wearing a fitted black wrap dress with sheer sleeves and nude strappy stilettos, and my girls are up high in the boostiest bra of all time. I’m even wearing a sexy G-string. My hair is so amazing I could swear it’s a wig, and my makeup is natural and glowy.
I hate to admit it, but Camelia knows her stuff. I look a million bucks.
Christopher’s hands glide up and down my body. He’s impressed, never having seen me like this before. “Kiss me,” he whispers darkly.
“I just put lipstick on.”
“Kiss me.” His teeth nip my earlobe.
“You do not want to kiss me.” I roll my eyes. “You want to bend me over the bathroom cabinet and fuck me from behind.”
“Hmm.” He smiles as if imagining it. “You’re right, I do. Let’s do that instead. Much better plan.” He lifts one of my legs to sit on the cabinet.
“Listen, after your little-rich-boy act”-I correct myself as I pull my leg down-“poor-boy act, you owe me a montage of multiple orgasms.”
“Ready, willing, and able.” He grabs my hip bones and pumps me with his pelvis.
“Not. Now.” I pull out of his grip and turn to look at my behind. “Do I look okay?”
He grabs my hand and puts it over the large erection in his pants. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re a sex maniac, that’s what I think.”
“You could be onto something,” he murmurs against my neck as his teeth graze my skin. “Punish me for it.”
“Stop,” I snap, annoyed. “I’m not going to meet your family for the first time smelling like sex.”
“Hand brake.”
I try to keep a straight face and fail miserably. “Let’s go.”