that he didn’t make you feel out of place."
I nodded, guilty over the web of lies I was weaving, but I didn’t have the heart to dampen Maria’s enjoyment with my vague worries. Or, with what I thought might be the truth. I took a sip of coffee to cover my frown and pressed on with my fairy tale. "Well, he did leave me for a few minutes though, so he could meet with a colleague. I took the time to freshen up my make-up. You wouldn’t believe the washroom, Maria! It was like its own little apartment inside. It was so big!"
Maria’s eyes widened. "What—gilded toilets?" She teased.
"Not quite," I said, "but I’m sure something in there might have been made of gold. There was a whole sitting area and I met some of the women. I don’t know if I’m going to join them at the tennis club just yet, but they weren’t as snobby as I expected them to be. Anyway, we left just after that—home by midnight, just like you ordered."
"No pumpkins," she grinned, "but about that kiss and tell business...?"
Luckily my phone rang just as I opened my mouth to speak. I wasn’t quite sure what I would have told her. Or just how far I was willing to take this particular fantasy.
"Good morning, Miss Tilson" came the velvety voice on the other end of the phone. "I trust you slept well?"
"Um, yes," I replied, a little disconcerted that he had called while I was weaving "our" fairytale for Maria. Almost as though he had caught me in the lie. What was it about this man that made me feel like an awkward schoolgirl?
"Good," came the soft chuckle, as if he could read my mind. "Can you be ready in an hour?"
"No problem," I said, waiting for my instructions.
"Good," he repeated. "Thompson will pick you up. When you get here, report to Priscilla Pearson, my floor manager in Lingerie."
Before I could say "All right, I’ll be ready," he had hung up.
"Duty calls," I said to Maria as I rose out of my chair and picked up my dirty dishes, "but for the record, Antonio has really luscious lips."
Chapter Seventeen
"Hm." was the only thing Priscilla said, raising one eyebrow in calculated appraisal as I introduced myself. This store has a lot of raised eyebrows , I thought. I wonder if it's a requirement? I almost giggled, part nervousness and part imagining how I would look doing the same thing to a customer.
"Turn around," she demanded, and I was reminded even more of my previous experience in Mancini's office. She actually uttered a "tsk, tsk" as she eyed me up and down with her disapproving gaze. At least she’d paused to shake my hand. But clearly, this was not a woman who placed social skills high on her priority list. "This will never do. I cannot have a protégé dressing like this. Come." She spun around deftly on her six-inch heels and clicked off at a pace as fast as her speech.
I hurried to keep up. "Nice to meet you, too," I muttered under my breath, glancing around at the stylish outfits on the racks and mannequins. The woman was right, of course. My black pleated skirt and simple pink blouse might have worked in the suburbs, but this was the big city. And this store, as I’d learned, boasted some of the hottest designs from the greatest runways around the world.
Priscilla stopped abruptly at a rack of chocolate colored dresses. "These," she uttered under her breath as she skimmed through the rack.
I eyed her own attire, trying to assess what I was missing. She was wearing a gray pencil skirt that reached just below her knees. Her sleeveless silver blouse revealed perfectly toned, honey brown arms. Her dark hair was pulled to one side, falling over her shoulder. The collar of the blouse dipped in soft folds to one side, and an elegant triple string of pearls rested around her neck.
"Here," she said, pulling out a dress and handing it to me. "The fitting rooms are over there. I’ll call down to the shoe department to get you something to match."
"Thanks," I said, heading in the direction she’d pointed.
The fitting
I nodded, guilty over the web of lies I was weaving, but I didn’t have the heart to dampen Maria’s enjoyment with my vague worries. Or, with what I thought might be the truth. I took a sip of coffee to cover my frown and pressed on with my fairy tale. "Well, he did leave me for a few minutes though, so he could meet with a colleague. I took the time to freshen up my make-up. You wouldn’t believe the washroom, Maria! It was like its own little apartment inside. It was so big!"
Maria’s eyes widened. "What—gilded toilets?" She teased.
"Not quite," I said, "but I’m sure something in there might have been made of gold. There was a whole sitting area and I met some of the women. I don’t know if I’m going to join them at the tennis club just yet, but they weren’t as snobby as I expected them to be. Anyway, we left just after that—home by midnight, just like you ordered."
"No pumpkins," she grinned, "but about that kiss and tell business...?"
Luckily my phone rang just as I opened my mouth to speak. I wasn’t quite sure what I would have told her. Or just how far I was willing to take this particular fantasy.
"Good morning, Miss Tilson" came the velvety voice on the other end of the phone. "I trust you slept well?"
"Um, yes," I replied, a little disconcerted that he had called while I was weaving "our" fairytale for Maria. Almost as though he had caught me in the lie. What was it about this man that made me feel like an awkward schoolgirl?
"Good," came the soft chuckle, as if he could read my mind. "Can you be ready in an hour?"
"No problem," I said, waiting for my instructions.
"Good," he repeated. "Thompson will pick you up. When you get here, report to Priscilla Pearson, my floor manager in Lingerie."
Before I could say "All right, I’ll be ready," he had hung up.
"Duty calls," I said to Maria as I rose out of my chair and picked up my dirty dishes, "but for the record, Antonio has really luscious lips."
Chapter Seventeen
"Hm." was the only thing Priscilla said, raising one eyebrow in calculated appraisal as I introduced myself. This store has a lot of raised eyebrows , I thought. I wonder if it's a requirement? I almost giggled, part nervousness and part imagining how I would look doing the same thing to a customer.
"Turn around," she demanded, and I was reminded even more of my previous experience in Mancini's office. She actually uttered a "tsk, tsk" as she eyed me up and down with her disapproving gaze. At least she’d paused to shake my hand. But clearly, this was not a woman who placed social skills high on her priority list. "This will never do. I cannot have a protégé dressing like this. Come." She spun around deftly on her six-inch heels and clicked off at a pace as fast as her speech.
I hurried to keep up. "Nice to meet you, too," I muttered under my breath, glancing around at the stylish outfits on the racks and mannequins. The woman was right, of course. My black pleated skirt and simple pink blouse might have worked in the suburbs, but this was the big city. And this store, as I’d learned, boasted some of the hottest designs from the greatest runways around the world.
Priscilla stopped abruptly at a rack of chocolate colored dresses. "These," she uttered under her breath as she skimmed through the rack.
I eyed her own attire, trying to assess what I was missing. She was wearing a gray pencil skirt that reached just below her knees. Her sleeveless silver blouse revealed perfectly toned, honey brown arms. Her dark hair was pulled to one side, falling over her shoulder. The collar of the blouse dipped in soft folds to one side, and an elegant triple string of pearls rested around her neck.
"Here," she said, pulling out a dress and handing it to me. "The fitting rooms are over there. I’ll call down to the shoe department to get you something to match."
"Thanks," I said, heading in the direction she’d pointed.
The fitting
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