Last Hit (Hitman) by Jessica Clare, Jen Frederick Page B
Authors: Jessica Clare, Jen Frederick
Ads: Link
top and black marble trim. Inside, there are several tall, severe people dressed all in black who seem too beautiful to be Minnesotans. No one who lives on a farm looks like these folks. The windows are full of posing mannequins in silks and leathers and skimpy bras and underwear. I suck in a breath as Nick heads in, his hand clasped over mine to keep me at his side.
I don’t know where to start looking. Then, I spy a sale sign at the back of the store and untangle my hands from Nick, heading there.
The items on sale are all way too large or out of season. Or ugly. I pick through them anyhow, flipping tags on anything that might seem like it could fit with a little bit of hand-sewing.
Nick waits patiently nearby, and when I glance over, he’s scanning the room, eyes ever-watchful. I wonder for a moment what he’s looking for.
I can’t find anything I like. The items are so expensive, even on clearance. Fifty dollars for a bra? It’s insane. But I know Nick won’t let me leave here without at least buying something. So I grab one plain bra that is twenty dollars and clutch it under my arm to hide it. For some reason, it feels weird for Nick to see my undergarments. "Let’s just get this one."
He looks at me for a long moment, glancing at the bra I’m trying to hide with my crossed arms. He reaches toward me and grasps the tag. Examines it. Then he looks at me.
"Do you pick out the lowest price item, Daisy?"
His English needs work, but I know what he means. I shrug, feeling silly.
Nick holds his hand out for it. Oh. My face flushes bright red, and I hand it to him, trying not to be too embarrassed—or titillated—at the thought of Nick’s hands touching my bra.
He heads to the counter, and I linger a few steps behind. His voice is low and smooth as he speaks to one of the black-clad sales clerks, and he hands her the bra. A moment later, she comes from behind the counter, a measuring tape in her hands.
"Sweetie," she says as she approaches me. "I was talking to your boyfriend, and he is concerned that the bra you picked out won’t fit. Let’s get you measured, okay?"
I cast a startled look at Nick, but he watches me with a cool gaze, as if daring me to protest. The woman puts a hand to the small of my back and leads me to the dressing rooms, and she measures my breasts while my cheeks flame red with embarrassment. She gives me a size—34C—and we leave the dressing room.
"You were right," the saleswoman sings out to Nick. "That one is much too big. We’ll find her something more suitable."
He merely nods, ignoring my protesting glances as the woman heads to one particular part of the store.
"Now," she says. "These are similar to what you had, but I think we can find something in your size." She pulls out a plain, smooth bra in a nude color. It is boring. It
is
like what I picked out, but I flip over the tag. It is no cheaper than the fancier items.
And for some reason, I put my foot down. I have worn boring, plain clothing all my life. My father insisted on approving everything I wore, and as a result, I have never had anything pretty or bold in my life. So I think for a moment and shake my head at the nude bra the woman holds out to me. I head instead to a nearby rack and look at the bras there.
They are lacy, frilly things. One is a silky pink and white gingham with a lacy design along the cups. It’s incredibly beautiful, and I touch it longingly.
And then I look to Nick, as if seeking approval.
He nods, and I could swear he looks pleased.
"I think I want this one."
"That’s a great choice," the saleswoman enthuses. "But you’ll need the matching panties."
"
Da,
" Nick says from afar before I can comment. "She needs several sets. Bras and panties. Shirts. Shoes. Dresses."
I shoot him a glance, but he has his phone out and is scrolling through something. He’s not watching.
"Don’t worry about him, honey." The saleswoman pats my arm. "He told me you are to get everything you
I don’t know where to start looking. Then, I spy a sale sign at the back of the store and untangle my hands from Nick, heading there.
The items on sale are all way too large or out of season. Or ugly. I pick through them anyhow, flipping tags on anything that might seem like it could fit with a little bit of hand-sewing.
Nick waits patiently nearby, and when I glance over, he’s scanning the room, eyes ever-watchful. I wonder for a moment what he’s looking for.
I can’t find anything I like. The items are so expensive, even on clearance. Fifty dollars for a bra? It’s insane. But I know Nick won’t let me leave here without at least buying something. So I grab one plain bra that is twenty dollars and clutch it under my arm to hide it. For some reason, it feels weird for Nick to see my undergarments. "Let’s just get this one."
He looks at me for a long moment, glancing at the bra I’m trying to hide with my crossed arms. He reaches toward me and grasps the tag. Examines it. Then he looks at me.
"Do you pick out the lowest price item, Daisy?"
His English needs work, but I know what he means. I shrug, feeling silly.
Nick holds his hand out for it. Oh. My face flushes bright red, and I hand it to him, trying not to be too embarrassed—or titillated—at the thought of Nick’s hands touching my bra.
He heads to the counter, and I linger a few steps behind. His voice is low and smooth as he speaks to one of the black-clad sales clerks, and he hands her the bra. A moment later, she comes from behind the counter, a measuring tape in her hands.
"Sweetie," she says as she approaches me. "I was talking to your boyfriend, and he is concerned that the bra you picked out won’t fit. Let’s get you measured, okay?"
I cast a startled look at Nick, but he watches me with a cool gaze, as if daring me to protest. The woman puts a hand to the small of my back and leads me to the dressing rooms, and she measures my breasts while my cheeks flame red with embarrassment. She gives me a size—34C—and we leave the dressing room.
"You were right," the saleswoman sings out to Nick. "That one is much too big. We’ll find her something more suitable."
He merely nods, ignoring my protesting glances as the woman heads to one particular part of the store.
"Now," she says. "These are similar to what you had, but I think we can find something in your size." She pulls out a plain, smooth bra in a nude color. It is boring. It
is
like what I picked out, but I flip over the tag. It is no cheaper than the fancier items.
And for some reason, I put my foot down. I have worn boring, plain clothing all my life. My father insisted on approving everything I wore, and as a result, I have never had anything pretty or bold in my life. So I think for a moment and shake my head at the nude bra the woman holds out to me. I head instead to a nearby rack and look at the bras there.
They are lacy, frilly things. One is a silky pink and white gingham with a lacy design along the cups. It’s incredibly beautiful, and I touch it longingly.
And then I look to Nick, as if seeking approval.
He nods, and I could swear he looks pleased.
"I think I want this one."
"That’s a great choice," the saleswoman enthuses. "But you’ll need the matching panties."
"
Da,
" Nick says from afar before I can comment. "She needs several sets. Bras and panties. Shirts. Shoes. Dresses."
I shoot him a glance, but he has his phone out and is scrolling through something. He’s not watching.
"Don’t worry about him, honey." The saleswoman pats my arm. "He told me you are to get everything you
Similar Books
