The Boss's Fiance Box Set

by Amanda Horton

  What did he just say? Something about someone dropping by at the café and helping her with everything she needed. A car and chauffeur?

  She didn’t need a car; she wasn’t going anywhere. She had nothing to wear. Her mind was made up.

  There was nothing more she could do for now and she had to be in the café. Miranda would be in a tizzy if she didn’t show up. Resigned, she left the rest of the day up to fate.

  ***

  “You cannot just NOT go, Noelle. You don’t flake on a date like that.” Miranda implored her.

  "I know…but it's for the best. I don't want to embarrass him in front of his friends and frou-frou guests."

  They were prepping for the afternoon crowd while arguing over her dilemma. Miranda was adamant that she still go to the ball. Noelle was resolute. No, she wasn’t going.

  As they argued back and forth, a shiny black Bentley pulled up elegantly on the sidewalk beside the cafe.

  “Shit,” Noelle muttered.

  Was this the person Hunter sent?

  Curiously, they watched as a man stepped out and stood on the pavement. The newcomer looked dapper, wearing a coat and a tie and carrying a satchel in another hand. He puckered his brow as he checked his iPod. He scanned the area looking up and down the street before deciding he was in the right location. With a measured and confident gait, he headed straight for the café entrance.

  “Maybe he’s lost and needs directions?" Noelle mumbled hopefully.

  “Maybe he’s gay as hell,” Miranda tittered.

  The man entered and flashed a smile when he saw them both. “Hello, my name is Thomas Gaye…”

  “Told you,” Miranda whispered and fled, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

  Noelle strived for a poker face and said, “Yes, Mr. Gaye, how can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Noelle Mancini?”

  “Yeah, that’s me,” Noelle replied wondering who the hell he was.

  “Miss Mancini, I’m here on behalf of Mr. Hunter Blackwell. He said to assist you in whatever capacity you need for the ball tonight. I’m Mr. Blackwell’s personal shopper.”

  Personal shopper? What the hell was that? And why did this man speak with a British accent like he was a butler from a medieval era?

  “Err-Mr. Gaye,” she replied, squashing the desire to laugh, “I really don’t know…”

  “Leave it all up to me. I know everything that you need.”

  "Does that include the dress she needs to wear tonight?" Apparently, Miranda had time to compose herself and decided to join them.

  “Why, yes, of course,” Thomas Gaye replied sizing Noelle with expertise, “…plus a visit to the hair salon, hair stylist, make-up, shoes, and clutch… the whole shebang.”

  Miranda whooped in triumph as Noelle glared at her.

  "Problem solved," Miranda announced with glee.

  “Come. Come. We have very little time.” Thomas groaned.

  Little time? The ball was hours away.

  "Go!" Miranda urged, handing Noelle her purse. "I can manage without you."

  Inside the plush confines of the Bentley, Noelle sat uncomfortably beside Thomas. She had no idea what he had in store for her and where they were going.

  “Mr. Gaye…”

  “Oh… call me Thomas,” he replied with a flutter of his wrist.

  “Okay. Are you British?”

  Thomas looked at her then succumbed to paroxysms of laughter. “No. I was born in Brooklyn. I just thought a British accent would make me more credible. Mr. Hunter seems to think I’m doing a great job. And I’m gay… just so you know.”

  The admission broke the ice and Noelle felt her anxiety fade away.

  “Have you ever dressed a girl before for Mr. Blackwell?”

  “No, never. I mostly shop for his personal needs like clothes, perfume, etc. I gotta admit I was surprised by this particular request.”

  “He’s probably dated some of the most sophisticated women in the city.” Noelle fretted.

  Thomas raised a brow to the roof. “You’re right. But I can teach some of those ladies a thing or two on refinement.”

  Noelle smiled at the consolation. She still wasn’t absolutely sure that this was the right thing to do.

  “Trust me,” Thomas added, noticing her woebegone expression, “When I’m done with you, Mr. Blackwell will approve. That’s a promise.”

  The car came to a stop outside a spa located in the heart of Upper East Side Manhattan. Thomas announced cheerily that she was getting a full face and body party-prep. Noelle wondered what the hell that was. Inside, she was asked to remove all her clothes after a fluffy robe was handed to her, and then she was led to an aromatic steam room. She came out feeling more relaxed then when she came in.

  That wasn’t so bad.

  Next, she was ushered to a private room and was asked to climb a bed and open her legs. It was a massage table. Noelle covered her eyes in mortification as an attendant gave her a Brazilian Bikini Wax. She felt something warm on her vagina. When the attendant yanked the piece of muslin cloth, Noelle saw stars and let out a shriek. She comforted herself in that time with devising ways and means to kill Thomas Gaye for the pain she had just endured.

  The next stop was the mani-pedi station where more pain headed her way as her hands and feet were covered in hot paraffin wax before her nails were painted.

  Looking up, she heard a commotion by the entrance. Droves of people entered the spa holding cloth bags over their arms. Two clothes racks were wheeled inside where more dresses were hanging, just waiting to be unveiled and tried on.

  “I booked the entire second floor for your dressing room. I thought we could save time by bringing the clothes here.” Thomas announced gaily.

  He was obviously in his element as he traipsed upstairs.

  Shambling from all the pain, Noelle hobbled to the make-up chair where her eyebrows were threaded.

  When that was over, another hairstylist worked on her hair, cutting, blow-drying, spritzing hair gel, and God-knows what else. Noelle resigned herself to everything happening around her and hardly cared. She was numb.

  When the hairstylist announced she was done, Noelle was led up the stairs and into a room where racks of dresses stood in attention. Thomas stood by the door and clapped his hands in delight.

  "Your hair and make-up are perfect," he acknowledged, "but we still have to choose the right dress for you,” waving his arm dramatically towards racks filled with dresses.

  Noelle approached one rack and pulled out a dress. It had a very expensive designer label. She placed it back and pulled out another. That too had a recognizable high-end label at the back. So were the next and the next and the next.

  She looked at Thomas in confusion. How was she to decide when her whole body was a giant lump of pain?

  “I know…I know…” Thomas chanted, “So I narrowed it down to these three.” He waved his arms towards a rack that held three designer gowns.

  Noelle was relieved and threw him a grateful look.

  She immediately knew what she wanted. The strapless shell pink with a sweetheart neckline and crisscrossed bodice was calling her name. The chiffon draped down to a flowing hemline. It was simple yet classy. And it was a Vera Wang creation.

  Thomas clapped his hands in approval.

  “Good girl. That was my choice as well. I thought I had to knock you unconscious just to get you into that dress. Come,” he urged, giving her robe a meaningful glance.

  Noelle understood and dropped the dressing gown. She stood naked as the day she was born. He hardly gave her body a second glance.

  Has he ever seen Hunter naked?

  Thomas held the dress gingerly over her head. It flowed down her neck, past her shoulders and onto her feet like liquid gold. It was meant for her and a perfect fit. Noelle was eager to see how she looked. Thomas pulled her back before she reached the mirror and handed her a pair of open-toed, crystal-studded shoes. Noelle put them on meekly. Then Thomas brought
her to the full-length mirror.

  Noelle gawked in disbelief. That wasn’t her. Thomas had conjured a magic wand and replaced the real Noelle.

  “Well…do you like it?”

  Thomas must have asked the question several times before the words penetrated her brain. She stood there in front of the mirror and realized her mouth was wide open. She needed to pick her jaw off the floor before she could make a coherent response.

  "I-I like…Oh, Gawd! What’s not to like? I mean…who’s that girl?”

  Thomas smiled and flipped open a rectangular velvet box.

  “For the piece de resistance. Tah dah!”

  A wreath diamond necklace soon nestled delicately against her neck.

  Thomas had to literally haul her out of the room, otherwise Noelle would have stood there all day just staring at her reflection. He rushed her to the Bentley and instructed the chauffeur where to go. On the way she got a text from Hunter:

  Can’t wait to see you soon. Sorry, will not be able to enter with you...too much press. I will be waiting for you as soon as you walk in.

  Noelle replied with an OK and a smiley emoticon, but she was terrified to be going there alone. She knew, however, that Hunter was right and they could do without the press’ unnecessary attention.

  Chapter Seven

  It was a short ride to the Plaza Hotel in New York City. Noelle immediately recognized the concrete arches and large glass and bronze façade. The building took a ghostly appearance bathed in the glow of huge spotlights.

  The Bentley came to a halt in front of the cantilevered stairway covered in a lush red carpet. A uniformed porter opened the car door.

  Thomas stepped out and held his hand to Noelle. She smiled in relief. Thomas was coming too.

  “Your prince is waiting inside,” he whispered, then re-entered the car.

  Noelle wheeled around in alarm. “You’re not coming with me?”

  “My dear girl, I am a stylist, not a nanny. Raise that chin high and own the dress. The press is waiting.”

  The car moved forward and suddenly Noelle felt all alone. As she looked up, she noted the horde of paparazzi that lined both sides of the stairs, kept at bay by velvet barrier ropes. She had to pass that mob to get inside.

  “I can do this,” she muttered, hating Thomas for abandoning her this way.

  She took a tentative first step, keeping her eyes focused on the landing that felt a hundred miles away.

  “Can you give us your name Miss? Are you here with someone? Do you work for the movies?”

  She heard the questions thrown at her as the blinding light of flashbulbs followed her ascent. She kept her poise and stayed silent.

  Noelle reached the multi-story lobby and entered the cool interior. Her eyes were immediately attracted to the crystal chandeliers that sparkled like a million constellations. She saw the paintings by the masters and the pictures of famous performers that had performed at the historic hotel.

  Her heels resounded against the marble flooring as she followed the strains of an orchestra. It led her to a huge ballroom where an usher asked for her name.

  “Mr. Hunter is inside,” the girl said and escorted her in.

  Noelle fought the urge to cling to the usherette like a lifeboat. The room was crowded, with a wide circular dance floor in the center. She stood hesitantly by the door. Heads turned in her direction. In the sea of black and white tuxedoes, it was almost impossible to spot Hunter Blackwell.

  Hunter was in deep conversation with the Mayor and his wife, constantly searching the room to see if his date had arrived. He wondered how he would spot her amongst this multitude of people.

  Suddenly, he sensed a change inside the room. It was like the unexpected appearance of the sun on a stormy day or a sudden warm breeze on a particularly chilly night. A wave of curious faces turned towards the entrance of the ballroom as if attuned to something truly spectacular.

  Then he saw her.

  Hunter immediately excused himself, oblivious to the fact that he had left the rest of his sentence hanging. The Mayor and his wife looked at Hunter in surprise, as he scurried towards the entrance of the ballroom.

  From a distance, their eyes locked.

  Noelle felt the world tilt. She had never seen him this elegant. The three-piece suit hugged his body like a second skin. The formal shoes shone to perfection. His hair was slicked back and a five o’clock shadow decorated the side of his face and chin.

  His eyes stayed locked with hers. He approached like a majestic lion, coming to claim its prey – assured and confident. He was a few feet away when his eyes crinkled and the lips broke into an approving smile.

  Noelle was relieved and happy to note that her jaw had not slackened and left a slobbering mess.

  “You like?” she asked, spreading her arms apart for him to see the dress.

  He immediately covered the gap between them and whispered intimately in her ear, “You are the most ravishing creature I’ve ever seen. I will be the envy of every man tonight.”

  He took her arm and placed it against his as he escorted her inside. Noelle was aware that a thousand eyes followed their every move. But she was no longer afraid. Hunter was all the confidence she ever needed to own that moment.

  The power inside the room was palpable. Noelle immediately recognized the Mayor and his lovely wife. She was familiar with the Deputy Mayor, the kind and gentle face of the Police Commissioner, the taciturn New York Assembly speaker, and other high profile personalities she only read about or saw on TV.

  Their luminescence dimmed in the presence of her date. Hunter stood tall among the crowd as several guests sought his company. Hunter made a point of introducing her to Mr. James Powell, a tall and wiry black man with streaks of gray in his kinky hair.

  Mr. Powell was the Council speaker - the head of the same council that was making life difficult for Hunter with regards to getting a ticket nomination. He appeared entranced with her and asked her to dance.

  Noelle suspected there was a reason behind it. And it became apparent the minute Powell got her alone on the dance floor.

  “I never realized Hunter had such a beautiful secret. Where has he been hiding you all this time?”

  It was a compliment, but a probing one. He was very curious about her.

  “Thank you, Mr. Powell. But I’m not really a secret. I’ve known Hunter for some time now.”

  “Have you? I still maintain that it’s a remarkable secret.”

  “There's really nothing remarkable about me. I am an ordinary girl from this city who runs an ordinary café in Queens. I have a four-year-old son whom I adore and hope to raise well. It's the same story, multiplied a thousand times over, in the Big Apple"

  “You turn your life into a work of art in order to redeem the ordinariness – a condition you are stuck with.” Powell quoted.

  “Yes,” Noelle replied, “Robert Dessaix, I believe. An Australian author. I’ve read his memoirs.”

  Powell’s bushy eyebrows raised a notch. “Beautiful and intelligent, too. I like that in a woman.”

  Before she could make a comeback, Hunter showed up and cut into their dance.

  “You’re monopolizing my girl,” Hunter accused, sarcasm dripping in his voice.

  Powell grinned and replied, "Keep her close before she decides to slip away."

  Then he turned to Noelle and gallantly kissed her hand. “Miss Mancini, it was a pleasure making your acquaintance.”

  Noelle nodded slightly, accepting the compliment. Oddly enough, she found that she liked him too.

  Hunter took her hand and placed it on his shoulder. The other arm snaked around her waist and pulled her close to him.

  “Have I already told you that you look ravishing tonight?”

  “You have to thank Thomas Gaye for that. He is a miracle worker.”

  “He had the best ingredients to work with.”

  “You don’t look so bad yourself. I’ve never really seen you in a suit before,” she retorted.r />
  “Welcome to my world, Noelle Mancini.”

  Noelle looked at the faces around her and replied, “It’s a little scary, this world of yours.”

  “You? Scared?”

  “Uh-huh. I almost didn’t come, you know. When you called this morning, I was about to tell you. But you didn’t give me a chance to.”

  Hunter’s eyes widened. He grinned and said, “I can imagine tomorrow’s tabloids if you did. HUNTER BLACKWELL STOOD UP BY DATE! That wouldn’t be very good for my ego.”