Mine (Dressing a Billionaire Book 3): A Romantic Comedy

by Jamie Lee Scott

  I’d been doing some homework on weddings, just in case Kelsey contacted me. I hadn’t heard from her, so she’d probably just been trying to be nice that morning. Oh, well.

  I was wrong, though. When I woke and shut off my alarm, I was greeted with several text messages from the one and only Kelsey Rawlings.

  I’d like to set up a meeting so we can talk about designers.

  When I didn’t respond within fifteen minutes, she sent another text.

  Hey Maisy, it’s me, Kelsey. I’d love to set up a meeting to talk about wedding dresses.

  Half an hour later, she sent another text.

  It’s me again. Sorry to be a pest. I’m just really excited about working with an up-and-coming designer, and I know we’ll work so well together.

  I scrolled to see if she had left another text, and saw Hugo’s name.

  Stella and I talked. Glad you liked the office space. Can’t wait to have you as a neighbor and tenant. Maybe lunch to celebrate and talk?

  Really? Lunch? He was getting married. No way was I going near that powder keg. I ignored Hugo’s text, but responded to Kelsey’s.

  Sorry for the delayed response. I’ve had a busy day. Yes, I lied. I’m also looking forward to working with you. I have several fabulous designers in mind. Give me a few days to get them lined up and we can set up a meeting.

  I swear I had barely hit send when she responded.

  Is there any way you can get me something preliminary by tomorrow afternoon? I just want to be sure we are compatible before I start looking for a different stylist.

  At this point the only thing crossing my mind was, what the fuck? I thought she said she wasn’t going to be a bridezilla. I should never have said yes. Part of me wanted to show her designs I knew she’d never wear.

  Instead, I texted back, I’m open Tuesday morning? I can meet you early for coffee.

  I wanted her to think I had a full schedule and couldn’t just drop everything to work for her. And if she dumped me, then all the better.

  I guess I’ll have to wait until Tuesday. I don’t drink coffee, but we can meet at my parents house for tea. Or breakfast.

  Sounds good. What time?

  I slammed my phone up against my forehead several times, before I looked to see her response. What was I doing, what was I thinking? This was going to be a styling disaster. I had a feeling she was going to hate everything I offered.

  I sent Orlean a text next. I need to change tonight from out on the town to a business meeting, if you’re up for it.

  Orlean responded back, Can we at least have a three-cosmopolitan business meeting?

  Make it a four martini business meeting and we have a deal!!!

  She sent me back an emoji of a smiley face and at least a dozen thumbs up.

  How about dinner at Vivid? Meet you at 8. I’ll make reservations.

  Again about a dozen thumbs up.

  In my new capacity as a TMZ socialite and fledgling stylist to the Dallas rich and famous, I made sure I dressed to the nines. After a long shower, I blew out my hair, then flattened it with a straightening iron and pulled it into a ponytail high on my head. I left a few wispy bangs out, just to look a little flirty. Then I shimmied into a silver sequin skirt and a white sleeveless silk blouse with layers of lace. Sure, I looked more like I was ready for a night out dancing than a quiet business dinner, but once I added four-inch strapping silver stilettos with the ankle wraps, it was obvious I wouldn’t be dancing. Not in those shoes. Besides, who said our dinner was going to be quiet anyway?

  Vivid should have been named Subdued. The restaurant looked like a dressed up version of a military camp, all in subtle shades of brown, tan, and khaki. Though as elegant as any fine dining white-tablecloth restaurant, with its crystal chandeliers and expensive fabrics. The entire outer perimeter of the dining room had long upholstered benches, with the tables placed evenly along them, and straight backed chairs facing the walls, which were black paned mirrors from bench to ceiling. Soft linen curtains hung from the mirrors as if they were windows to the world. Not an empty seat could be seen from the hostess stand. I was glad Orlean had been able to get us a table.

  Orlean couldn’t have looked prettier if I had dressed her myself. She wore a shift dress with a large floral print pattern, and cantaloupe-colored round toe pumps. Her dark hair was pulled into a French twist, with a stunning diamond clip at the top. Her makeup, as always, made her look like Audrey Hepburn.

  I was already seated at our table when Orlean finally arrived, so I got the full-on fashion show as the hostess walked her to my table.

  I stood to greet her and hugged her tight. “Oh my goodness, you look absolutely stunning.”

  Orlean stepped back and twirled around twice. “You think so?” She pulled out her chair and sat down. “I just ask myself WWMW?”

  “WWMW?”

  “What would Maisy wear?” She giggled.

  I sat back down in my seat and laughed. “Thank you for the nice compliment. And for the hashtag or whatever that is. Looking at you, I apparently have very good taste.”

  Orlean leaned in conspiratorially. “So why are we having a business dinner instead of a night out dancing and finding some guy to get laid?”

  I leaned in close. “I don’t think my body can take much more. I might need a few more days before looking for a new guy.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I need to get laid.” She looked around the room. “And unless I’m looking for a stodgy businessman who’s looking to cheat on his wife tonight, I don’t think that’s going to happen here.” She opened her white linen napkin and placed it in her lap.

  I looked around the room, too. There really wasn’t much to choose from: young couples in love, old couples ignoring each other or sitting in comfortable silence, or men dressed in business suits. The men in suits were in groups of four or more. I wiggled my brows. “Unless you’re into the group sex thing, I don’t think this will be your night. Especially not here.”

  Orlean did a nearly 360 look around the restaurant. “You know, I’m into new things, but group fucking ain’t one of them. But those gentlemen over there in the corner, I might be able to fish one of those out of the group.”

  I looked to the corner where she indicated by cocking her chin. “That, my dear, is Derek Gattis, one of my new clients. And it looks like he might be with some fellow ballplayers.”

  Orlean looked down at her outfit and then back at me. “Are you sure this looks good? Because if it does, you’re marching me over there to that table and introducing me to those men.”

  I put both hands flat on the white linen tablecloth on either side of the place settings. “I promise you this, I will not let them leave without an introduction, but business first.”

  Orlean sulked. “Fine, so what’s this business we’re going to be discussing?”

  I pulled out my iPad and placed it on the table. “I want to talk to you about some dress designers. But we're not going to be rude to the staff, so we are going to look at our menus and order first.”

  Orlean jumped up and down in her seat. “So Kelsey finally contacted you? Exciting!”

  “She did. And I’ll try to be excited for your sake. But let’s look at the menu first.”

  When the server came to our table, Orlean and I both ordered dirty martinis, then dug into the fresh bread and soft butter the busboy placed on the table.

  By the time the server came back to take our order, we were both ready for another round of dirty martinis. I ordered the pressed duck with chocolate sauce, and Orlean ordered the steak Diane with mushrooms and onions over carrot mashed potatoes.

  While sipping our second round of dirty martinis, I explained to Orlean that Kelsey wanted to see several dress designs by late tomorrow, but that I’d put her off until Tuesday.

  “What do you even know about this woman? I mean, does she want a ball gown, a-line, a trumpet, a mini?”

  I took a long drag of my martini then said, “Hell, I don’t even kn
ow if she wants to wear white.”

  Orlean nearly choked on her martini. “She’s Kelsey Rawlings, socialite, she will definitely wear a white dress. Besides, it’s her first wedding, that we know of, and…and why are you taking Kelsey as a client?”

  “Because you and I are going to revel in it when the wedding doesn’t happen. And we're going to make money in the process.” I winked. “I’m kidding. We’re doing this because I need the money and the exposure, and you could use a little exposure, too. Right?”

  Orlean nodded. “Yes, the things we do for money.”

  “Not only do we have to decide if she’s going to wear a tea length, or a mermaid, we need to figure out if it’s going to be an empire waist, the length of the train, so much. And she seems pretty antsy about getting this done yesterday. I don’t think this is going to be easy.”

  “And then it’s probably going to be choosing between Ariel, Cinderella, Jasmine, Aurora, or Snow White.”

  By the time Orlean said Snow White, we were both laughing so hard our martinis nearly came out our noses.

  As we both sniffed snot from laughing so hard we were crying, I heard a distinctly familiar voice approach our table.

  Wiping tears from my eyes with my napkin, I looked up and saw Derek just a few feet from our table. The huge smile that graced his face made me remember why I enjoyed working with him.

  “It looks like you ladies are having a good time tonight,” Derek said, stepping up and kissing me on the cheek.

  “We are. And this must be the in place to be, if you’re here,” I responded, standing up to give him a hug.

  “It must be.” He winked.

  As Orlean wiped frantically at her nose and eyes, she looked mortified. She stared at me, eyes wide, as if warning me not to introduce her to anyone.

  “Derek, this is one of my best friends, Orlean.”

  Derek turned to Orlean and shook her hand. Orlean could barely look him in the face. “Very nice to meet you, Orlean. Any friend of Maisy’s is a friend of mine.”

  In not so Orlean fashion, she squeaked out, “Nice to meet you, too.”

  “And who are your friends?” I asked. Not a single one of them stood less than six feet tall, nor did they have any flaws. They all looked like the perfect medicine to get over a break-up, or whatever happened between me and Hugo.

  Orlean looked up and swooned, “Yes, introductions please.” And she was back.

  “Yes, Derek,” I said. “Who are these handsome gentlemen? And do they want to look as well-dressed as you?” I waved in the air with both hands at the other men. “Not that you don’t already look quite dapper.”

  I wasn’t sure if I was flirting with Derek, or hoping he’d introduced me as his stylist. I actually think I might’ve been flirting.

  “Sorry to disappoint, but they are all spoken for. Or maybe some just don’t like girls.” He patted the butt of the man standing next to him.

  He responded by stepping forward. “He lies. Steele Jessup. And, in fact, I do like girls. I’m just very, very choosy.”

  I reached down into my handbag, then stood back up and handed Steele my card. “I’m Maisy Tucker, and though you look very keen, I’d be happy to be at your service.”

  Steele looked me up and down, and not in a sleazy way, but a “let me see if you dress as nicely as you think you can dress me” kind of way. “And what if I just wanted to take you to dinner, not have you dress me?”

  My brows raised almost to my hairline. I almost turned him down, then I thought let’s play. “Let’s make it a double date: you, me, Derek, and Orlean. Totally informal, and just for fun.”

  Orlean kicked the shit out of me under the table. How the hell she did it, while I was standing, was beyond me. I did my best not to let it faze me.

  Derek graced us with his incredible grin once again. “I’m in.”

  Steele said, “I have your number.” He wiggled my card between his fingers. “I will definitely call you.”

  Derek shook his head, then introduced the rest of the men. “This is Isaac Evans, a defensive back. Ron Schmidt is a wide receiver. Ollie Sanders is our kicker. And Jose Tumdia plays at right guard.” They all stepped forward and shook our hands as Derek introduced them.

  Ron said, “Boys’ night out.” He looked at Isaac, “But some of us have a curfew, so we're headed home.”

  Isaac rolled his eyes. “They’re just jealous because I have something to go home to, and they were just trying to get away.”

  Derek backed away a step, and said, “It looks as if we did interrupt you, ladies, I’m so sorry. Get back to your laughing, and you’ll be hearing from us soon.”

  Before I sat down, I leaned in and kissed Derek on the cheek. “It’s really good to see you.” I looked him up and down. “You look really sharp tonight.”

  His eyes twinkled as he said, “Yes, yes I do.”

  And with that the group of six turned and walked away.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said to their backs.

  Orlean chugged the rest of her martini and slammed the glass on the table. “What was that?”

  I sat down, feeling smug. “That was setting up a date.”

  Orlean shook her head. “No, that was being blindsided. I mean Derek is good-looking at all, but holy moly, Steele could take my virginity any time.”

  “Virginity? You mean that statue in your living room?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was talking about.”

  “And as far as I’m concerned, you can have either one of them. And if you want to pretend like you’re a virgin when you’re with him, or them, that’s fine with me. I just want to go out on a fun date with some good-looking guys and have a good time. No commitments. No feelings. No…well, maybe some sex.”

  The server came with our meals and another round of dirty martinis. By this time, I knew I wouldn’t be driving home, and neither would Orlean. We’d have to leave our cars in the parking lot and request an Uber driver.

  As soon as the aroma of our meals hit our noses, talk of boys was forgotten. We dug into our selections like two bulimics who’d tried to pretend they were anorexic, but failed, and discussed the business of wedding dresses.

  A slight slur to her words, Orlean said, “I say we do a Cinderella mini with an empire waist.”

  Feeling soberer and serious, I gave my two cents. “I say, one Cinderella, one mermaid, and one a-line. We can give her the choice of off shoulder, halter, jewel, boat neck, scoop. And we can go from there. Do you think you can get six designers lined up with sketches by tomorrow afternoon?”

  Orlean didn’t answer. She pulled out her phone and started texting.

  “Excuse me? Did you hear me?” Now I could hear the slur in my words.

  Orlean put up a finger, then continued to text. She sent one final message, slamming her index finger onto the screen.

  “I just sent out a dozen texts. We will take designs from the first six that respond.” She took another bite of her steak, smeared it in the carrot mashed potatoes, and stuffed it in her mouth.

  Before she finished chewing, her cell phone danced across the table, and she picked it up.

  “And we have our six designers. Eight actually. Should we just go with all eight?”

  I nodded my head like a little girl being asked if she wanted a pony. “Hell yes, if they responded back that quickly. What exactly did you write?”

  Orlean scrolled up her phone, then read, “Kelsey Rawlings is getting married. She is looking for a designer for her wedding dress. Are you in?”

  My eyes wide with astonishment, I said, “Is she really that famous? I mean she’s a socialite and all, but does every local designer know her name?”

  “They all read the same trashy rags I read. They’ve all seen you in the pages of TMZ articles. So, yes, she’s a socialite, and yes, anybody worth their weight in black gold in the state of Texas knows who the hell she is,” Orlean said with her mouth full.

  I drained the last of my third dirty martini an
d nearly tipped the glass over as I placed it back on the table. “I guess we’re doing this thing, aren’t we?”

  Orlean swallowed, then smiled as if we just planned a coup. “Yes, my dear, we are. And if we’re lucky, we’ll get paid before all of the wedding plans fall apart.” She slapped her hand on the table several times, laughing so hard she almost choked.

  “That is so not funny. I want Hugo to be happy. And if Kelsey makes him happy, then that’s what I want.”

  Sobering up from her laughing, but not from our drinking, Orlean said, “That is the biggest crock of fucking bullshit I have ever heard in my entire life. That’s like the dumbass guys who say they read Playboy for the articles. You don’t want Hugo with Kelsey the same way those guys couldn’t tell you what the fuck those articles say, because they got boobies in their face.”

  At this point, I knew it was time to ask for the check and get the hell out of there, before Orlean said something like this even louder. I was pretty sure every person at every table was staring at us, but I didn’t have the nerve to look around the room.

  Just as I was about to flag down our server and ask for the check, Orlean said, “I want dessert.”

  While Orlean ordered dessert, I called a car to come pick us up.

  Chapter Seven

  My phone rang at seven in the morning, I picked it up, looked at it, and contemplated letting it go to voicemail. But for the first time I can remember, a phone call from Orlean might’ve been important.

  “Good morning, sweet cheeks, are you feeling as shitty as I feel this morning?” Orlean’s raspy voice came through the phone.

  My voice had a frog of its own, as I said, “Not sure yet, but I took four aspirin, a B12 vitamin, and drank a large bottle of water before I went to bed, so I think I’ll be okay.” I paused. “Except now I’m annoyed that some asshole called me at seven o’clock in the morning.”

  Orlean cleared her throat. “Meet me at my studio at eight o’clock. We have a lot of stuff to go over.”

  “I don’t have a car,” I said. “Remember? We got rides home last night.”