Hello (Dressing A Billionaire #1)

by Jamie Lee Scott

  “You’re the girl living in her car.” Stella said with a huge smile on her face. “You had people on pins and needles yesterday, wondering if—” She grabbed my arm. “Is that a Gwen Murray?”

  Wanting to yank my arm back, but I came to my senses before doing anything stupid. “Yes, it is. And this, too.” I held up my other hand to show her the ring.

  “I adore her pieces. I haven’t purchased any of her work in ages, though.” She looked at the receptionist. “I’ve been so busy with this thing Hugo and I are working on, my life is no longer my own.”

  “I work with her regularly. At least I did when I was in Los Angeles.” I almost told Stella what I did for a living.

  “When you were a stylist to the stars?” Stella winked at me.

  I stood stunned, my mouth agape.

  She patted my shoulder. “Honey, Hugo is my twin brother, you don’t think we talk? He told me all about his adventure with you yesterday.”

  I gave a weak smile.

  She looked me up and down. “I have to say, seeing you yesterday, I laughed in Hugo’s face, telling him he’d been played.”

  “Played?”

  “Yeah, just another chick trying to get at him. Not knowing that he’s not gettable.” She arched her brows at me.

  I felt my face turn red. “I didn’t even know who he was.” The defensive tone even sounded false to me.

  She stepped back. “Now, we know that’s not true. He told me you knew me, and he introduced himself.”

  “Not to argue, but I didn’t know exactly who you were, just that you rocked that outfit you were wearing yesterday and that your hair is to die for. I didn’t tell him what I did for a living to impress him, or anyone else.”

  A grin lit up Stella’s face, and I could see Hugo in her features. “Whoa, I’m not calling you a liar. I’m just saying I didn’t believe him. But now that I’m looking at you today, I have to say, you clean up nice.”

  I looked down at myself for the umpteenth time that morning, addressing my outfit. “I had coffee with friends before coming here.” Why the hell did I tell her that? What did it have to do with anything?

  “Wearing a Gwen Murray with your little outfit just to have coffee. Girl, you have style.” She gave her approval with a slight move of her body. “So what is it you’re wanting from Hugo now?”

  I looked at the receptionist who tried to look like she wasn’t listening, then back to Stella. “I don’t want anything from him. I need to pay him back. He paid for the tow truck yesterday and I don’t want to owe anyone anything.”

  Stella’s eyes went wide. “Isn’t that just precious. Well, you won’t find Hugo here. He doesn’t work here. And honestly, he’d never see you anyway. He doesn’t take meetings or visitors. And he rarely comes into the city.”

  “Can I just give you the money then?”

  Stella laughed. “Um, no. I’m not Hugo’s messenger. Violet here will give him your message. If he wants to get in touch, Timmy will call you.” She walked toward the front doors.

  I looked at Violet and said, “Thanks. Please make sure he gets the message.”

  Violet smiled, then answered her phone.

  Stella looked back at me. “What’s your name again?” she called.

  I almost choked. “Maisy. Maisy Tucker.”

  She stopped as the door opened. “You’re adorable.” Then she walked through the doors and out into the sunny morning.

  I waited a moment, then walked out behind her. As I got into my car, I saw Stella in her titanium-colored Mercedes AMG Gran Turismo 6 zoom out of the lot. These people had real money, and here I was trying to pay them back for a silly tow truck.

  I leaned back in my seat and realized I’d just missed an incredible opportunity. I started the car, and blasted the air conditioning.

  A few minutes later, my phone buzzed. I didn’t recognize the number, but I answered, seeing the Dallas area code. Maybe Hugo had gotten my message already.

  “This is Maisy.”

  “I should hope so. I didn’t think you’d give Violet the wrong number.”Stella’s voice blasted through the line. It seemed the Popovits clan was used to people trying to pull a fast one on them.

  “Stella.” Yep, I’m good like that, professional greetings and everything.

  “Tell me something.”

  “Okay.”

  “Did you by any chance work for Marla Townsend?” She snapped the name.

  I paused before answering. Shit, Marla had probably worked with her, and now I could kiss off any chance of building my business in Texas. Stella probably had the numbers of every influential woman in the country.

  No use in lying. “Yes, I did.”

  The line went silent and I thought the call had been dropped. Then, “God, I hate that woman. How long did you work for her?”

  “Five years.”

  “And after all your blood, sweat and tears, she fucked your boyfriend?”

  My heart jumped. I’d forgotten how much I told Hugo. “Yeah.”

  Stella sounded giddy. “I have a gala for some pediatric benefit next Friday. I want you to find me the perfect outfit. If you know my style, and you find the perfect dress, I’ll hire you. But I’d better be stunning, and if the paparazzi asks, I’ll make sure I say your name.”

  There had to be a catch, but I didn’t want to look another gift horse in the mouth. “Okay. When do you want to meet to go over the details?”

  “I don’t want to meet. I want you to get me a dress and have it to me by next Wednesday. You’ve got my number now and you know where I work, so I expect you to come through.”

  “May I ask why you’re hiring me?”

  Stella laughed into the phone. “I’m not hiring you. I’m testing you. And if you pass, I’ll make sure Marla knows you’re working for me.”

  I smiled wide, even though no one could see me.

  “And just one more thing…” Stella’s voice got giddier.

  I swallowed, my smile now gone. “Yes?”

  “My brother will be my date. He never does philanthropic benefits, preferring to give anonymously. I need him to look presentable. Can you do that?”

  Seriously? Make that troglodyte publicly presentable? She’d definitely be testing my limits with that task. “Does he wear anything other than shorts and Crocs?”

  “He dresses up for Christmas. Jeans, a tee, and cowboy boots.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Does he know about this?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Um…” I didn’t think I could pull it off. Hugo didn’t seem like the kind of guy you could spring this on. I mean, those cold eyes probably equaled no sense of humor.

  “Do you want to stick it to Marla or not?” Stella asked.

  “Hell, yeah.” Did I just say that to Stella Popovits?

  “You have less than a week.” She hung up.

  “But…how do I get in touch with Hugo?” I said to a dead line.

  As if she heard me, my phone buzzed and the text read: Hugo’s number and address, in case he doesn’t answer the phone. The 2nd number is his assistant Timmy.

  I jumped up and down in my seat. Shit. I looked around to see if anyone saw me.

  I screamed, “I have a job!” Then quieter, “Sort of,” to myself, “I hope.”

  Chapter 7

  There may have been a moment of hyperventilation as I absorbed what happened. Then I took one deep breath and called Gwen.

  It went straight to voice mail, so I said, “I love you more than life itself. You’re my guardian angel. I love love love you. Call me ASAP.”

  Then I sent a text saying the same thing. I figured the vagueness would get a better response than telling her the entire story via message.

  Boom! My phone rang.

  “You are the bestest friend in the whole wide world,” I screamed into the phone.

  I could almost hear Gwen’s amusement. “Are you going to tell me why I’m so freaking awesome, or do I have to guess?”
<
br />   “I have a job. Sort of. I mean, I have to do a sort of interview gig, but I know I can do it.”

  “How did you get a job? Is Popo Industries looking for a janitor?”

  “Haha, very funny. Your bracelet got me in the door. Stella saw it and knew the design, recognizing you. She gave me a sort of job. If I pass, she’s going to hire me as her stylist. Or at least I think that’s what she meant.”

  “What exactly happened?” Her skepticism oozed through the line.

  After relaying the entire episode, I said, “I’m not sure how I’m going to approach Hugo.”

  Gwen sighed. “That’s a conundrum.”

  “I have less than a week. The clock is ticking. I have to find a dress, and I have to find a suit, and I have to find a barber. Not to mention, I have to do my research and figure out Stella’s size and style. Though I think I have her style down.” I thought for a second. “But not her gala style. Oh, dear God, I hope googling her brings up the right pictures.”

  “I have to go. I just walked out of a meeting to call you back. You’ve got this. I have faith in you. And if you pick a dress soon enough, I’ll make the perfect statement piece to go with it.”

  She hung up.

  I texted, Dinner? Tonight? Just us?

  No response.

  I needed to get the car back to my parents, but I also needed to prepare for the “test.” And I needed to contact Hugo.

  I decided to start with Hugo. I looked at my text messages and tapped Hugo’s number. It rang twice and went to voice mail. I’d been ignored! I expected as much, since the number wouldn’t be familiar to him.

  “Hugo, it’s Maisy Tucker. Remember me? Of course, how could you not remember, unless you had a brain injury. Oh, I’m sorry, that wasn’t right to say. Um, I got your phone number from your sister. She’s a gem, by the way. So, I owe you money for the tow truck, and I won’t stop bothering you until I pay you back. And there’s a little matter your sister wanted me to attend to. Could you please call me back?” I left my cell phone number in case Stella had given me a landline number, though from the way the voice mail sounded, I suspected a cell phone.

  “There, I did it.” I stared at my phone, hoping against hope he’d return my call.

  How soon should I start texting him? I shook my head. No, I couldn’t be like a stalker girl. I had to find a way to get this goal accomplished without him filing a restraining order.

  Tonight, Gwen and I would devise a plan. I’d turn Duck Man into Dapper Man by next week.

  Maybe I should research him, too. Find out as much as I could before actually speaking with him.

  My phone buzzed. A text.

  Pizza party at your parents’ house.

  I laughed out loud. Gwen and I used to have pizza parties all the time in California. We’d buy all the ingredients and make our own gourmet pizza combinations.

  Before I could respond, another text. I’ll bring all the fixings.

  I can’t wait. I added kiss blowing emojis.

  Driving home, I realized, I had no idea what charity benefit Stella’d been referring to. I hadn’t lived in Texas for so long, I didn’t pay attention to the various charities. Besides, the galas I attended weren’t in the same circle as ones Stella and Hugo attended.

  I looked at my phone again, hoping it would ring or buzz with a response from Hugo. So far, nothing.

  I spent the better part of two hours checking out the Popovits family online. Can we say closed book? The only time they made the news: when they attended a charity event, or released financials for their publicly held corporation. New project groundbreaking ceremonies made the news, too. The few images Orlean found of Hugo turned out to be most of what the ‘net had on him. Stella, the belle of the ball, had more images than the rest of the family combined. At least twenty times more. She’s the family philanthropic spokesperson, apparently.

  As for articles, I found only one about the family history. Stella and Hugo had been adopted by Harry and JojoPopovits, joining their family when the twins were four-years-old. I found this a bit interesting and looked for more. Nothing. Nada. Zip. If I had to guess, I’d say Stella and Hugo were in their late twenties. I couldn’t find anything stating their exact age.

  My parents arrived home around the same time I decided I’d done enough research. My mom opened the bedroom door without knocking.

  “Mom! What if I’d been in here with a boy?” I feigned horror.

  “Fat chance of that happening.” She winked at me. “Your dad and I are going to dinner, then to Bunko, so don’t let Bruce eat us out of house and home.”

  I didn’t even know people still played Bunko. It’s a dice game usually for just women, or sometimes couples, four to a table with several tables. They roll the dice for numbers or something like that. I liked that my parents played, that they did something together.

  “Gwen’s coming over tonight. Is that okay? We’re having a pizza party.”

  Mom did a double-take, planning to say something, then instead said, “Clean up after yourself, and I don’t care what you two do. Eat any of my food, put money in the jar.”

  I shrugged. “Will do.” I turned back to the computer to spend some time looking up local boutiques.

  My mom stayed in the doorway.

  “Is there something else?”

  “I don’t want to nag, but Dad wants to know if you paid Mr. Popovits back today.”

  “I tried, but he wasn’t available.”

  “Did you really try all that hard?” she asked.

  “Yes, Mom, I did. I talked to his sister, and I got his phone number. I left him a message. But he’s apparently a popular guy with the ladies, and everyone thinks I’m a gold digger.” I smirked. “Because you know me, I’m all about chasing billionaires who look like they live in a cave.”

  “Maisy, that’s not nice. Just because he doesn’t have nicely trimmed facial hair and a professional cut doesn’t mean he is barbaric.”

  “True that. Look at Bruce.” I chuckled.

  Mom rolled her eyes. “True that.” She walked away, leaving the door wide open.

  So much for privacy.

  Back to my search. I needed to find a one-of-a-kind dress for Stella that fit with the theme of the gala, and yet let her stand out.

  When researching the social calendar online, only one gala in the next week benefitted a children’s charity. The Diamond Jubilee, held Friday night, at the Omni Hotel, turned out to be an annual event, with the Popovits family headlining as the major donor.

  I found photos of past events with Jojo, Harry, and Stella, but nothing with Hugo. Maybe he really did live off the grid.

  I leaned back in my chair, wondering if he’d been out of the country for a few years, which could account for his lack of participation in charity events and such. Or lack of participation in anything.

  I realized I needed to build my portfolio of boutiques, men’s shops, and events if I planned to style Stella and build my new business. Then it hit me! I should start a blog. I could research and list the out-of-the way boutiques in the Dallas area, and I could offer style tips. It may not make a ton of money, but I’d be relearning the business, Texas style, and I’d be giving out advice. Good karma maybe.

  I tested at least twenty different domain names before deciding to use MaisysStudio with a dot biz. I purchased the domain name, then looked for the best resources for my blog. I’d been so engrossed in building my website/blog, I hadn’t realized the sun had gone down and my parents had left until I got up to pee.

  My phone rang.

  “Hey, where are you?” I asked.

  “I’m outside, waiting for you to answer your front door,” Gwen said.

  I’d really been in my own little world. I hadn’t even heard her knock. I know she didn’t ring the doorbell, because we didn’t have one. My dad had ours disconnected because he didn’t like them. “Use the knocker,” he’d say. I finished up and washed my hands, then jogged to the front door and opened it. G
wen stood there with a full brown paper grocery bag in each arm.

  She walked past me, “Let’s get this party started. I brought my favorite microbrewery beer and lots of toppings. Whatever we don’t use, I’ll take home. I need groceries anyway.”

  I followed her into the kitchen and helped unpack the bags.

  “How many are we making?” I asked, as I pulled out pumpkin, chorizo, cauliflower, prosciutto, goat cheese, fresh rosemary and basil, pine nuts, prawns, red peppers, olive oil, mozzarella, artichoke hearts, pancetta, and pasta sauce.

  Gwen unwound the twist tie on the whole-wheat flatbreads. “We’ll start with roasting the pumpkin and red peppers, so turn on the oven.”

  I did as told and set the oven to 350 degrees. I pulled out a baking pan, poured olive oil onto a paper towel and rubbed the surface with oil.

  “I guess you’ll be getting closer to Hugo Popovits than you’d planned.” Gwen brushed olive oil onto the bread.

  “Wait,” I grabbed the bread from her. “Watch this. I learned it from Marla of all people.”

  I cut into the bread gently, slicing it into two discs. Then I stuffed slices of mozzarella between the layers.

  “Yummy,” Gwen cooed. “I can’t wait to taste this one. I’ll add this.” She spread pasta sauce, then covered that in shredded mozzarella and artichoke hearts. She tore up the basil and pancetta and sprinkled that over the top.

  “Pine nuts?” I asked.

  Pine nuts graced the top layer.

  “We can put this on the bottom tray while the veggies are roasting. That way we can start eating in a few minutes.” Gwen licked her lips as she opened the oven and put the pizza inside.

  “I don’t know how much time I’ll be spending with him. I can’t even get him to return my call.” Or text, I thought.

  Gwen and I stood side by side, peeling skins off the sweet potatoes and chopping them into small cubes for roasting.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Gwen said. She grabbed another brown bag and pulled out a six-pack of microbrewery beer. “It will be perfect with the sweet potato, goat cheese, and pine nut pizza.

  The bottles didn’t twist off, as I found out after nearly tearing up my hand. I placed the cap of the bottle on the edge of the counter and smacked it. The cap popped off, and I took a swig before the foam could drip over the side.