Hello (Dressing A Billionaire #1)

by Jamie Lee Scott

  “I hear little Hugo likes you a lot.” She laughed and walked off.

  That answered that question. What did I expect? They’re twins. They probably had some mental telepathy thing going on, and she probably knew when he got a hard on. Ugh, put that thought out of your head, Maisy!

  We ran into Gwen and Orlean on the way back to sit down. Gwen and Stella hugged, and Orlean looked at me with daggers.

  “You could answer when I text you.”

  “I was dancing with Stella.”

  Her body language loosened up. “Oh?”

  She looked past me, and I turned to see what caught her eye.

  Again, I thought the guy at the bar looked like my brother. Maybe she did, too.

  Once at the table, Stella’s boy toy popped open the bottles of champagne and poured bubbly into everyone’s glasses. Gwen and Orlean fit right in, and this night we didn’t have to go spotting for the most famous person in the place, we were sitting with her.

  I sipped slowly on one glass, while the others kept theirs full with refills. Before I knew it, the cocktail waitress stopped back to pick up the empties and left six new bottles on the table. Suffice it to say, the dozen or so people at the table loved Stella. Or Stella’s generous nature.

  By midnight, sweat had seeped into the lining from my dress, from dancing with Stella, Danny, and my girls, and I’d switched to water. I’d whispered in the cocktail server’s ear to serve me in a rocks glass with a lime, so everyone would think I’d been drinking. I didn’t want to be a fun-hater, but I wasn’t getting back in Hugo’s SUV after I’d been drinking.

  Turned out, Danny liked Stella more than Stella liked Danny, but I expected that she got a lot.

  Orlean kept looking at her phone. And finally, I looked, too.

  The name that kept popping up on her texts was Bruce. I grabbed the phone out of her hand and she grabbed back. Before I could get a good look, Danny grabbed it from me and said, “Not tonight. Tonight we celebrate life inside Granvu, and nothing outside matters.”

  He tucked the phone inside the breast pocket of his white shirt.

  I leaned into Orlean and said, “I dare you to reach in there and take it.”

  Orlean looked at me like I’d suggested giving him a lap dance. “Stella would kill me.”

  Before either of us could snag the phone back, Danny and Stella stood. Danny handed Orlean back her phone, and they walked off hand in hand. I didn’t expect to see them again, and I didn’t.

  I did, however, get a text from Stella telling me to make sure I got everyone home safely, and that a driver was waiting outside whenever we were ready to leave.

  You can bring your friends back in the morning to get their cars. I know you’re sober, but you don’t need to drive them home. Let Larry do it.

  “So, Orlean, who is this Bruce I keep seeing on your phone screen?”

  Orlean held up her finger, then got up and left the table.

  After several minutes, when Orlean hadn’t returned, I grabbed Gwen’s hand and dragged her to the dance floor. We shimmied and shook to the music, then the music switched to a slow song. Gwen and I walked off the floor. I stopped dead in my tracks, grabbing Gwen by the arm. I pointed, then I pushed through the other dancers.

  To Bruce, I said, “May I cut in?”

  Orlean stood with her mouth open, not looking at me or Bruce.

  Bruce pushed me away, “No. It’s vulgar to dance with your sister. Besides, I need to get home.”

  I leaned in and whispered in Orlean’s ear, “So is this the Bruce you’ve been texting all night?”

  I must not have actually whispered, because Gwen heard me ask and said, “Fess up, Orlean, tell her you’re fucking her brother.”

  And that’s what five or six glasses of expensive champagne will get you. Loose lips.

  I stared at Orlean, whose face had gone ashen.

  She wouldn’t look at me.

  I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her. “Is he any good? I mean you didn’t take his virginity or anything, did you? Please tell me he at least had some experience before you two started boffing. Because I seriously worried about him. I mean he’s never shown much interest.”

  I think Orlean expected a different reaction, because her face flooded with color. “Did you really just ask me that?”

  The DJ started playing a head-bashing metal song and I had to yell, “Look, after seeing my mom standing over my dad wearing only a few strips of leather and holding a bull whip, nothing could shock me.”

  Now both Gwen and Orlean stared at me with their mouths agape.

  Chapter 12

  I snuck in the door at two in the morning, happy that I didn’t have a meeting with Hugo in a few hours. As much as I wanted him to see my purchases, I had to be patient.

  The plan for the night had been to chat about my experience with Hugo and celebrate the jumpstart of my Dallas career, but Stella sidelined us, in a good way.

  I let my dress drop to the floor and kicked my sandals off as I started the shower, too tired to do anything more than strip down and climb into the tub.

  With wet hair and a towel wrapped around me, I stumbled to my bedroom. I missed my old bed in California. A king-size where I could stretch out, even with two in the bed.

  I dropped the towel, pulled back the covers on my twin bed, and slid into the sheets. Just as fast, I jumped back out and screamed. “Holy shit!”

  A man’s voice said, “What the hell?”

  My brother sat up in bed.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?” I screamed at him.

  I flipped the wall light on before I remembered I’d stripped naked. The temps still read eight-five degrees at two a.m., so it wasn’t unfounded to sleep nude.

  Bruce yelled, “No, turn that off. I can’t unsee that.”

  I covered my boobs with my arm and crossed my legs, flipping the light back off and felt around on the floor for my towel. I rewrapped myself.

  Sitting up in my bed, with the sheets wrapped around him, he said, “Mom and Dad said you were staying at Gwen’s tonight. The air conditioner in my hovel is on the fritz, so I came in here to sleep.”

  “And now you can get out. First, Mom and Dad, now you. I’m going to have nightmares. And I’m going to tell them you called the cottage a hovel.”

  “Mom and Dad what?” Bruce asked.

  In the dark, I dug through one of the drawers and fumbled for a nightshirt. “You get out of my bed and I’ll tell you.”

  “You get out, or get dressed, and I’ll turn on the light and find my clothes.”

  “I am dressed, butt head.” I walked across the room and turned the light back on.

  Bruce had been wearing shorts and a beater-tee. He got out of bed and picked his clothes up off the floor. “Spill,” he said.

  “Yuck, you can have my bed. I don’t feel like changing the sheets. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “What about Mom and Dad?” Bruce yelled after me.

  As I closed my bedroom door behind me, I said, “Shhhhh, you’ll wake ’em up.”

  From behind the closed master bedroom door, I heard Mom. “Too late. Now shut up and go to sleep. Some of us have jobs we have to get up for in the morning.”

  I whispered, “Forget Mom and Dad, I want to know about you and Orlean.”

  Bruce jumped out of bed and couldn’t get out of my room fast enough.

  I guess that was a story for another day, too. I chuckled as I stripped the bed, and left the linens in a pile on the floor. He’d probably sweated all over my nice clean sheets. I took the case off my pillow, tucked it under my arm, and headed to the living room.

  My parents’ couch made a nice bed, almost comfier than my own. I slept through the morning rumble of “getting off to work” noise, and awoke to the sun streaming through the living room window.

  As always, I checked my phone first thing. On my phone’s lock screen, an image text from Gwen. It read, Paparazzi. And the image caption, from TMZ read: St
ella Popovits has a new love, her new stylist, Maisy Tucker.

  I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing. Then I scanned the picture quickly, to make sure we both looked good. TMZ loves to get awkward photos, and I could see Marla looking at the photo and laughing at my goofy stance or dorky smile. But Stella and I looked great, like we’d been friends for years and were perfectly comfortable with each other.

  I texted Gwen back. She’s true to her word. She got me the press coverage. I just wish it had been from the gala coming up and not a night of clubbing.

  Press is press my dear, savor it, she texted back.

  “Damn, that hit the presses fast,” I said to myself as I got off the couch. I had to pee so bad, I didn’t think I’d make it to the bathroom.

  When I did make there, I couldn’t get the door opened. I jiggled and pulled on the knob, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Hey, can’t a man do his business in peace?” Bruce said from the other side.

  “First my bed, then my bathroom?” I danced around, trying to keep from wetting myself. I still hadn’t fully recovered from my UTI, even though my mom had given me leftover meds.

  The toilet flushed and I heard the water running in the sink, which made my urge even more urgent.

  Bruce opened the door. “It’s not your bedroom or your bathroom, but have at it.”

  I plugged my nose and reached into the cabinet under the sink. “At least you could have sprayed.”

  I heard him laugh. “Mom would have charged me for using the air freshener, no thanks.”

  I sprayed and kicked the door shut. “Don’t let this be an omen for my day.”

  After I almost died in the bathroom, I decided to get dressed in my strapless “paint splattered” summer mini-dress, and pull my hair into a bun with a royal blue beaded hair tie. After the fun evening with friends, I desperately wanted to call them and go out for coffee, but I knew they’d be nursing hangovers and be sucky company.

  Carefully applying light makeup, then adding large silver hoops to finish my look, I dug around in the bottom of my closet for a pair of leather sandals. Flat sandals, because after last night my feet killed. I decided to take myself out for coffee, then cruise the uptown boutiques for some couture dresses Stella might like. After seeing her in her element the night before, I felt I had a better grip on what would work for her.

  I’d pulled out of the driveway and was heading toward Dallas when my phone rang.

  “Maisy, meet me at Simple on Mockingbird Lane. I’m in a buying mood, and I need fresh eyes.”

  Stella didn’t wait for an answer.

  I typed in Mockingbird Lane into the GPS on my phone and decided coffee could wait. But my new position, being at Stella’s beck and call, couldn’t.

  It only took twenty minutes to get there, and I found a parking space right out front. Whew.

  Simple is a couture store. They sell only sizes two through six, because they are samples from the runway shows. Nearly everything in the store has to be tailored to fit, but it will be one or two of a kind. Did I mention the prices start at ten grand?

  Simple basically extracted the maximum amount from the client’s pocket, by having minimal stock, and being the only one in town with couture runway clothing. Their buyers spent an obscene amount of time at the Paris, London, and New York fashion shows. They had a store in Calabasas, too.

  I walked into the store/showroom and marveled at the starkness: white walls, dark wide-plank flooring, and dressmaker dummies to model the few dozen designs on display. Only an insider knew they had several hundred more pieces of clothing in the stock area.

  It should have been easy to find Stella in the empty store, except the only person on the floor happened to work there.

  “Welcome to Simple. Are you looking for Miss Popovits?”

  Could their staff be more intuitive?

  I nodded.

  “She said you’d be arriving shortly. She’s in the dressing room with her choices.”

  The black-haired waif walked me to the far side of the store and knocked on the dressing room door.

  “Maisy?” Stella called out. “Come in, it’s open.”

  I looked at the salesgirl, “Thanks so much.”

  Pushing the door to the dressing room open, I felt as if I’d walked into another store. This room had beige walls, a small coffee and wine bar in the corner, three racks for clothing, a love seat, and two club chairs.

  Stella sat on the love seat. In this case, sat might not be the correct word. Her platinum spiral curls and her head lingered over the edge of the seat, where her legs should have been, and her crossed legs leaned against the back of the love seat and the wall. Her feet were bare, as was the rest of her body. She tapped and swiped away on her phone, as her biceps held her boobs in place, keeping them from pancaking down into her armpits. Or maybe they were fake boobs and stood on their own?

  She didn’t bother to reposition herself, as she said, “There’s chilled wine and fresh espresso on the bar.”

  I walked over to the rack of dresses hanging next a chair. “What are you looking for here?”

  She flipped herself around on the couch and sat upright. “Um, dresses?”

  I rolled my eyes, but not so she could see. “I mean what are these dresses for? A summer picnic? A night out clubbing?”

  “The Diamond Jubilee?” she said with the same sardonic tone.

  “I thought I was picking the dress for that function?” I let my sour feelings show in my words.

  “I said I’d see what you picked. But I’m in a shopping mood today, so I picked some dresses to try on.” She stood, and I realized she actually did have a piece of clothing on. Flesh-colored lace panties.

  I grabbed each hanger individually and pushed them aside. Most of her choices consisted of pastels, which happened to be the “in shades” for summer. “No, no, absolutely not, no, no, nope.”

  I turned to look at Stella. She stood silent with her brows raised.

  “Do you want to fit in or stand out?” I asked.

  “I want to be the talk of the gala,” she pouted.

  “Not in these, you won’t. You’ll be the fashion don’t on E!.” I pushed back another hanger. “Okay, okay, maybe this one.”

  The aqua sequin dress sparkled with a multitude of ocean colors, had a mini cut, but long sleeves. I’d have worn this dress in a heartbeat, in the fall. Other than the colors of course.

  “I love that one.” Stella came over and pulled the hanger from the rack. “I’d say it was my first choice.”

  I nodded as she put the dress against her bare body. “Try it on and I’ll be right back.”

  I walked out and asked the salesgirl to see what she had in back. Her puzzled look let me know few people asked this question.

  “I’m sorry?” She feigned ignorance.

  “Don’t be sorry, just show me to the back stock area, so I can pick out a few more dresses for Stella.” The command in my voice surprised me.

  “Follow me.” She looked back several times as if to be sure we weren’t followed.

  And there it stood, the glory of rejected runway clothing. At least thirty racks of couture dresses, coats, pants, leggings, shirts, skirts and more. All neatly separated by size and color.

  I didn’t have to ask, because I knew the arrangement of the stockroom. I waltzed over to the size four rack and looked through the clear garment bags to find what I wanted. And when I saw it, I knew the dress screamed Stella in a flashbulbs blinding way, not a Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire kind of way.

  I pulled it from the rack. “This will do.”

  “I can take it to the dressing room for you,” Little Miss Waif said.

  “No, I’m going back with only this, so I’ll take it myself.”

  I knocked and reentered the room to see Stella wearing the sequin dress. It fit like a second skin and complimented her skin tone and hair. I sucked in a breath at the sight before me. “You look amazing.”

  She strut
ted across the room in a model walk, then turned. “I do, don’t I?”

  “Except, it’s going to be almost ninety degrees on Friday, and you’ll melt in that.”

  She looked at herself in the mirror. “The plaza will be air conditioned.”

  “And if you decide to go out onto the balcony?” I shoved the Marchesa dress at her.

  “Black?” she balked.

  I took the cover off the dress to reveal a satin-trimmed tiered silk organza skirt with a nipped high waist, and an ivory and beige Chantilly lace top. The black and beige lace bodice should fit like skin, with a necklace of ivory floral appliqué and silk flowers wrapped over the shoulders and down the back of the dress.

  “Oh. Not just black,” she marveled, pulling the dress from the hanger.

  I helped her into the dress and watched her reaction as she looked in the mirror.

  “Now this is uniquely you, a Stella Popovits original,” I said.

  She turned round several times, taking in the dress from all angles. “With black stiletto heels.”

  I shook my head.

  “No?”

  “I’ve got some Jimmy Choo stiletto sandals in mind. Two leather straps over the toes and an elegant wraparound ankle strap. The shoes every little black dress dreams about.” I could see the shoes in my mind as I described them.

  “I wear a size seven,” Stella offered. “And it’s a good thing I have my pedicurist coming on Thursday.”

  “So this is the dress?” I asked.

  She twirled around once again. “Definitely.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” I’d done my job. At least I think I had.

  “And I need one more thing. Hugo said you went shopping for him yesterday…”

  “I did, but he said he didn’t have time to try anything on, or get his tailor out to the house for at least several days.”

  “That’s bullshit. Do you have the things with you?”

  “I purchased almost sixty thousand dollars’ worth of clothes and accessories, so no, I’m not keeping them in the car.” I helped her out of the Marchesa dress.

  “Whatever. Go home and get them and meet me at Hugo’s in two hours. That will give you time to buy this dress, go home to get Hugo’s things, and meet at the house. I’ll see you then. Put my dress on Hugo’s card.” She said all this as she shimmied the rest of the way out of the Marchesa and into shredded skinny jeans and a sleeveless cerulean silk blouse.