by Rebecca Foxx
“Damn,” he grins, “You know she’s serious when she trusts you with her side job.”
I roll my eyes. Sure, the boutique is not exactly corporate business, but that is the whole point! The boutique is personal. If Miss. Brail is trusting me to choose designs for her personal endeavor, her baby as she sometimes called it, then I could possibly have an in. Gary knows that; he is just being an ass. “Well, Gary,” I hiss, still keeping an excited smile on my face as I speak, “I just don’t want to be pushing thirty and still working the cubicles like a certain someone I know.”
He chuckles, “Ouch. You know how hard it is for straight guys in this business.”
I laugh, “Oh, yeah, that’s the problem.” I spin my chair around to face him, and he does the same. “Be a little excited for me, would you?”
“Of course I’m excited, Anne.” He winks, “I’m just screwing with me.” He spins back around to his desk, his back to me now, “Speaking of screwing-”
“Don’t go there.” I say; he has been nagging me for some time about getting back out there after I had a nasty break up a few months back. It’s not because he’s worried about me; his newest girlfriend is just paranoid that he works so close with a single woman such as myself. Paranoid psychopath has Gary on his toes. “I’ll get back in the field when I’m ready, Gary. Right now, I’m just going to get myself ready and excited for Saturday.”
“Maybe you’ll meet someone there.” He suggests.
“Yeah,” I say, “Because there are so many single straight men who go to fashion shows for any other reason but to gawk at the models. I’ll win me a real creep that way. No, I’m just going for the clothes.” I spin my desk chair back around, my stomach still full of butterflies from my overwhelming excitement.
Chapter 2
Mark
Ah, yes, the fashion model. Certainly not the most intellectual of the female species, although on occasion one might surprise you, but they are most definitely one of nature’s finest specimens as far as looks go. A little demanding and high maintenance, sure, but the bragging rights of nailing one (or even dating one) is beyond comparable. “Mark, are you even paying attention?” I hear Alex snap at me.
I turn my head back towards him and his girlfriend; I had been staring at the models as they pass by, and it seems I have been caught. “I’m paying attention.” I say.
“What did Tiffany just say?” Alex asks, and I can see his stupid girlfriend standing with her bottom lip puckered out and her arms crossed.
My hesitation prompts Tiffany to rolls her eyes, huff, and then say, “You see? You see? He never listens,” she speaks in an obviously fake Russian accent. Eventually Alex and I are going to have to tell her we know she’s from Detroit, but watching her play to Alex’s weird fetish is too hilarious to let her in on it just yet. Sometimes she sounds more like Dracula than a Russian girl, but it’s enough for Alex to want to play along with. It’s not like this relationship will last. She’s just a dumb model- something for Alex to add to his list, and something I’m hoping to add to my list fairly soon. If there is one thing Tiffany is good for, it’s getting us back stage at these fashion shows. All Alex and I have to do is talk business and suddenly these dumb women want us- every girl, especially these type, want to date a rich guy.
Alex and I have been in the real-estate business for years now, and it has paid off big time. The money is a fairly new thing to me, but I have taken to it like a champ. Our million dollar business will be a billion dollar business by the end of the year-, which is more than enough to get most women excited. For now, though, I have to play nice with Tiffany to reach my goal for the evening- to take home a model. “I’m sorry, Tiffany, what were you saying?” I say with the sweetest voice I can muster as though I really am sorry.
“The show is about to begin. You should take your seats.” She hisses. “You are going to watch the show, no?”
“Of course.” I say with a smile.
Alex gives Tiffany a peck on the cheek, and the two of us hurry out from back stage and locate our front row seats where I will be able to gawk at all the pretty women. The show gets underway; the overly excited announcer gives a detail description of each outfit as the women walk up and down the runway. Too bad it’s a fall line and not summer wear. The women are way too covered up, although I did get to stand back stage and watch half of them get dressed, so I use my imagination as each woman marches up and down the runway.
“You’re such a hound-dog.” I hear Alex say.
I do not take my eyes off the girls, but I can still hold a conversation with him fairly well. “You say that like you’re any different.”
“Listen,” he says somewhat excitedly, but I am hardly paying any attention. I don’t hear what he says next, so he punches me in the arm.
“Man, don’t start any shit with me today-” I say as I turn to look at him, rubbing my now sore arm the entire time. When I spot the gaudy ring he’s holding I have to resist knocking him in the side of the head. “Please don’t tell me that’s for Tiffany.”
“What if it is?” he’s pissed at how unsupportive my comment was, and he stashes the ring away in his pocket.
“Alex, she’s still lying to you about being Russian. She’s an idiot.” I say, “You don’t know anything about her other than she’s just a lying idiot who models.”
“Sometimes you just know.” He says.
“And other times you’re just horny.” I say and gently slap him in the back of the head. “You need to think this one through a little more, Alex. Trust me.”
He grunts and slumps down in his seat. The show is coming to a close, so the two of us dip out and head back stage for a bit. Tiffany is really excited as she talks about the fashion show and how it went. Alex is too busy fawning over her to notice that I have casually slipped away. I’m going to have to keep an eye on him to keep him from making a huge mistake. He should at least wait until she tells him the truth about that hilariously fake accent, but even then it would be way too soon.
As I’m turning the corner to head back towards the runway, I spot one of the models seated on the edge of the runway, looking at herself in a tiny mirror as she wipes some splotchy makeup off her face. I blush suddenly. She’s gorgeous. It must be something about how the light is hitting her, or it could be that she’s in her street clothes now, and she somehow looks just as gorgeous as the other women still dressed in their designer wear. I have a weird sensation in the pit of my stomach as I watch her. I can’t believe it, but I’m actually nervous to go speak to her. I never get nervous.
I watch her from a safe distance as she pulls her hair up into a tight, sloppy bun. She checks her phone, but not in a way that suggest she’s just checking social media sites to see how many likes her backstage selfies got. She puts her phone away quickly, clearly having just taken it out to check the time. There is a glow about her that suggests she’s exceptionally happy today. I like that.
Slowly I make my way over to her. I can actually feel my heart pounding. Maybe Alex was right about that whole sometimes you know garbage he was throwing at me? I chuckle at the thought, reminding myself that this woman is just some ditsy model. Eventually I am standing next to her, and for some reason I struggle to find words. She notices me, and she shoots me an awkward smile, “Can I help you?” she asks.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Damn. Way too many seconds have passed before I come up with a response. “You did good.” I say. What the fuck did I just say?
“I’m sorry?” she asks, her smile slowly fading into a look of confusion.
“On the runway, I mean.” I say slightly more confidently. Shake it off, Mark. I put on my usual charm, forcing myself to relax for a second before I say anything else. “You modeled that bright orange fall skirt. You looked really confident up there.”
There is a long pause before she says anything else. She chuckles slightly and asks, “What’s your name?”
I smile as she hops down off the stage, “Mark.” I
say, “Mark Stone.”
She stands upright and puts out a hand to shake; I’ve never really known a model to have such a confident hand shake, “Anne Stamey.” She says. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Stone.” Another chuckle emerges from her, “You’re cute, you know? Why so nervous?”
Dang. She called me out. I smile and, with a bit too much confidence in me. I say the cheesiest thing that comes to mind, “Because you’re beautiful.”
Chapter 3
Anne
“On the runway, I mean.” He says, a slight bit more stability in his voice this time. The man in the fancy suit takes a breath before speaking again. I think he knows that he’s made a slight fool of himself. “You modeled that bright orange fall skirt. You looked really confident up there.” He says.
I pause. Does this guy think I’m one of the models? I think for a moment about the model who had worn the orange fall skirt he is referring to, and I realize something. She looked a lot like me. Obviously she was taller and thinner than I am, but if he had not been paying too close attention when the woman was up on stage I could see how he made the mistake. I go to correct him and explain his mistake, but I suddenly decide to play along. I’m not sure what is driving me to pretend- probably because he’s pretty cute acting so nervous towards me. I’ve never really had a guy act that way towards me before, so I don’t want to ruin the moment. “What’s your name?” I ask and hop down off the side of stage where I had been sitting after the show.
He smiles, “Mark. Mark Stone.”
I straighten myself up and decide to shake his hand. A pretty formal introduction, but I go for it anyways, “Anne Stamey. It’s a pleasure, Mr. Stone.” I find myself attempting to hold back a laugh, so a slight chuckle emerges from my throat, “You’re cute, you know? Why so nervous?” I try to boost his confidence a bit.
He looks exceptionally nervous now. He pauses and then a large smile appears on his face as he, now instilled with self-assurance, says, “Because you’re beautiful.”
Now I’m the one who’s nervous. I pull my hand back and my face suddenly feels warm, “Oh.” I say embarrassingly. There is an awkward silence between the two of us before I find words again and am only able to say, “Thank you.” I look him up and down. He looks like a model himself. His chestnut brown hair is neatly combed. His skin is flawless. He has brown eyes that, despite their dark color, seem to be especially bright. He has broad shoulders and a slender figure. He’s not particularly tall, but that works for me considering how short I am. He still stands a foot taller than me. Frankly, he’s gorgeous.
“Miss. Anne, I hope I’m not being too forward, but I don’t suppose you would be interested in having dinner with me this evening?” he asks kindly.
I smile. “That actually sounds lovely.”
We exchange information before I head out. He says he has a friend he has to wait for, so I tell him goodbye. I feel amazingly upbeat after that interaction. I did not ask what he was doing at the fashion show; our conversation had been fairly short. I have a suspicion that he probably worked there. I smile at the thought. It’s hard to find a man who’s interested in women’s fashion. Maybe he’s a clothing purchaser? Or maybe he worked for the design company? I suppose I’ll have to ask while we’re on our date. I’ll probably have to come clean about the whole model thing.
Suddenly I realize something- our date is tonight! I have a date tonight- Gary would be so proud. When was the last time I went on a first date? I need to make a good impression, so instead of going home I take a cab to Miss. Brails boutique. It’s a good drive from where I’m at, but there is no better place in the city to get an incredibly fashionable first date outfit.
When I finally arrive I can see that the boutique is not as busy as it usually is on a Saturday. I enter inside the two-story building. Inside is a colorful assortment of high-designer clothes. I grin. This is my idea of a sanctuary! What should I wear? A dress would be nice. He does think I’m a model, so I should definitely dress to impress. “Anna?” I hear a familiar voice. I spin around, coming face to face with Miss. Brail.
“Anne.” I say, but I smile at her, “I did not expect to see you here-”
Miss Brail laughs, “I’m always here on Saturdays and Sundays.”
Geeze. This woman works five days a week at the office and then spends her weekends at her little boutique? Does she ever sleep? I smile, “The Dimitri Twin fashion show went well.” I say, “Thank you so much for sending me. I’ll have a full report on your desk Monday morning with my suggested purchases.”
“Why wait?” she says and waves me over towards a door that leads to a little office area. I follow and wind up sitting in front of a tiny desk while she sits behind it, starting up her laptop. I hand over my camera and she downloads the pictures for her to view. She smiles, “Good camera work, Anne.” She says my name correctly this time, proof that she is actually impressed. She says, “You should consider doing photography on the side.”
Wow. Compliments from the boss. That’s a first. “Thank you.” I say.
“All right, what do you have for me?” She asks. She’s much friendlier here at the boutique than she is at the office. We sit and talk for about half an hour on our opinions of the attire and what I believe would go well with her boutique’s clothing options. She is impressed, and she actually takes every single one of my suggestions. Today is turning out really well for me. “I have to say,” Miss. Brail says with a slight twinkle in her eye, “I’m impressed.”
I smile, “I’m glad.”
Miss. Brail leans back in her chair and stares at me through her glasses, “Now I know you did not come all this way just to bring me pictures- did you?”
“No, I was hoping to do some shopping.” I say.
“Oh?” Miss. Brail continues to stare at me, “Funny. You do not normally shop here, do you? Why the sudden interest?”
For some reason, I confess, “To be honest, I have a date tonight. He also works in fashion, so I thought I would dress to impress.”
There is a sudden gleam in Miss. Brail’s eyes, “My, my… sweet little Anne has a date, and she’s come to my boutique to get ready. Well, I am going to have to help you pick out something stunning, aren’t I?” she hops up out of her seat, and the two of us head back into the main part of the store.
I can hardly believe what is happening. I am shopping- with my boss. She is helping me pick out clothes for my date. She is laughing- I’ve never seen the dragon lady laugh before! She really is a different person when she’s at her boutique. We are swapping stories. We are talking about fashion and about dating. What is happening? I can hardly believe that this is the same person.
She even gives me a 50% discount on the clothes we’ve picked out, calling it an employee discount since I technically do work for her, just not at the boutique. By the look on her employee’s faces as I’m leaving, I know that their employee discount is definitely not a whopping 50% off. Miss. Brail happily tells me she’ll see me on Monday as I leave the shop. What a day this is shaping out to be! A fashion show, a hot guy mistaking me as a model, getting in good with my boss, some cheap designer clothes, and now I get to go get ready for a date with a sexy guy who likes fashion? Honestly, I’m floating on a cloud.
Chapter 4
Anne
Okay, so dinner at the airport was not exactly what I was thinking. And I also kind of expected the shit to come pick me up for the date, not text me an address to meet him at. Sure, there are some nice restaurants at the airport, but I was hoping for something a little classier than this. I spot Mark waving at me amongst the crowd of people. As I approach him, I see he is dressed to the nines in a sexy, charcoal gray suit and navy blue tie and vest. He takes me by the arm, full of much more confidence this evening than he had earlier today.
“That’s a beautiful dress.” He says happily as we walk.
“Thanks.” I say.
“I’m really sorry I had you meet me here instead of picking you up. I’m normally a little
classier than that,” he says with a smile, “I got held up at work.”
I notice we’re heading in the wrong direction. “Um, Mark, you know the restaurants are back that way?”
He laughs, “Oh, jeez, Anne, you don’t think we’re eating at the airport on a first date, do you?”
I blush, “Well-”
“Oh, no. I have something much better in mind.” He says as he leads me outside towards the apron. It takes me a moment before I realize we are walking right up to a private jet.
“Um…” I grumble as a man in a suit and hat greets us at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the jet’s entrance. “Mark? Is this your jet?”
“Well, yeah.” He says.
Before we can board I start laughing hysterically, “Oh my gosh, you’re not a clothing purchaser at all, are you?”
He frowns, “Excuse me?”
