by Angela Blake
“Hello, you’re the one sent in here by Monsieur Rousseau, yes?” she asked me as she walked up to me and held my hand. “My, you are a pretty one; very young too! We have so many nice things to do with you and dress you up.”
My jaw dropped by her flair and audacity. I didn’t really know what to say in response and couldn’t even resist when she took me by the hand and made me follow her through the aisles. She led me to the main reception area, which looked like it belonged in the Victorian era with its velvet carpet, gold-lined furniture and mirrors.
She then made me stand right in front of the mirrors and said, “Okay. Let’s see what we have. You look like a 35-24-35 and a 33-B cup, no? Am I right or am I right? Darling, I know I’m right so don’t even try to deny. Shall we try a mermaid dress? No, you’re too petite. Aha, I know what to do. Just stand here, stay pretty and don’t touch anything.”
Before I could even counter a single thing she said she was gone. I didn’t even catch her name. I had no idea if that was Madame Florinda or just another of her many key designers. It could have been just another supervisor on the floor. I was so overwhelmed I was still uncertain of what to do when she came back with a bundle of different cloths, all of them black of some sort.
“No, this is too flashy,” she said as she started lifting each cloth up to my skin. “This is too dry. How about this one? No, it is too loud. This one is a little too underwhelming – you have nice, milky white skin. Are you Spanish by some sort or maybe Japanese on your grandmother’s side? Hmm, maybe this one will be good for – oh my, God! I know, I have the right one for you.”
My mind simply went down the rabbit hole as I tried to keep up with everything she was saying. She was so animated it was both amusing and confusing just to witness her work.
She then took a sketchpad, a pencil and started scribbling and drawing right before my eyes. To my utter surprise she was able to draw my figure as exactly as I’d imagine it. She had such an observant eye. A few moments more and I finally saw the design of the outfit she intended to dress me in and I couldn’t help but shake my head.
“Woah, woah, I don’t t-think I can wear that,” I protested as I tapped at her sketchpad.
“Do not think, just do,” she replied and completely dismissed my concerns. “Monsieur Rousseau wants you in the most beautiful attire I can surmise in the time allotted and this is without a doubt the masterpiece my brain can conjure. You will sit, wait, and wear it. Now, what are you waiting for? Go, sit and wait.”
She even raised a hand and gestured for me to shoo off and sit by one of the long cushioned benches.
I raised an eyebrow and simply turned to walk over and sit down. As soon as I did she walked away. While going down the aisles she snapped her fingers and three different workers quickly got up from their desks – immediately stopping whatever it was they were preoccupied with – and followed her to a corner she had to herself.
Seated on the bench I could still see her in the distance. She had collected several black clothes and distributed them to her workers. Quickly they started measuring, cutting and sewing. It was a marvel just to see them work.
Even then, however, I found myself bored within a few minutes. It was like watch a master painter – no matter how pretty the painting was, the process of actually painting on a canvass would be a chore to go through. Before I knew it I had my phone out and I was texting my father.
“Dad, I made a deal with Mr. Rousseau,” I told him. “I got you guys off the financial hook; you won’t have to pay anything anymore but you have to finish the job he hired you for and you have to recover as much as you can.”
It didn’t take him long to reply, “Thank you but how did you convince him? I did everything I could and pleaded like my life depended on it but he didn’t budge.”
“He wants me to quit my job and work for him,” I answered. “I don’t know how or why it’s so important but it’s such a small price to pay.”
My father was quiet for a very long time. I thought our call was cut but when I checked it was still going.
“Dad?” I asked.
Finally he answered. His voice was weak and his words stuttered, “H-he wants you t-to work for him? Baby, don’t agree to it. I’d rather go to j-jail!”
“Dad, what’s wrong with working for Mr. Rousseau?” my curiosity was now getting the better of me.
“Mr. Rousseau has been able to keep the media away but it is no secret that he runs one of the country’s most powerful syndicate,” my father explained. “He is the last remaining inheritor to his father’s crime family and according to rumors he hired an entire army of criminals and corrupt police to assassinate his competitors in a single night.”
I rolled my eyes, “Dad, those are rumors, gossip. I don’t put a foot into those things. Besides, even if they were true how maniacal can he be? He runs a stockbroker firm, dad. All they do is call investors and make billions out of thin air.”
“I’m just worried,” he prattled on. “I don’t want you getting into trouble.”
“Dad, I’ll be fine,” I tried to convince him but even then I started to recall the fear I felt when I was in Adam’s office. Even if the rumors of his involvement with the mob were false there was no denying that the man himself was frightening.
He finally relented and ended the call. As I lowered my phone I began to ponder about what my father said but even when I took into consideration the possibility of Mr. Rousseau’s crime connections I still couldn’t see how it would affect me personally. I was just working as his app developer. I wouldn’t even really be his assistant or secretary so I wouldn’t really get to know any of his personal and perhaps questionable transactions.
I still had to wait a good three hours before they would finish the outfit I was to wear. As I waited, I took the time to get on my phone and read up on Mr. Rousseau. He was a pretty rich and famous guy so I expected something to be online about him but to my surprise there was nothing. There were a ton of interviews but nothing about his personal life. Even his Wikipedia pages stated that his history and childhood were unknown and that he had the tendency to wipe out anything gathered by the press, including the Paparazzi.
“Just who is this guy?” I asked myself. How and why would anyone try to keep their past so well-hidden?
For the rest of my free time I walked around the block outside, got myself some coffee and a slice of cake. I took some time to look around a small department store, bought a new lacy pink bra and finally came back to La Floraison just in time to see the lady inspecting her new creation.
“Hello again, darling, it’s good that you are patient and you waited,” she said as she approached. “Normally this kind of design takes three weeks to make because we are always so busy and have many clients to attend to but Mr. Rousseau is a VIP. He gets what he wants and he wants you to have a new dress by tonight so today we finish the job. Here, come closer, I will make you try it on.”
She pushed me to a dressing room close to the elevator leading to the upper floors. For a moment I completely forgot that it was a dressing area due to the elaborate décor that made me think it was another guest room.
“Okay, here,” she then said as she handed me a box with the dress inside. She then guided me to one of the large dressing cubicles – seriously, they were bigger than my own bedroom – and told me, “Try it on. I want to see how it looks on you. It’s very simple but it speaks of your figure and your beauty. Go on, don’t waste time now.”
I took the dress and closed the cubicle door. For the first time since I got here I finally had the chance to hold it up and get a good look at it. Now that I did… it was very surprising and the design was not what I had thought she would come up with.
The dress was made of pure black fabric but in different shades of darkness, giving it a kind of natural shimmer whenever the fabric moved. The cut was what really got me though – the dress was a sleeveless, body-fitting one-piece dress but the
bottom was so high above the knee. The neckline was also very low and the dress was backless. There were silver laces and a few pearls lining the dress as well and even the feel of the fabric made me realize just how expensive this one piece was.
“Fuck it,” I whispered as I took my clothes off and put on the new dress. I had to keep my bra off because of the design – I didn’t want my bra straps to show all over the place.
Once I slid into it and got a look at myself in the mirror I immediately felt my jaw drop. The bottom was so damn high I felt so exposed. It barely covered my ass. I felt like a small wrong move could shift the fabric up and expose my panties in full view. Maybe I shouldn’t wear regular panties. A lacy thong would be better for something so exposed.
I was more worried about the top, however. The low neckline meant my cleavage was in full view. For a girl my height I had really big breasts and they really stood out with this much exposure and the backless design only accentuated this along with the curve of my back.
“Holy fuck,” I uttered softly. It was sexy, it was daring and it looked expensive as hell but it was also just a little too much. One wrong move and I could easily expose myself. I didn’t know if I could move around in this, let alone have dinner with a known man of power and in a rich club at that.
Looking into the mirror a little longer I realize that wearing the dress wasn’t enough. It looked too simple, too plain, on its own. I needed a nice pair of earrings, a necklace and some really fancy high heels to really top it all off but I had none of those. The only pairs of shoes I had were an old set of sneakers and the ugly set of high heels I wore for work.
“What the fuck did I get myself into?” I asked myself as I looked back into the mirror and at my reflection. I looked like I was either a high-end prostitute for billionaires or some billionaire’s pampered sugar baby. I didn’t want to be either of those. I was an app developer trying to do a job so my father would get off the hook.
“Darling, let me take a look,” the lady outside then shouted. It almost made me laugh just to hear her and her strong accent. She was so animated, even when I couldn’t see her, and for a brief moment in time I felt a little relaxed.
“C-coming,” I called back out and opened the dressing door so she could see me.
Almost immediately she began applauding in glee, “Ooh my! You’re absolutely fucking fantastic, yes? The look is a little plain but I am sure we can deal with that. We just need to add a bracelet here, a necklace there and maybe some earrings or a brooch to make it all come together. I love it!”
She thought the exact same ideas I did just moments ago. Quickly she pushed me out of the dressing area, back out into the main office floor and then took me by the hand up to the elevator. We didn’t have to wait long and before I knew it we were up on the fifth floor.
We walked hurriedly down the hallways until we reached an office at the very back. It was the biggest one in the entire building and I could only assume it was hers. Inside it looked like a big dressing closet with an office built into the side.
“Okay, since you are with Mr. Rousseau I will simply count these as part of his bill,” she told me as she opened a cabinet and showcased dozens of expensive jewelry. She cycled through some of them until she finally picked a few for me to wear.
In the end she gave me a pair of gold earrings, large and looped, as well as a very thin silver necklace with a big sapphire pendant encased in white gold. She then made me wear a golden bracelet and even gave me a nice pair of high heels.
“I-I can’t pay for all of this,” I told her as we began folding everything and putting them in a nice box and bag. I had already changed back into my jeans and shirt.
The lady smiled and held my hand, “No worries pretty child. Flo and Mr. Rousseau already talked about this, yes? He will cover all the expenses.”
So, she was Madame Florinda. I was right on that guess.
“Thank you,” I told her when we finally had everything ready to go. I needed to leave and head back home. “It was really nice meeting you, by the way.”
Flo smiled and patted my hand. While my first impression of her was that she was this crazy, animated woman she turned out to be really sweet, really caring and very attentive to detail. I guess she was just so creative and good at what she does that she couldn’t help but be so excited at times.
“Come back anytime you like,” she told me. “If you ever need a new job you can work here as my model. You’re too short to be a ramp model but I can put on clothes on you and take good photographs. Men will buy my clothes for their girlfriends if they see you on the billboard, yes?”
I didn’t know if I could ever live as a photo model but it was a nice dream. At least someone made me feel beautiful. I simply smiled back at her, sheepishly and with my gaze down on the floor, and then waved good-bye.
With everything in a large bag I headed back into my car and drove off to head home. During the ride I began to contemplate just what kind of big mess I stepped into. It couldn’t be that bad. I was just going to have dinner with him, work at his company and shadow him around. It couldn’t possibly lead to anything else.
So why was I still picturing him in my head?
Be Our Guest
“This is fucking ridiculous,” I told myself as I stared into the mirror.
It was eight and Adam was already on his way to my apartment. It was a good thing my father had left to get back to his place and I didn’t have to let him see me in this revealing outfit. I wouldn’t really be able to justify how outrageous this whole get-up was to my father. He was a little more conservative than most fathers and that was saying a lot.
I shook my head and sighed in surrender. I just had to go through this. As I did my phone vibrated and I checked it to see Adam sent me a text message. He was outside, waiting by the car.
“Just do it,” I told myself. “Just do it and when dad’s job is done I can put all this behind me.”
I put my phone in a simple, black leather hand purse and then grabbed my keys before walking out of the front door, locking it as I did. Outside, just across the street from my apartment unit was Adam, standing out by his car. It was a gorgeous, sleek two-door red Porsche and it was a convertible too. While not the most extravagant of cars it definitely oozed with style and that instantly got me feeling a little tingle in my chest.
That sensation only grew when I saw Adam. He was wearing a two-button blazer with wide lapels and a very simple but elegant bowtie. Even from a distance I could notice his shoes were well-shined and he wore a very expensive watch. I couldn’t tell what it was but I definitely knew it cost more than anything I had ever spent in my life. It could even be more expensive than my car.
“You’re very gorgeous tonight,” he greeted me as he walked up to me, held my hand and walked me down the stairs and to his car.
“T-thank you,” I sheepishly replied, my gaze once again down on my feet. I felt my cheeks flush red and I tried to hide it by not looking his way.
He wouldn’t have that though and with his hand he pulled my face to look up at him. I felt a little queasy to stare up into his eyes. They were ever so deep and for a very brief moment I forgot how afraid I was of him. He was handsome – very handsome – and it was making my knees weak just having to look at him as he stared down at me.
“You blush,” he noted. Hearing him point it out made me feel even more embarrassed.
“A-am I? No, you must be mistaken,” I lied as I broke our gaze and headed to the passenger side of the car. He didn’t press it further and with a push of a button he unlocked the doors. I stepped inside quickly, hoping the darkness of the interiors would hide my sudden shame.
When Adam got in, he strapped on his seatbelt and drove us off in pure silence. He didn’t say another word for a good ten minutes. We were well into the city by the time he opened his mouth to say something.
“I like how your dress looks on you,” he told me, his eyes steady on th
e road. “You look very gorgeous, very sexy. You almost have a Russian flare to the way you present yourself.”
Now that just had to be some kind of joke, “Me? No way. I’m just plain old me.”
“Why do you belittle yourself?” he asked. “What do you do when you are not at work?”
I shook my head as I thought about the implications of what he was asking. I looked out the window and watched as the buildings, car and people whizzed by. After taking a deep breath I then answered, “I’m really just a nobody, Mr. Rousseau. I spend my free time playing video games, browsing on the Internet and reading books. I’m a geek, a nerd, a homebody. I don’t dance at clubs, get drunk and flirt with boys. I’m not one of those girls someone like you would go out with.”
Adam took a quick moment to veer his attention from the road and towards me, “What do you mean ‘someone I would go out with?’ What kind of girl do you think I prefer?”
“Someone hot, flirty and drools all over you while sharing a martini and dancing on the table?” I said bluntly. Almost immediately I realized how dumb my reply was and that I had just insulted him. I wanted to smack myself in the face.
Fortunately, he didn’t seem hurt. If he was affected he didn’t let it show. He simply pursed his lips, bobbed his head and said, “Well, I can see why you’d assume that. Most men in my position do prefer that kind of woman. I don’t.”
“Well, what kind of woman do you prefer?” I asked, daring to get a little personal.
“Someone I can appreciate for the beauty in their heart as much as the beauty of their face,” he answered. His tone was soft and a little melancholic. The words he chose were a little surprising as I didn’t expect that kind of reply.
For a moment I felt a pang of guilt riddle through me. Perhaps I had assumed too much regarding him. Then again he was a handsome billionaire who just asked a twenty-one-year old to be his personal secretary and he’s now taking me out to dinner.
