by Ivy Smoak
“Shopping!” I yelled too. I had never been much of a shopper, but her enthusiasm was contagious. “Oh, that’s why my clothes needed to be easy to take off.”
“Uh, yes. We have to get you a whole new wardrobe, and the boutique closes in three hours. Wait, did you seriously think you were going to a gangbang? Because my roommate and I went to one of those a few weeks ago and it was way more intense than I thought it would be. But if you really want one I’m sure I can get a few guys together…”
She got out her phone and started typing.
“No!” I swatted her phone out of her hand.
“Well, if you change your mind, just let me know.” She sounded 100% serious. As if a gangbang was a totally normal thing.
The car came to a stop and the driver opened the door. We stepped out onto 5th Avenue. The fashion center of New York. And we were right in the middle of it, standing outside of the Odegaard boutique. I had never been there, but Chastity talked about it all the time. It was the store of her dreams. And it was the store of my nightmares. Every dress in there was worth more than my life.
“Ready to shop?” asked Frankie.
“Only if they take monopoly money.” It was the only money I had plenty of. So much that it made that poor Forbes millionaire look like even more of a loser.
“They don’t. But tonight, we have this.” Frankie pulled a sleek black credit card out of her wallet.
“A Society card?”
She shrugged. “Close enough.”
“Close enough? What does that mean?”
Frankie didn’t answer. She just ushered me through the ten-foot-tall glass doors into the boutique. And that’s where things got weird. Not like…sexually weird. Just unusual from a shopping perspective. First, the entrance to the store didn’t seem like the entrance to a store at all. There wasn’t a dress in sight. It looked more like the entrance to a five-star hotel, complete with marble walls and a massive chandelier. If this was a murder mystery, someone would definitely get crushed by it. But my life wasn’t a murder mystery. It was a rom-com. Or erotic romance? Oh God. What if I’m in a murder mystery and I just haven’t realized it yet? I imagined the chandelier squashing Frankie.
“Good evening, ladies,” said a girl in a little black dress. Which raised two questions. First, was she a greeter? And if she was, why the hell did such an upscale store have greeters? I thought those were just a weird thing Walmart did to try to make people feel uncomfortable and never want to come back.
“Hi,” said Frankie. “We have an appointment for 8:45.”
The girl looked down at a tablet. “Raven Black?”
“That’s me,” I said.
“Great, follow me.” She led us through another set of doors into a giant room that looked like it was straight out of Say Yes to the Dress, but instead of wedding dresses, the place was filled with clothes of all types. Well…not all types. There were no cheap clothes. There were also no other clients. All twelve of the changing areas were empty.
We wove through mannequins and clothes racks to the changing area on the far side of the store.
The girl clicked a few more buttons on her tablet and then looked up at us. “Your personal fashion consultant will be with you shortly. Can I get you anything while you wait?”
Personal fashion consultant? Were rich people too helpless to pick out their own clothes?
“We’re fine, thanks,” said Frankie. As soon as the girl disappeared, Frankie started browsing the racks. “Oh! You’ve gotta try these on.” She was holding a pair of black leather leggings.
“Is that even allowed?” Being around so many expensive things was making me sweaty. Which meant I was going to get pit stains on all the clothes. And they’d have to cut the leather leggings off of me if I got too sweaty. The thought made me sweat even more. I didn’t need to buy fancy clothes to get over Joe. I just needed Ryder.
“It’s our appointment. We can do whatever we want. Now go try these on.” She tossed the leggings at me.
I caught them and cradled them like a baby. I should have been more careful though. They were probably worth more than a baby. And somehow, they were about to be on my body. I went into the changing room and slipped them on. And by slipped, I mean jammed my ass into them like I was a sausage. But they actually looked really good. My spin classes were definitely working. I’d be crossing off revenge body in no time. “Damn, check out my ass,” I said as I walked out of the changing room.
“Gladly,” said a deep voice.
I looked up and saw Ryder standing there in all his glory, complete with his man bun, floral suit, and piercing eyes. Staring directly at my ass. Because I had just told him to.
Chapter 26 - My Fashionista
Thursday
I put my hand on my hip and stared at Ryder. I tried to picture him with glasses and his hair down like Tanner Rhodes. They could be the same person. Or not. Gah!
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I’m your personal fashion consultant. And it’s lovely to see you again, Miss Black.”
“Miss Black?” I asked. “Why are you being weird?”
“I’m being professional.”
“By staring at my ass?” I arched my back a little to make him stare more.
He shrugged. “One of the many perks of my job.”
“What are the other perks?” I asked.
“You’ll just have to wait and see.”
I gulped way louder than I meant to. What if I don’t want to wait?
“We should get down to business, though,” continued Ryder. “How can I help you ladies this evening?”
Frankie looked back from one of the racks she’d been browsing. “Raven needs a complete wardrobe overhaul. She just got divorced and she’s looking to meet some men.” She winked at me.
Is that a gangbang reference? Oh God…
“I see,” said Ryder. He looked disappointed. “I think we can arrange that. Wait here.” He disappeared into the racks of clothes.
“What was that?” I asked Frankie. “I’m not trying to meet other men. I just want him.”
“I know that. But you can’t let him know it. Men want what they can’t have. Especially men like Ryder.”
I nodded. Of course. He was a billionaire. He could have anything he wanted. So if I made myself seem like the one thing he couldn’t have, he’d be hooked.
Ryder returned a few minutes later with at least a dozen outfits slung over his arm. “I found some good stuff. Ready to try them on?” He started hanging the outfits up in the dressing room. And then he didn’t leave. Instead he leaned against the doorjamb and smiled. “Are you stalking me?”
God, was that going to be the weird way he always greeted me now? We’d been over this. He was stalking me. And just because he asked the question in an incredibly sexy way, didn’t make it any less rude. “You’re the one that showed up here.”
“I work here.”
Yeah right, you’re a secret billionaire. “We’ve already been over this. You’re stalking me. And if you’ll please excuse me…” I glanced at the dressing room door. I needed him to leave so I could figure out what the hell was happening.
“I was going to stay and help.”
“How do I know you’re not just trying to see me naked?”
He pretended to be shocked by my allegation. “That would be very unprofessional. And anyway…why would I need to do that when I already have a picture of your boob?”
“Hey! You said you were gonna delete that.”
“I never agreed to that.”
“Fine. If you don’t delete that picture, I’ll just tell the whole world that you wear Crocs.”
“Do I? Because I’m pretty sure that’s you.” He pulled his phone out and showed me security footage of me leaving the Caldwell Hotel in Crocs.
I snatched for his phone, but he easily pulled it out of my reach. “I wouldn’t have had to wear them if you hadn’t left me there all alone. And why is there no stuff in
your apartment?”
“I had to go work and I didn’t want to wake you. Has anyone ever told you how adorable you are when you snore?”
Oh God. Please tell me I wasn’t really snoring. And hey…he hadn’t answered the second part of my question!
“Now, you should probably try these clothes on before we run out of time. Good luck with the blue one.” He turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.
I stared in horror at the blue dress he was referring to. Or was it a romper? I couldn’t tell. But I was determined to get it on without his help. I pulled it off the rack and looked for a zipper. What even is this thing? Whatever. I’d get to that later. Instead I slipped on some yoga pants and a sports bra that only cost…$1700?! And it didn’t cover enough of my stomach, so I tried on the next outfit. And then the next. It was like Chastity had designed all of these clothes, because they were more than skimpy enough to satisfy Single Girl Rule #16: Either your legs, cleavage, or stomach must be showing at all times. Preferably all three.
“You okay in there?” called Ryder.
“I’m just fine, thank you. Although I’d be even better if my personal fashionista was a little better at his job.”
“It’s personal fashion consultant. And I can only find you better garments if you come out and show us how they look.”
“Fine.” I finagled my way into a super awesome dress. It kind of reminded me of something a gladiator would wear. But all the clean lines and the expensive white fabric made it look super modern. Almost futuristic. I guess that made me a space gladiator?
I opened the door and walked out to the platform surrounded by mirrors.
“Damn,” said Ryder and Frankie at the same time.
“You look amazing,” added Frankie.
Ryder got up and walked around me, inspecting the fit on every inch of my body. “Guess I am good at my job after all.”
“Is this even your real job?” I asked. Or are you a billionaire investor?
“You really think I would have been able to pick out a dress that fit you that well if this wasn’t my real job?”
He made a good point. But I was still 90% sure he was the same person as Tanner. I just had to prove it. Which meant I had to get him into a pair of glasses and take his hair out of the man bun. “Do you have a hair tie? I feel like this dress would look so much cuter if my hair was up.”
“I have one,” said Frankie. She took one off her wrist and handed it to me.
Damn you! I wanted Ryder’s hair tie! I shot it over a rack of clothes and tried to play it off like an accident. “Oops.” I turned to Ryder. “Could I use yours?”
“Sure.” He pulled back his colorful sleeve and took a hair tie off his wrist. “Here you go.”
I fumbled with it for a second and then shot it across the room. “I’m so clumsy. Do you have another?”
“It really seems like you’re trying to get the one out of my hair. Which kind of freaks me out. Are you trying to steal a strand of my hair so you can make a Polyjuice potion?”
“You’re a Harry Potter fan?” I asked. He really is my soulmate.
“Uh, of course.” He looked genuinely offended that I thought he might not be a Potterhead.
“What house are you?” I asked.
“What house do you think I am?” he shot back.
“Hufflepuff.”
“Excuse me?!” Now he really looked offended.
“Hufflepuff are the humble ones. And since you’re pretending to be a fashionista…”
“Personal fashion consultant,” he corrected me.
“Whatever. Pretending to be that when you’re secretly a billionaire is quite humble.”
“Billionaire? I wish. And anyway, such a charade seems more like something a Slytherin would do.”
I stared at him. I could never tell when he was lying. “What house do you think I am?”
“Definitely Ravenclaw,” he said.
“And why is that?”
“They’re the creative ones. And this fantasy that you’ve created about me being a billionaire is certainly creative. Also, they’re the hot ones.” His eyes scanned my body.
He thinks I’m hot?! My face started to blush. I ran back into the changing room before he could see. I was supposed to be playing hard to get, not melting the second he gave me a compliment. I got into the strappy blue dress and walked back out. “What do you think my date this weekend will think of this one?” I asked, fighting the urge to adjust the straps to make sure I wasn’t showing any underboob.
“He’ll love it,” said Frankie.
Ryder stared at me. Was that a look of jealousy? Or was it a look of skepticism?
“It looks amazing,” he said. “Because I picked it, so of course it does. But whether he likes it really depends on his level of taste. And the date. Where’s he taking you?”
Shit! He’s onto me! “I…he…Chuck E. Cheese.” What? I could have literally said any other place and it would have been more believable.
Ryder raised an eyebrow. “Is your date a small child?”
“Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m not jealous. I’m genuinely curious about what kind of man child would take you to Chuck E. Cheese.”
“A really hot one,” said Frankie.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “The hottest. Ten feet of pure muscle.”
Ryder laughed. “Ten feet? Well, tell Shaq that I hope he doesn’t get stuck in any of the plastic tunnels.”
“His name isn’t Shaq. It’s Dr. Lyons.”
“You call him Dr. Lyons? That’s creepy. That reminds me of this book I read where this girl was having sex with her teacher and kept calling him Professor Hunter.”
“Ew,” said Frankie. “I didn’t realize they had sex with the teachers in Harry Potter.”
Ryder and I didn’t bother correcting her. Clearly she wasn’t a Potterhead, and thus not worth talking to.
“Seriously though…do you really call him Dr. Lyons?” asked Ryder.
“No. I call him by his first name.”
“Which is…?”
I have no idea. Which was weird. I should probably find that out on the date. Or was it too late to ask? Whatever. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t actually going to go on the date with him. Because by then I would be married to Ryder. Er…dating. Dating Ryder. Not married to. Because I had only known him for two days, and wanting to marry someone after two days would be super creepy. And I wasn’t. And now Ryder was staring at me because I was just standing there awkwardly thinking about marrying him. I cleared my throat. “His name is none of your business. All you need to know is that he’s super handsome.”
“And ten feet tall. Which means you’ll need a pair of heels.” Ryder disappeared through some double doors on the other side of the store.
“How am I doing?” I asked Frankie.
“Amazing. But I do have a few notes…”
“So you mean I’m doing awful?”
“Don’t bring that negative energy in here. But if you want some advice…maybe try making him a bit more jealous. Rather than making him think that you’re into lanky pedophiles.”
“Handsome lanky pedophiles,” I corrected.
“That’s not much better. Dr. Lyons isn’t real, is he?.”
“Oh, he’s real. Well, kind of. I have a date with him this weekend. But he’s not lanky or a pedophile, despite what my best friend thinks.” I giggled to myself about Chastity’s mix-up with pedophile and pediatrician.
Frankie gave me a weird look.
“Oh, no. My friend doesn’t really think he’s a pedophile.”
“Well that’s reassuring,” said Ryder from behind me. “Otherwise I would have felt obligated to warn Chuck E. Cheese. Now try these on.” He pushed a box into my arms. No, not any box. A white leather shoe box. With Odegaard written in blue script on the lid.
I wasn’t really into fashion, but I knew that Odegaard was known for their shoes. It was the shoe brand of the rich and famous. It
was impossible to scroll through Best Dressed lists without seeing the wild designs and signature blue bottoms. Chastity had one pair from before her family went bankrupt, and she never wore them. She just kept them in a locked glass case.
“This is too much,” I said, pushing the box back to him.
“You didn’t even look at them.”
“I didn’t have to. I can see that they’re Odegaards.”
“Well of course they are. We’re at the Odegaard boutique…” Ryder opened the box. And I had to admit, the shoes were freaking awesome. But they weren’t for me. I’d worn heels the other night, and it wasn’t lost on me that Ryder had avoided kissing me at all costs. Because I looked bad in heels, just like Joe had always told me. That was probably why Ryder had picked out the most expensive shoes in the world. He thought putting $3000 shoes on me would help distract everyone from my weird knobbly knees. “Don’t you have anything a little tamer? I don’t look good in tall shoes.”
“Says who?” Ryder asked.
“My husband. Er, ex-husband.” It still felt weird to say that.
“The one who you walked in on shagging the instamodel?”
“That’s the one.”
Ryder frowned. “Was he blind?”
“Not that I know of.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. Because the other night you looked amazing in those heels. At least try them on.”
“If you don’t, I will,” said Frankie.
“Fine.” I kicked off my lame shoes and put on the sky-high heels.
“What other lies did your ex tell you?” Ryder asked as I fumbled with the straps.
“Who knows. Until five seconds ago, I didn’t even realize the shoe thing was a lie.” Chastity had hinted at it, but for some reason the way Ryder looked at me made me actually believe him.
“If he was such a jerk, why’d you stay with him?” Ryder knelt to tighten one of the straps. “Was he some sort of sex god?”
I laughed. “Ha. Not even close.”
“He never even gave her an orgasm,” said Frankie.
What? How did she know that? And why is she saying it out loud? Gosh darn it, Frankie!
“But Dr. Lyons is going to fix that Saturday night in the ball pit,” she added.
