Style (Dressing a Billionaire Book 2): A Romantic Comedy (6 page)

I wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her. “Mom, you can make them all similar and add personalization later. Or sell accessories that people can purchase along with them. Retail isn’t the place, Mom, production is. Wholesale, baby, wholesale.”

Her face brightened. “Really? But how would I get the word out?”

I took her hand and pulled her from the chair. “Maybe you’ve met my girlfriend, Orlean?”

“The one who’s screwing your brother?” She flinched.

“Mom, you know about that?” I tensed at her words.

“I have for months, but I didn’t want to be the one to tell you. Only, it’s not right that you don’t know.” She stopped resisting me and stood.

“I already know. And Orlean is a sales rep. Maybe she can represent you.”

Mom tailed along behind me as we went to her office/my bedroom. And yes, I had my coffee in my hand. I couldn’t deal with this without caffeine. I thought about asking her to make a doll of Kelsey. One that I could send to Europe.

A
fter a long day
of bickering and arguing, my mom and I moved her assembly to the garage. After the first doll made it successfully through the assembly line, I sent a photo to Orlean, asking if she could sell them in her showroom.

My phone rang immediately and Orlean said “I’ve been trying to talk your mom into letting me represent her for two years now. Yes. Get me samples of everything.”

I walked my mom through what she needed. And I only knew what she needed because Orlean had given me a list. Dad came home and made dinner after a long day at work, so we could iron out the details.

During dinner, my phone rang.

“Hey, Hugo, how’s the stress level?” I said.

I could still hear the stress in his voice. “You have no idea.”

I think maybe I did have a good idea after spending the afternoon with my mom. Product launching sucks.

“What can I do for you?”

“I can’t do this anymore. I’ve done everything I can do, and the rest is up to my crew. If I can’t walk away now and trust they’ll fly without me, why do I have them, right?” Not exactly an answer.

What the hell did I know about his business? “Whatever you say.”

“I need to get my mind off this launch, so I thought maybe you could pack an overnight bag, and we could fly to Vegas.” Just so matter of fact, like he was my only client. I had no plans to be an on-call friend.

This had to stop. He couldn’t just keep calling or showing up at my door last minute, expecting me to drop everything. Lifestyles of the rich and spoiled. I’m sure everyone he knew was at his beck and call. Not me, no way, I had a life, and a career to build, and Hugo didn’t get to pop in whenever he liked and disrupt my plans because he had new plans. So I said, “Sure, what time will you pick me up?”

I couldn’t believe the words that I’d said. He had a girlfriend, probably a soon-to-be fiancée again. I should have asked if she’d be okay with it.

“Can you drive to my home? I have the helicopter there waiting.”

Maybe Kelsey was coming with us. I couldn’t make myself ask.

“Give me an hour?” I said.

“I’ll be waiting.”

“What’s up?” Mom said.

“Hugo wants to fly to Vegas to go shopping. He said he needs to get his mind off work.”

Dad said, “After all of those flowers, you’d better get a move on. I think that boy has a crush.”

I stood up from the dinner table. “It’s not like that. He has a fiancée.”

Mom and Dad stared after me with their mouths open. I think I saw food fall out of my dad’s mouth.

I heard my mom say, “Now she thinks she’s Princess Diana. Little does she realize, she’s only the hired help.”

Dad said, “She could be Princess Diana, with some work, and etiquette classes. Maybe a Miss Manners book.”

“Yes. Yes, she could,” my mom’s voiced sounded like she really meant it.

I almost turned around and gave both of them a hug, then I remembered, Orlean compared me to Taylor Swift, saying Kelsey was the princess. I had no desire to be a princess, a pop star, or a billionaire’s wife. I had a desire to get laid, though. Maybe I’d find love in all the wrong places in Vegas.

And just like that, I packed a bag and drove to Hugo’s home. Coming up the drive with the sun setting made his house look like a painting. And the image was appropriate, because this dream would end soon enough, and aren’t paintings just like a dreamscape?

Bobby stood outside the front door and took my bag. “They’re on the helipad.”

He walked me about fifty yards from the house, and there stood Hugo and Timmy, waiting.

“I feel like I’m being airlifted,” I yelled to Bobby.

“You are,” he said. “Only hospitals are there to save you. Vegas may kill you.”

I thought about that as Hugo helped me into the white Eurocopter. He also helped me to my seat, which happened to be smooth white leather. I sat down and buckled in, acting like I did this daily. Hugo handed me a headset with a tiny microphone, then put one on his head.

In my ear, I heard him say, “Easier to talk to each other this way.”

I said, “Hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to sleep. It’s been an exhausting day.”

I didn’t really want to sleep, but I didn’t want to talk to him where Timmy could hear. He’d barely acknowledged me as we boarded the Eurocopter and didn’t speak to me when he entered the pilot’s seat. He spoke only to Hugo.

He gave him the ETA, then said, “I’m not happy about this last-minute junket.”

Hugo said, “That’s great, because you aren’t a part of the junket, just the transportation,” and closed his eyes.

I glanced at him, then spent the rest of the trip alternately looking out the window and closing my eyes to try to sleep.

The helicopter landed at McCarron’s private field, and a limo whisked us to the Aria.

When Hugo and I entered the hotel, a concierge escorted us to the room. No check-in. No waiting in line.

“I’m so sorry, sir, this was the best we could do on such short notice,” the short thin man said.

“I thank you for making this happen.” Hugo’s gracious manner warmed my mood.

He treated everyone as an equal, including Timmy, who he treated more as his friend than his employee. And yes, that could be because they were friends first. So that’s what he and I were: two friends visiting Vegas and going clothes shopping.

The elevator shot to the top floor of the hotel, and we exited to the Penthouse Suite.

The concierge assured us our bags would be up shortly. Hugo handed him a couple of hundred dollar bills.

We stepped into a room with floor-to-ceiling windows and stunning views of the city.

“This is your room. I have the one next door,” Hugo said.

It hadn’t even occurred to me that we’d have separate rooms. I mean we’d slept in the same bed already. Not like he’d been tempted before.

“Are you sure? I mean we can share this room.” I didn’t really want to be alone.

Then it occurred to me that Kelsey may be joining him. A threesome didn’t sound all that appealing with the reigning Texas princess.

“I don’t want to overstep. And besides, I prefer to play the air guitar solo.” He turned back to the door.

“I’d be happy to play the drums for you,” I said. And I didn’t even want to take it back. I wanted him to know I enjoyed seeing him naked.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He walked back to me and handed me a roll of hundred dollar bills. “Tip generously.”

I looked at the money and felt like a hooker. Without the orgasm or the opportunity to fake one. My gut twisted.

“See you in the morning. We need to shop all day. I don’t want to think about the real world for the next thirty-six hours.” He closed the door behind him.

I saw the concierge waiting outside the hotel room, ready to show Hugo his room. I wondered if Bobby had planned all of this while we were in the air. I’d only seen Hugo on his phone once, and only for a few minutes.

I walked into the living room, and marveled at the leather furniture and the lights of the city. Then I moved to the dining room, which had a long rectangular glass table and four upholstered leather chairs around it. I took my shoes off and felt the plush white carpet between my toes. White carpet, white walls, and black accents all made the modern art pop off the walls.

I turned to go check out the bedroom when I heard a knock on the door. My heart jumped. Hugo had come back! I opened the door to find the bellman. He walked in with my bag and asked if he could get me anything else. Nope. I tipped him and waited until the door closed, then jogged to the bedroom.

Oh my! The full-length windows had the drapes drawn in the bedroom, and the headboard of the bed matched the size of the windows. The black frame held in white diamond tuck leather over a bed made up with white sheets and a chocolate brown spread. Pillows of white, orange, and khaki had been placed evenly across the head of the bed.

I didn’t even look at the nightstands, except to see the illuminated lamps had a round silver base and chocolate brown shades. I swept my hand across the bed and sent the decorative pillows to the floor, then I rolled on the top and pressed the remote button to open the drapes. I lay staring at the lights of Vegas until I fell asleep.

I awoke in the morning, still laying on top of the bed and in my clothes from the night before. In my dreams, Hugo had come back to me, undressed me, and we had sex in every room in the suite. In reality, he hadn’t even called the room, or my phone. I went back to the dining room, where I’d left my purse, and pulled out my phone.

Gwen had made it safely to Germany, Orlean jumped for joy at repping my mom’s dolls, and Dad left a voice message checking to see if we’d arrived safely.

I called my dad and left him a message, so he wouldn’t worry, then I looked at the room menu and ordered room service.

By the time the coffee and pastries arrived, I’d showered and dressed in a simple black shift dress. Going for the same casual look I’d used when shopping with Derek, I even wore the same shoes I’d had on when shopping with him. They went with so many outfits, they’d been worth the $800 price tag.

I pulled my laptop out of my overnight bag and opened up my blog to start an article. It’d be fun to take pictures and write an article about shopping in Vegas. I figured Hugo would either call my phone or the room when he was ready to go shopping.

I’d written most of the introductory article, showing pictures of the suite, and explaining I’d be working with a client on this trip, but that the client would remain anonymous.

A tapping at the door knocked me out of my focus. I got up and opened the door.

Hugo leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. This time I didn’t make it awkward.

“Don’t you look lovely?” he said.

“Thanks.” I looked at his attire. Boxer shorts and no shirt.

“Do you mind starting without me? I haven’t slept yet, and I’m beat.”

I glared at him. “So, you worked last night?”

“Yes, I got a call shortly after arriving, and I’ve been on a conference call all night.” He cocked his head. “I’m sorry. So much for escaping the real world.”

I bit my lip to keep from saying what I wanted to say. “Fine. I’ll take the tram to Bellagio and go shopping without you. You want me to pick out some things, and maybe later you can come try them on?”

“Tram? You’re not taking a tram.”

“I’ll be fine. Get some sleep. I’ll have you exhausted in no time when I return.”

“I look forward to it.” He hugged me. “I just need about four hours, and I’ll be good to go.”

Before he disappeared down the hall, I asked, “Did the launch go off without a hitch?”

He grinned from ear to ear. “It did. And we’re flying high.”

I smiled and shut my door.

Full of pastries and coffee, I headed to the Caesar’s Forum Shops. True to his statement, I wasn’t going to take the tram. Hugo made sure the doorman knew I was exiting the hotel, and he said he had a car waiting for me. Once again, I’d been driven to my destination in a limo. I could get used to this. No, no, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. This lifestyle didn’t suit me at all. I snickered to myself,
Oh, yes, it does.

“Here’s my number. Call me when you’re ready, and I’ll pick you up at the front door,” the driver said as he dropped me near the shopping entrance.

I had the jitters, being so excited to shop without a limit, and I shivered when I entered CD (I’m using initials to protect both the guilty and the innocent) store. A pale, thin man who’d been standing with two bulimic women in their twenties approached me. The girls peeled off, as if fleeing a swarm of bees.

The pale man, who looked more like a ghost in fine clothing, said, “May I be of service?”

I smiled a friendly smile, fully aware my entire outfit, including my $800 shoes didn’t cost as much as the shoes he wore. But then, I paid retail, and he likely purchased his at a hefty employee discount.

“Yes, I’m writing a blog about fashion and dressing the uber-wealthy,” I said. “And I wondered if you could help me by answering some questions?”

The look of disdain he shot me felt like a twelve-gauge shotgun to the gut. “People that wealthy don’t buy off the rack. I don’t think there’s anything I can help you with.”

“Really?” I said. “That’s weird, because I’m staying in the Penthouse at Aria, and my client asked me to go out ahead of him and scout. You know, look for clothes he might like.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” The silver hair on this pin head sparkled as he turned his head toward the door.

Having a
Pretty Woman
movie flashback, I said, “You obviously don’t get paid on commission.”

“Right,” he retorted. “And I’m making a mistake. A big, big mistake.”

“So, you’ve seen the movie? Thanks so much for your insight. I’ll be sure to tell Hugo Popovits you weren’t interested in his business.” I turned and walked out, not even looking back to see if he believed me or not.

And just like the pretty hooker, Vivian Ward, what should have been a fun morning of shopping turned to dread. But I moved on and window shopped until I found a store I wanted to explore more. I went into six other stores and avoided even looking at the sales staff, because I didn’t see anything Hugo might like. Then I walked into EZ and got lost in looking at the skinny jeans and wonderful colors for men’s clothing.

“Excuse me, Miss, you look like you’re not finding what you need,” a young Hispanic man with short cropped brown hair said.

His physique smallish, but athletic, he wore an eggplant purple cashmere V-neck sweater with brown stretch skinny jeans, and gray mélange highway driving shoes. I estimated his ensemble at roughly two grand. And I marveled how he pulled it off with no socks and still managed to look professional.

“I like what you’re wearing,” I said.

I gave him the same spiel I’d given the skinny asshole at CD. After avoiding the last several store salespeople, I’d gotten my nerve back.

“What does he like?” The man asked.

“Board shorts and graphic tees,” I said. “Honestly. I’m not even kidding.”

He didn’t laugh or eye me from head to toe and decide if I could afford his store. And I remembered, I still had Hugo’s credit card. I could buy this whole damn store if I wanted.