To Have and to Heist(41)

“Is that what Simi is doing?” Olivia crossed her ankles, careful to keep her boots off the couch. I was relieved to see that, despite the attitude and angst, she still had some sense of decorum. “Because it sounds real to me.”

“I’m not a sex worker with a heart of gold, Olivia,” I pointed out as I flicked through a rack of dresses I couldn’t afford. “And how do you know what a sex worker is anyway? When I was your age, I still believed in Santa Claus.”

And then, because I was annoyed that I’d agreed to come to this floor instead of going to a department store where normal people with normal amounts of money shop, and Olivia was guilting Chloe over something that brought her mom joy, I said, “I think you’re spending too much time on your phone.”

“Mom!” Olivia bolted upright at the hint that her life might be imminently ruined. “Don’t listen to her.”

Chloe’s lips rose at the corners. “She has a point.”

“I have to be on my phone. It’s part of life. This isn’t the Dark Ages.” Olivia shot me a look of pure desperation. “Okay. I take it back. I’ll stream every eighties and nineties rom-com I can find as soon as I get home and I’ll love them. I’ll tease out my hair, wear blue eyeshadow and leg warmers, and give up my agency as a woman to be pampered by an uptight billionaire as he destroys the world with his capitalist greed.”

“Can I help you?” The salesperson who’d been watching us since we’d arrived on the floor must have decided it was time to stop the lowly masses from pawing through the five-digit dresses. She was dressed in head-to-toe pink Chanel and her black-and-gold name tag read clare.

“I’m looking for a dress for a charity ball,” I said. “But I think these are outside my budget.”

“Yes, of course.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “We have more affordable dresses down on the second floor.”

Chloe bristled beside me. “Tell her.”

“No.” I turned to go. “We shouldn’t have come up here. Let’s go back down to the swamp, where we belong.”

“She has this.” Chloe produced Jack’s card with a flourish. “Jack sent her and told her to ask for Clare. I assume that’s you and you’re a personal shopper.”

“Where did you get that?” I reached over to grab the card and she went up on her tiptoes to keep it away.

“I stole it from your purse because I knew you wouldn’t use it. You’re not good at accepting help.” Chloe handed it to the salesperson. “You’ve made a big mistake,” she said to the woman. “Massive.”

“Mom,” Olivia groaned. “You’re embarrassing me.” She bent over, hiding her face in her hands.

“Me too.” I would have hidden my face, but the salesperson was staring right at me.

“Jack sent you?” Clare said his name as if it were a religious experience.

“You know him?”

“We knew each other when I worked in New York,” she said. “It was such a surprise when he showed up at my door the other night.”

Nice. He’d sent me to one of his old girlfriends. Or maybe she was a current girlfriend. Of course she was stunning—long dark hair, perfectly oval face, big dark eyes with impossibly long lashes, and a body made to model the designer dress that clung to her curves the way Cristian had clung to his inner tube at the lake.

“Same.” I gave her a tight smile. It’s not like I hadn’t had regular hookups, or even the occasional relationship. Last year, I’d spent two whole weeks dating an accountant who suffered from both allergic rhinitis and an obsession with cycling. Chloe almost choked to death on a chicken wing when I invited him to my favorite bar to meet her. It had been a hot day. He’d just come back from a long, sweaty ride in his body-hugging white spandex onesie that left nothing to the imagination. He sneezed. Chloe gagged. I like a little mystery in my men, so I ended it the next day.

“We’re going to the Summer Garden Charity Ball on Thursday.” I plastered a fake smile over the glare I was saving for Chloe. “He said you’d be able to help me with a dress.”

She gave me a quick once-over and lifted a perfectly manicured brow. “You’ll need more than a dress. You’ll need shoes, a bag, accessories, and jewelry. And your hair . . .”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Sure, it had a tendency to frizz when it rained, but it was thick and shiny and tended to stay put if I threw in a few handfuls of product on my way out the door.

“I know someone.” She gestured to the fitting room. “I’ll make a few calls. We’d better get started. We have a lot of work to do. And don’t worry about the cost. Jack has it covered.”

“Makeovers are one of my favorite tropes in rom-com movies,” Chloe said to Olivia. “Especially when someone else is paying.”

“I’m not getting made over,” I shouted from a dressing room that was almost the same size as my basement suite but much more lavishly decorated. “I’m perfect just the way I am.”

“Okay, babe. Whatever you say.”

Twelve

Chloe and Olivia showed up at Rose’s house on Thursday night just as Rose was putting the finishing touches on my makeup.

“Are you here to drive my pumpkin coach to the ball?” I called out from the kitchen. “My fairy godmother is almost done.”