My fingers grip hers until we reach the elevators. I press the button and immediately two doors pop open. I pull her inside, finally letting go as the doors close.
I turn to look at her, finding her already watching me carefully. Her eyes jump all over my face. Her lips part and close repeatedly, like she wants to say something but isn’t.
“What?” I question, just now remembering to press the floor we need.
“Nothing,” she mumbles as the elevator begins to rise.
“The look on your face makes it seem like it isn’t nothing but rather something running through your mind.”
Her eyes find the floor as she pretends to be really interested in her white shoes. “It’s just that Beckham Sinclair, the billionaire bachelor”—she teases—“the guy who dates models, actresses and heiresses, called me beautiful.” Her voice sounds whimsical, like she doesn’t believe it happened, which can’t be the case.
Margo is the kind of beautiful that doesn’t go unnoticed. There’s no way she doesn’t realize it.
“I fail in comparison to your usual type,” she continues. It’s mildly irritating how she speaks of herself.
The elevator dings as the door opens. She takes a step forward, even though she has no idea where to go. Before she steps out of my reach, I grab her elbow, pulling her closer to me. The loose fabric of her sweatshirt sleeve bunches underneath my grip. Margo looks up at me, confusion in her eyes. I lean down, holding eye contact as I take a deep breath in.
“You could never fail in comparison to anyone, Margo.”
His vibrant eyes bore into mine as he looks down at me. The air around us feels electrified. Or maybe it’s the warm flush all over my body making it seem that way. When Beck’s eyes flick to my lips, I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’d let him kiss me if he wanted to, no matter how angry I was with him after last night.
“Mr. Sinclair?” A voice comes from behind me.
Beck stares at my pursed lips for a few moments longer before he looks over my shoulder. The desire in his eyes burns out as quickly as it came. His features fix into business as usual. The moment dissipates into thin air.
Disappointment erupts in my chest.
“That’s me,” he answers, stepping around my body. Even though he no longer watches me, he does keep the moment somewhat alive by sliding his hand down my back until it rests at the small of my waist. His hand softly nudges me forward. My feet step forward on their own accord, my mind too busy wrapped in wondering if I imagined Beck wanting to kiss me or not.
The woman waiting smiles wide at us. “Great.” She pins her eyes on me, no hint of judgment in the way she looks at me, despite my lack of preparedness for shopping somewhere so posh. “And who do we have here?” Her tone is sweet, not condescending at all. I like her already. I love her style even more.
Beck removes his hand from my waist the same moment I take a step forward and hold my hand out to the woman. “I’m Margo,” I answer.
Her hand is cold as she places it mine and we shake hands. “Margo…”
“Just Margo.” She’s probably used to women who won’t respond unless you call them ma’am or by their last name. I don’t need that kind of formality. It seems weird and unnecessary.
She nods before hooking a thumb over her shoulder. “Well just Margo, I’m Quincy.”
It doesn’t shock me at all that she has a cool name like Quincy. It fits her incredibly well. “Let’s get you back in the room and see what you think,” she continues, taking a few steps back.
I look at Beck with a questioning stare. His only answer is to hold his arm out in front of him. “After you.”
I have no idea what having a fancy shopping assistant entails, but I’m thrilled to find out. I’m already taking everything in as she leads us down a hallway with peach doors and tile floor that is a shade lighter in color.
Stopping in front of one of the doors she grabs the handle. I expect to find a tiny room behind her with a few outfits hanging up. What I see when she opens the door blows my expectations out of the water. “Welcome to our VIP suite,” Quincy says, stepping into a room that can only be described as luxurious.
My eyes bounce around, not knowing what to take in first. There are a few different spaces in the large room, meant for multiple people to take advantage of the VIP suite at once. At the moment, the only people in the room are us. She walks to the very back, stopping at the largest staged dressing area in the lounge.
I stare at our reflections in a mirror that reaches from floor to ceiling. It has parts that come off the side, giving you the ability to try on an outfit and inspect it with a panoramic view. A velvet couch sits against another wall, the seat large enough to fit three or four bodies. Expensive looking pillows sit on each end of it. Beck takes a seat in the middle, looking somewhat out of place next to the glitzy, shimmery fabric of the pillows. A circular coffee table sits in front of it, expensive magazines stacked neatly on top. A few shoe boxes are laid out next to the magazines, the lids still on.
Quincy stops in front of a shiny clothing rack, running her hand over the various items hanging on it. “Mr. Sinclair here filled out a form on your outfit preferences, so I went ahead and picked out options according to what he filled out along with current style trends. I can always pull more after you try some outfits on. Sound good?”
I nod, too busy staring at Beck to use words to answer her. For some reason, I’m hooked on the fact Beck took the time last night to fill out the survey. I doubt he has any idea what my usual style is, but it’s really the thought that counts.
“You did?” I ask, my voice tight, butterflies taking flight in my stomach.
Beck waves at the air dismissively. He pulls out his phone and looks down at the screen, not bothering to answer my question. He doesn’t have to. The sentiment still matters either way, even if he doesn’t want to bring any attention to it.
All three of us are silent for a few beats. Eventually, Quincy claps her hands together before pulling a few pieces off the clothing rack. “Let’s try some things on!”
I risk one more glance at Beck, but he’s too interested in his phone to pay me any attention. Quincy hands over an outfit, an encouraging smile on her face. She points to a large door to the left of the couch Beck sits on. “If you want to change in there and once you have it on, we can talk about the fit and what you like and don’t like about it.”
“Got it.” I take a step into the room and shut the door. Even the dressing room is way more extravagant than necessary. There’s another large mirror in the space, a velvet rose gold chair and an end table with business cards and bottles of water. I hook the hangers over a hook on the wall, taking in what Quincy picked out for me to try on first. A small blush creeps up my neck when I notice the set of lingerie hanging from another hook on the wall. I pull at the tag on the bra, shocked to find the bra is my exact size. I’ll have to remember to thank Quincy for the thought. My old sports bra and boy brief cut underwear probably weren’t the best choices of undergarments for the day. In my defense, when Beck told me we had a personal shopping appointment, I thought someone would just walk through the store with me and help me choose outfits. I didn’t think about someone else picking them out for me and having to try them on.