Style (Dressing a Billionaire Book 2): A Romantic Comedy (4 page)

That hung in the air like a soggy wet tampon.

Yeah, I’m right on it. If she changed her number and you couldn’t reach her, how the hell would I?

“So all of this bragging is leading to?” I couldn’t help but feel distanced from him.

He and Stella were about to be billionaires. Whoop, whoop! Good for them. His story left me flat, other than to see my own failures.

Timmy pulled the Bentley up in front of a downtown high-rise. I hadn’t paid attention to the street we’d turned onto. He stopped the car and got out to open my door.

Before stepping out, I looked at Hugo with a frown.

“Twin Pops,” he said with a huge smile. Alright already.

Four security guards stood outside the entrance, but stepped aside as Timmy, Hugo and I approached. Another man opened the door from the inside and held it as we entered the building.

Nondescript in its white walls. No receptionist, no glass walls. It reminded me of an empty theater entrance. Timmy placed a key in the wall outlet and an elevator opened.

Hugo and I stepped into the elevator car. Timmy remained in the entrance hall. “Call me when you’re ready for me to drive you back.”

The doors closed and I turned to Hugo. “What the hell is going on?” Did he have more bragging in store?

“I wanted to go running, but it’s too damned hot outside. So I thought maybe we could work out together. I have only a few hours before I need to be back in the office. We aren’t working at the house anymore, we’re working here.”

“I told you I don’t have time for this,” I snapped, pissed he’d been wasting my time.

“But yet you put on running shoes and came with me.”

He had a point.

When the elevator opened, we entered a state-of-the-art exercise facility. The most modern equipment I’d ever seen. A row of Pelaton exercise bikes, half a dozen treadmills with what looked like virtual reality goggles resting on their dashboards, heavy bags, weightlifting equipment, a wall with a ballet barre, you name it. And the room stood silent and empty.

“I cleared the schedule, so we could work out together—”

I opened my mouth to protest.

“You can do whatever you want. And I’ve got a personal trainer on call, if you want someone to help you get started.” No surprise there.“I’m not patient enough to train someone myself.” He walked over to the treadmills. “You can walk or run in whatever environment you like.”

I raised my brows. “These look really cool.”

“Stella’s invention. My innovation. We own the patent.”

Jeez, these Twin Pops are geniuses all around. I almost rolled my eyes, but the treadmills were too sweet to dismiss. I stepped on one and grabbed the handles.

The fucker blurted out my current weight, body mass index, and percentage of body fat. No way in hell am I repeating the numbers. I jumped off the treadmill.

“What the hell was that? Other than embarrassing?”

“State of the art. I told you. There’s so much more.” He stepped on his and it responded, “Hello, Hugo, I’ve missed you.” So, the exercise machines kiss his billionaire butt, too.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I said. “For real, though, totally impressed.”

He started walking. “Want to go for a run together?”

“Nope.”

“Seriously. You can walk, and I can run, and we’ll be side by side. And soon we’ll be running together.”

I stood, glaring at Hugo. “Are you saying I’m fat?” It sounded like he had a problem with my weight and abilities.

He stepped off the back of the treadmill and walked up to me. I forgot my treadmill had started moving under me, and I stopped walking. And promptly slid off the back. If Hugo hadn’t caught me, I’d have landed with my face on the rolling belt of the treadmill. And the genius machine would’ve laughed at me.

His arms wrapped tight around my waist, he said, “Are you okay?”

“Physically, yes. But my ego may have suffered permanent damage.” I wiggled a bit, so he’d let go of me.

I stood looking at the death contraption, thinking,
He wants me to get back on that thing, doesn’t he?

“If I ever gave you the impression I thought you’re fat, I’m sorry. We talked about running, and I’m tired of running alone, or with my trainer, and I thought maybe we’d run together. This way, you start at your own pace, and me at mine and yet we can still run together.” He shrugged. “I think you’re perfect just the way you are, by the way.”

I didn’t know about that, but he made a good point. “You know I can’t come into the city and run whenever I feel like it. And this is your building, with your armed guards outside. So I can’t drop by at any hour and say, ‘Hugo said I can use the gym.’”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, you can.” Silly me to think otherwise.

I sat down on the side of the treadmill, avoiding the tread, so it wouldn’t scream out my weight again, or laugh that I nearly fell off. “Why did you cancel Vegas?”

He sat on the edge of his treadmill, facing me. “Last night I got caught up in the moment. Wanting to make overnight changes, wanting to avoid coming back to reality. In the morning, after you caught me singing in the shower, I realized I couldn’t. I sat up in bed, after you fell asleep, and realized I couldn’t run. So many people’s lives depend on me being dependable. I run this company. Stella is a partner, but I’m the CEO and President. If I flake, it would halt the watch release and people could lose jobs.”

“When you put it like that,” I said.

“I’ve shared more with you than anyone outside my inner circles. No one knows about the real history of our family and how a social worker found Stella and me in a filthy apartment with our mother passed out from a meth fallout. How our parents took us in as foster kids, and my biological mom tried to extort money from them. I tell you this because I don’t want any secrets. Kelsey knew I’d been adopted. But she didn’t know why or how. Maybe because we met when we were so young, and at the time I didn’t remember my previous life. I learned a lot of this when I was older. I think her finding out may be what killed her love for me.” That’s weird and shallow of Kelsey, and now I hated her more. “After many years together, she and Stella went out drinking, and Stella blabbed it all.”

I listened, looked at him as he looked around the room. “Maybe it hurt her feelings that she had to hear it from Stella and not you.”

He didn’t admit that it might’ve been true. “Anyway, I canceled the Vegas trip because I’m a grown up, and I can’t jet off on a whim. Not like Stella does.” He stood. “Now, are we going to run?”

I covered my ears as I stood up and got back on the tattletale. I didn’t want to hear the numbers again. “Can’t you turn the volume down on this thing?”

“There’s a built-in music player, and the Bose headphones are on the side. Noise canceling. Put those on before you step on the belt, and only you’ll hear the numbers.”

“You couldn’t have told me about those before this contraption embarrassed the hell out of me?” I winked and put the headphones on.

The treadmill asked me what kind of music I’d like to listen to. I said aloud, “Classic rock.” Tom Petty’s “American Girl” gradually tuned into my headphones.

I could get used to this. But I didn’t dare.

Hugo reached across and tapped me on my shoulder, scaring the shit out of me, and making me grab the handrails to keep from falling. I pulled the headphone off one ear.

“Rain check on Vegas?”

I smiled, but didn’t answer. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Hugo sure did go out of his way to be endearing. And I hated him for it. Stella had made it clear she was done with me, so clinging to Hugo looked desperate. And may hurt my chances of ever getting Stella back as a client.

He half-smiled and went back to running.

Did he know he had me? Hook, line, and tight butt?

S
omeone I hadn’t met yet
came in and whispered in Hugo’s ear. He stopped his treadmill and got off. “Give me a sec, I’ll be right there.”

I heard him only because I’d moved my earphone off my ear a few minutes earlier. I looked over.

“Hey,” he said, then waited.

I stopped my death machine and took off the Bose headset. “What’s up?”

“I’ve got to go. Emergency. You can stay and play as long as you like. And I’ll get you set up with security, so you can come here to workout whenever you want.”

“That’s great, thanks,” I said facetiously. “Do I need to call ahead?”

“Only if you want the place to yourself. And then you’ll need to give fifteen minutes’ notice as a courtesy.” He grabbed a towel from a nearby rack.

“I’d never kick anyone out,” I protested. And, more importantly, I’d put those noise-canceling buggers on immediately to avoid embarrassment in front of total strangers.

“You’ll have executive status, so if you choose, you can.” He stepped up on my treadmill and kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks for running with me. I didn’t want to run alone.”

“Yeah, it was great. So glad we could have this forty-five-minute conversation. We learned so much about each other,” I couldn’t stop the flippant tone.

“Yeah, me too.” He grinned, and I melted.

“Timmy’s outside, whenever you’re ready to go home. Thanks again.” He walked out of the gym, and I watched his tight butt as he did.

“Shit, I need to run more. I want an ass like that,” I said under my breath.

The treadmill responded, “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand. Could you repeat that?” Not so smart, after all.

I nearly collapsed with laughter. I’d bet everything said and done in this place was recorded somehow. I’d have to talk to myself silently.

I looked at my phone, and Orlean still hadn’t responded to my text. But I did have several other text messages from numbers I didn’t recognize.

Holy shit, DerekGattis from the Dallas Cowboys sent me a text message.
Stella P gave me your number. Call me.
He left his number, as if I wouldn’t have it from the text.

At first I thought maybe he wanted to meet me. Then I realized if he got my number from Stella, it had to be business related. Bummer. And yet not because I may have another client.

True to her word, Stella could put me on the Texas map. Now I had to make her look good by being a great stylist and business woman. Hugo’s story gave me hope. I didn’t have a million dollars, but almost as good, I had Stella as a reference. I guess I just had to make up with her now, apologize for our misunderstanding, or rather, her accusation.

I needed a shower, because I’d actually broken a sweat, but I jogged to the elevator and out to the awaiting Bentley, so there’s that. I could say I’d gone running if anyone asked.

“Home please, Timothy.” Yeah, I wasn’t calling him Timmy with Hugo absent.

I leaned my head back on the cushy leather seat and closed my eyes. I had so much work to do. I screamed inside,
I HAVE TWO, COUNT THEM, TWO POSSIBLE CLIENTS
!

I opened my eyes to be sure I hadn’t let anything slip out for real. Timmy watched the road, not me. Good. I closed my eyes again until I heard Timmy’s voice.

“Miss Maisy, you’re home.”

I sat up. “Thanks so much. I’m sorry for the extra work.”

He looked in the rearview mirror. “Not a problem.” But he didn’t get out and offer to open my door.

I opened my own door and wondered if this lack of respect showed how he felt about me spending time with Hugo. But when I closed the door, the driver faded from my mind, and Derek Gattis slid in.

The rest of the weekend flew by in a blur. I called Derek’s number as soon as I got in the house. It turned out to be his manager’s number, but in this case, all the same. Derek, being a rookie, hadn’t quite learned the fine art of dressing like a real man, so his manager got in touch with me via Stella. Derek had been talking with Stella at the gala, and had his manager contact me.

So nice to have a willing client, and not one stuck in a self-loathing rut. Derek’s manager set up an appointment for his client, and I was told to meet him at his condo on Monday morning.

I spent the entire weekend brushing up on my men’s fashion education. Hugo being the slam dunk he was, because I could put him in a bath towel and he’d look better than he did dressed, didn’t give me any recent experience. I’d learned a little from Marla, but she hated working for men, so I pulled out my books and logged on to the ‘net and read and clicked and scrolled until my eyes grew heavy.

Periodically I’d check my phone, but nothing took my attention from the pressing task at hand.

Late Sunday night, my mom popped in.

“You still alive? You’ve barely been out of your room this weekend.” She walked in and sat on my bed.

I stopped scrolling the article I’d been reading. “I’m great, Mom. I’m preparing for a client meeting on Monday.”

She wiggled her brows. “Another Popovits?”

I couldn’t keep the excitement from my voice. “A Dallas Cowboy.”

She popped up off the bed and came over to look at my computer. “Who? Are you researching him?”

“Derek Gattis. He’s a rookie. Or was last year. I already researched him. Now I’m brushing up on my men’s fashion.” I pointed to all of the notes I’d taken and photos I’d printed out.

“Impressive. He’s that young, cute one.” she said.

“There’re a lot of cute young guys on the team.” I frowned at her.

“Everyone has their own fashion tastes, and maybe he won’t like what you picked.” She flipped through the pictures I’d printed off. “Maybe you’ll get a boyfriend out of it.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom.”I thought back to how Kelsey’s family didn’t approve of Hugo’s heritage. “But I don’t want a boyfriend right now. I have too much to do. I can’t afford to get distracted.”

“Whatever. I hope he loves your taste. And I hope you make him look like a gazillion bucks.” She slapped the pictures back on the desk. “Your livelihood depends on it. And the young ballplayers tend to have better social lives, so your work will get more coverage.”

I smiled at that. I didn’t know much about the social lives of football players, but I’d like to know more. I thought about how cool it would be to be seen with Derek in a store together. He did attract the photogs. Maybe people would think we’re dating.
Who’s this new girl?
the headlines would read. And I laugh all the way to the bank. Or look like a slut, because I’d just been snapped kissing Hugo.

I closed my computer, set an alarm on my phone for seven in the morning, then put on Pandora radio. Tuning into a jazz station, I put my phone on “do not disturb” and crawled under the covers on my bed.

Monday morning, I awoke before the alarm, spent extra time with my hair, using the flat iron to curl into ringlets, and steam ironed my outfit for the day.

I’d picked something comfortable, in case we went shopping. The chic, lightweight ivory dress I’d picked had a bold abstract floral print and relaxed shape. The ideal dress for this outing. And the sleek point-toe flats in a glossy patent-leather with a double ankle strap teamed perfectly, especially the tiny gold lock charm on the buckle of the straps. I picked pearl earrings and a bright yellow cross body messenger bag as accessories.

I filled the bag with all of my research and felt guilty as I got in Hugo’s car to drive to my meeting with Derek. I couldn’t exactly show up in my jalopy and try to pull off a “successful personal stylist” vibe.

I’d set out my rates with Derek’s manager, hoping I didn’t price myself out of a job, but he didn’t flinch, just said he’d pay half up front, and I needed to send him an invoice. Since I didn’t know what half would be, I requested a thousand-dollar retainer, and I’d bill him for the rest or refund the balance. He said Derek would have a check for me when I arrived.

Derek opened the door to his condo himself. Unlike the billionaires, he didn’t have a butler, and a “man” who catered to him. Yet. Maybe when he went from a condo to a mansion, he’d get somebody.

Dressed in Dallas Cowboys nylon shorts that hung beyond his knees and a black tank top, I marveled at his muscles. Hugo’s body was fit, but Derek’s body was obnoxious in a breathtaking kind of way. Looking at him made me want to take Hugo up on the “anytime” offer at his private gym. Derek’s black wavy hair looked mussed, like he’d recently run his fingers through it. And his amber eyes melted me.

“Miss Maisy?” He opened the door wide.

“Mr. Gattis.” We shook hands.

“Derek, or we’re not going to get along very well.” He grinned, and that smile almost blinded me.

I liked him instantly.

“Your manager thinks you need a wardrobe makeover.” I didn’t want to get too familiar, I was the hired help, after all.
I think you look fine, really fine, just the way you are.
I mentally slapped myself for that thought.

“I’m the big and tall guy, so I hate shopping for clothes. I practically live in these.” He pulled at his shorts, and I tried to look only at his legs. His buff, freaking dark, freaking gorgeous legs.

“Let’s sit down and I’ll show you what I’ve come up with.”

We walked through his sparely furnished condo, painted in shades of gray. Really? Really? What was it with men and minimal furnishings and the color gray?

But he did have a very comfortable looking sectional with recliners, cup holders, and remotes built in. And on the wall? The largest flat screen TV I’d ever seen.

“That’s huge,” I said, admiring the TV as we passed.

He said, “Oh, that’s nothing. You should see the one in my movie room.”

This guy may not have Hugo beat in the money department, but he blew him out of the water in the TV and muscle department.
Focus, girl, focus.

We walked into the dining room, where Derek had a laptop open, and a pot of coffee on a warmer.

“I already ate before practice this morning, but I can get you something,” he offered.

“I’m good, but I’d love some coffee.” I drooled at the coffee pot.

“Black, cream, or cream and sugar?”

“I think I’ll take it black this morning,” I said. “I need it
strong
and
black
today.”

Oh, holy shit, what did I just say? I couldn’t look Derek in the eyes suddenly. I looked down, and then I realized where I had looked and I turned to face the table.

Derek smiled and said, “Yes, black is good.”

I blushed. Before I could make a bigger fool of myself, I put my messenger bag on the table and pulled out my prints.

Derek poured black coffee for both of us, then put creamer in his. “I like mine a little lighter, and sweeter.” He winked.

I sat down. Jumping right into business and ignoring his comment. “Do you have an aversion to tailors?”

“Taylors? Like Taylor Swift or Taylor Lautner?”

I frowned. “You don’t like Taylor Swift? I’m not sure I can work with this.”

He shrugged. “I like Swifty just fine. Lautner, not really my type. Too werewolfie for me.”

I laughed and shook my head. “T A I L O R, not T A Y L O R. If we find clothing you like, but they need to be tailored?”

“Well, in that case, no.”

“Do they make house calls? I’m pressed for time, and it’s hard enough to go shopping, much less make more appointments.”

“That can be arranged.” I spread out the outfits I thought would look good. “Neiman has a great selection for athletic men. We could start there.”

I hoped he wasn’t so rich that “off the rack” offended him.

“It depends. I’m on a budget.” He flipped through the pictures.

“Budget?” He’djust signed a ten-million-dollar bonus last year on top of his crazy salary.

“Look, I’m a wide receiver. I don’t know how long my career will last. I’m not blowing my money on clothes, when I could be investing for my future.” He slapped his huge hands over the papers.

I looked at him, stunned. My eyes wide, and my mouth agape. When I could finally find words, I said, “I think I love you.”

“Excuse me?” He moved slightly away from me, actually scooting his chair.

I laughed. “No, I mean, this is so smart. I’m not used to this mentality. I mean, just last week I paid twenty-two thousand dollars for a watch for a client. And the guy didn’t blink. This is refreshing.”

Derek leaned in. “Girl, you don’t have that much for my entire wardrobe. And I’ve got to pay your fees, too.”

“No worries. We’ll definitely start with Neiman. And we’ll purchase classic pieces, so you’ll be able to mix and match and look fresh.”

He ran his hands over his torso. “I already look fresh.”

I nodded. “Yes. You. Do.”

“And if you can improve on this, my dear, you’re a genius.”

I looked him dead on in the eyes and said, “I
am
a genius.”

He winked and said, “I think I love you.”

We both laughed.

“So, are we looking at just summer clothing? Or do we want to go with a year round wardrobe?”

“What’s the difference?”

I drank a sip of my coffee before answering. I rearranged the photos and pulled a few out.

“So, for summer, we’d be looking at lightweight fabrics: polo shirts, linen, a button down, and maybe even a wild print. For pants, I’d say khakis, linens again, and possibly tropical wool trousers.”

“My manager wants me to purchase a decent suit, or six.”

I pulled out a picture of an earthy colored gabardine suit. “This would be great for summer, and into early fall. Or we could go with a lighter shade in poplin.”

“Gorgeous, but you’re speaking French, or Portuguese, as far as I’m concerned. Say cotton or nylon, and I’ll understand.”

He made me smile. I liked this guy. Easy to work with so far, and funny. “The fabric names don’t matter. It’s more important that you like the look.”

“Not so sure about the print shirts, but we can look at some. The rest is cool.”

I continued. “Shoes could be casual slip-ons, deck shoes, or even Oxford lace-ups. I think the oxfords would look fabulous with this suit.” I put the two photos next to each other.

“You got taste, I’ll give you that.” He drank his coffee. “And I don’t want to just fit in, I want to stand out. But not look like a dick doing it.”