Various States of Undress: Virginia (12 page)

There was silence for a moment. “Since you're doing your best, I'll do my best. Of course I'll trust you. Love you.”

“I love you too, Mom. Talk to you soon.” Virginia hung up and exhaled through gritted teeth. At least that was over. She didn't feel like skipping around, but she felt a little bit better—and she needed to put on a bright face before walking into Lilah's. Which was just a couple of blocks away. Shit. Plunging her hand into her bag, she pulled out a mirror and snapped it open. Wonderful—death warmed over, that was her. Too late to fix it too. Well, maybe a little lip gloss. She swiped it on quickly and practiced a smile in the mirror. As the driver pulled to the curb, she quickly adjusted the neckline of her silk top and rearranged the loops of thin silver chains around her neck.

Silent jumped out and went inside as Muscles opened her door. “Ready?” he asked.

“Yep.” Virginia gathered her courage and then sailed out, her laptop bag looped over her shoulder. “I'll check to make sure Dex set up an office for you two to hang out in,” she told him. And then because she couldn't help it—“Are you guys still mad at me?”

Muscles's lips quirked up under his bushy moustache. “Naw. We're over it. Good luck on your first day.”

“Thanks, Muscles. I'm going to need it because this is the first full-time job I've had since I scooped ice cream in high school.”

“You had all those internships after college,” Muscles reminded her. “Don't those count?”

“Depends on who you ask. Just don't ask my mother.”

He laughed in response and held the door for her. She walked in with a grin on her face and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light; then she peered up at the ceiling. Jeez, she couldn't wait to fix the gloom—track lighting was one of the first things to get set up. There was a tap-tap sound on the marble floor, and Virginia glanced down to find Ruston striding toward her with a haughty look on his face.

“Good God,” she muttered. “Into the fire I go.”

“Pardon?” He peered over the edge of his glasses.

“Good morning. How are you today?” If she'd thought two seconds about it this morning, she wouldn't have chosen platform sandals. Being a head taller than Ruston definitely wasn't going to help put them on an even playing field.

“I'm well and I hope you are too,” he said in a slightly begrudging tone. “You're early.”

“Yes. Is, ah, Dex here by chance?”

“In his office.” Ruston adjusted his cuff links and pursed his lips. “I'm assuming you want to see him right away?”

She did. In fact, she wanted to sprint for the elevator, but she needed to break the ice with Ruston first. “Not necessarily. If you have the time—” she looked around at the sales floor, empty of customers, and then at the clerks in smocks, who stared back—“maybe you could take me on a tour.”

Ruston clacked his teeth together a few times and looked up, as if he were thinking. “Hmm. I could spare a moment, I suppose, but we must dash.”

Virginia followed him, biting her lip to keep from laughing. Dash where? In circles like a dog chasing its tail? Because that's what Ruston reminded her of in his brown suit, brown glasses, and dyed brown hair—he was just like Peanut, the sleek little dachshund her dad doted on. Ruston was the spitting image of the First Dog. Peanut had a pointy noise too. A giggle rose up and she coughed to cover it.

“Yes?” Ruston whipped around, his palms pressed against the front of his suit. Kind of like Peanut—who put his paws up when he wanted his belly scratched. Oh no. She was going to laugh. Widening her eyes, she made a fist and coughed into it, but the laugh came out anyway. Damn! She hadn't thought of Peanut in weeks—why now? But the more she thought about the little dog, the more similarities she found between him and Ruston—and the harder she had to try to stop the laughter. Finally, she gave up and let it out. Ruston glared at her in disbelief, and a couple of white-smocked clerks who had been listening turned away, pretending to be busy.

“I'm so sorry,” Virginia gasped. “Do you ever have one of those moments when something pops into your head out of the blue and you can't get it out?” He didn't answer, so she kept going. “You know, like at a funeral or something—when you know the worst possible thing to do would be to laugh, which makes you want to laugh even more?”

“Lilah's is like a . . . funeral?” Ruston asked.

“No! I wasn't making a comparison . . .” She waved a hand. “Not at all. Please, show me the store.”

With a sniff, Ruston wheeled back around and pointed to cases on either side of him as if he were giving a flight attendant's demonstration. “Belts.” Then he gestured to a tall, potato-shaped clerk guarding the area. “This is Doris. She's the accessories manager.” Doris didn't appear at all amused, and even though she smiled, her eyes glittered under wiry black brows.

Smockzilla
, Virginia thought—and then panic set in again as more giggles threatened. What was wrong with her? She'd already screwed up by randomly laughing like a lunatic. Just because she was nervous didn't mean that she had to give in to nervous laughter. She needed to suck it up and start acting professionally. “Nice to meet you, Doris,” she said quickly and then peered at the neat rows of perfectly boring belts. “Oh. These are nice.”

“Moving on, we have scarves,” Ruston said. She trailed after him and glanced down through the glass case. The scarves were hideous—the majority of them polyester and all of them patterned with huge flowers. She tried not to react, but she must have sucked in a breath because Ruston looked over his shoulder at her. “They aren't to your taste?” he asked, not stopping to hear her answer. “Our customers aren't interested in couture, Miss Fulton. They want accessories that are pretty, well-priced, and practical. None of them would be interested in, let's say, a six-hundred-dollar Hermès scarf.”

Virginia knew plenty of people who had several, but she merely nodded and lowered her voice. “Thanks for the information, but in the future we will have to offer more variety in accessories. I'm not suggesting that it all be couture, by the way.” Before he could respond, she pointed to the shelves containing rows of purses. “For instance, I see that you do have a nice color selection in bags, but they are all relatively the same shape and very few have any bling.”
Translation: blocky, boring butt-ugly old-lady purses
, she wanted to add, but didn't.

Ruston flapped his hands on his chest again. “Bling? Our customers know what they want, and, more important, I know what they want. So does Doris.”

Virginia glanced over at the woman, who was patting her impossibly red corkscrew curls. “Did you or Doris ever think about offering them things they didn't know they wanted but just might purchase? Old ladies deserve a chance to put a little zing in the wardrobe. And who knows, they might surprise you.” She grinned.

“What an interesting insight. Have you met any of our customers?”

Oh boy. This wasn't going well. “No,” she allowed, “but I'm looking forward to it. And I can't wait to see what they do when they have more options.”

“Me either,” Ruston said. “But perhaps we should continue our tour.”

They could, but it wouldn't do either of them any good. “Perhaps later,” she answered. Later meaning when he was at lunch and she would be free to browse and make notes—and probably make a few faces too. She'd just make sure Doris wasn't looking.

“As you wish.” Ruston hesitated for a moment and then held out a hand. “Welcome to Lilah's, Miss Fulton.”

Virginia shook it warmly. “Thank you, but please call me Virginia.”

“That will be fine.” His tone told her that he probably wouldn't ever call her anything but Miss Fulton.

“So, I can call you . . . Russ?”

“You may
not
, if you please.” He gestured toward the elevator, and she followed, rolling her eyes at his back. What was it going to take to break through his frosty exterior?

“Oh. Good to know. Thanks for the tour . . . Rusty?”

He shook his head vehemently. “Ruston only. Thank you.”

Eddie, who stood by the elevator waiting, let out a loud laugh. “I call him Rusty all the time.”

“And I don't answer to it,” Ruston muttered. He looked up at Virginia. “The fall orders are on your desk. Feel free to,” he winced, “make adjustments as you see fit.”

“Thank you,” she said gently. Glancing over at Muscles, she nodded when he signaled that he'd hang back to observe customers. Charlie had already gone upstairs, but poor Muscles—he was going to be bored. Virginia wasn't—not with Dex waiting for her. Sucking in a breath, she stepped into the elevator, and Eddie started talking—a constant patter like the day before. Her stomach began to tingle as the elevator arrived at her floor, and she took another deep breath when Eddie pulled back the accordion door. “Thanks. See ya later,” she said brightly.

“Yes, you will. Hey, remind Dex, okay?” Eddie grinned.

Remind him of what? Oh shit. She hadn't been listening to a word, and it must have shown on her face, because Eddie slapped his thigh and let out a short bark of a laugh. “Tell him to behave himself.”

Virginia felt her face go hot and she nodded, throwing him a wave as she walked down the hall. What did Eddie think Dex was going to do—chase her around a desk? She shivered at the thought because all she could envision was the heat that had been in Dex's eyes yesterday before he'd kissed her. She shivered again as she remembered the heat of his hands on her breasts, caressing her through the silk of her bra. He'd called her sweetheart. Every time she thought about that single word, spoken in his deep, smooth tone, she wanted him more, and by the time she was a few feet from her office door, her face wasn't the only thing that was hot. Her skin tingled, her lips buzzed with anticipation; when Dex stepped into the hall, she took a hitching breath. “Hey,” she said, the air kind of wheezing out of her lungs.

He grinned. “Hey yourself. You're out of breath. Did you take the stairs?”

“Uh . . . no.” She looked down at her totally cute but very chunky platform sandals. “Not in these shoes.”

Dex laughed and then waved at Silent, who stood tapping a pen on the side of a door frame. “I'll be here if you need anything,” Silent said and then went inside the office next to Virginia's. Suddenly, she felt self-conscious. Dex was staring at her, after all—could he sense the lust rolling off of her? “Maybe I should check to see if my agent is comfortable,” she said.

“Already taken care of.” Dex walked forward. “You're early. Couldn't wait to get started?”

Couldn't wait to stare at your mouth is more like it
. And she was, wasn't she? Virginia averted her gaze and laughed uncomfortably. What the hell was wrong with her? She was the queen of flirtation when she was out partying. But here—with Dex—it was kind of like flirting with dynamite. Only a fool would do that. She didn't want to be a fool today, so she took a calming breath. “Yeah, I was up early, so I thought—why wait until this afternoon, you know? I brought my plans.” She patted the laptop bag slung over her shoulder and willed herself to calm down.

He whistled. “Louis Vuitton? That's nice. You do travel in style, Virginia.”

“I enjoy it. But I'll tell you a little secret.” He leaned in close and she swallowed. “Uh, designers sometimes just give me things.” She shrugged and her shoulder connected with his chest. “Oops, sorry.”

“I'm not.” He leaned closer to her, bracing his shoulder against the wall. “You were saying?”

What had she been saying? “Oh, they want me to be seen wearing their products. And since their products are gorgeous, I don't mind a bit. Movie stars do it all the time.”

“I've heard that, and I'm not judging.” Dex shifted away from the wall and touched the small of her back. “In fact, now that you mention stars, I have a proposal for you. Let's go to your office.”

If the proposal involved him laying her down on the top of the gigantic desk and kissing her until she
saw
stars, she was all for it.
“Stop,”
she mouthed to herself and allowed him to guide her through the doorway. “What do you have in mind?” she asked neutrally.

“Well, first of all, do you like your office?” He gestured in a sweeping motion.

Blinking, Virginia looked around. The walls were painted a deep sky blue and had been hung with framed modern art prints in hues of red and orange. Burgundy velvet drapes, pulled back to let the sun stream in, hung at the huge windows, and in a corner, there was a sitting area complete with a sofa, standing lamp, and an armchair. It was fun and energetic—yet sensual at the same time. “It's . . . perfect.” She looked up at him through her lashes. “Why did you hire me again? Because you obviously already know about style. Is your office this nice too?”

He laughed. “No. But I have a private bathroom with a shower.” He stared at her for a second, and Virginia could have sworn he was thinking what she was thinking, but then he shrugged. “I hired a designer. But I did tell her what I wanted. Does that count toward having style?” His gaze swept over her face and then lower.

“It does.” She set her bag on the edge of the desk and walked to the sofa, running her hand over the soft pink fabric. “Thank you. I'm sure I'll be very comfortable here.”

“Good. And I want you to feel comfortable. You're free to experiment with product placement on the sales floor or . . . whatever else might help smooth the transition to the new Lilah's.” He flashed a grin, and then that look crossed his face—the one that told her he felt vulnerable. “So, are you ready to hear my proposal?” Nodding, Virginia smoothed the back of her pencil skirt and sat on the sofa—or more like sank into it—and crossed her legs.