“Don’t repeat that mistake. Mr. Brody won’t be at Blake Genetics much longer. I cannot retain sales associates who don’t meet their performance metrics.”
Samantha started to speak, to defend Ryan, but caught herself. Mr. Putnam could do whatever he wanted with his company, his employees. And Ryan was a jerk.
Mr. Putnam dropped her file folder on top of the pile on his desk and sat back down as she stood awkwardly in front of him. She could feel herself get hot.
“Here’s a credit card,” he said, sliding the black card across the glass desk.
“Your stylist will have outfits pulled to choose from.”
“My what?”
“Make sure the labels are something to brag about,” he waved his hand dismissively towards the door.
Who would have ever thought they’d hear a man say that, Samantha thought dimly as she stared at the black card? Her father had complained about her mother’s trips to Costco and Target, and that had been before their financial difficulties. She didn’t even know American Express offered a Black Card. Stunned, she tried to convince her feet to move.
“I expect you back to the office by three this afternoon. Shopped and packed.” Mr. Putnam said. “Naturally I expect your complete discretion about our work meetings this weekend.”
He picked up the telephone, another signal for her to leave.
Samantha nodded, but still she stood rooted, staring at the card, trying to figure out what this work weekend really meant. It couldn’t mean what she feared it might mean. That was impossible, right? She was being paranoid. She’d only even seen Mr. Putnam once at a meeting, and that had been at a long table with more than a dozen other people. This was an opportunity. A business opportunity. He picked her out of a stack of folders.
“This way, Ms. Jones,” Marlene said.
Samantha startled out of her daze. She hadn’t realized the office door was open, nor that Marlene stood waiting—poised, sleek, elegant and detached.
“Right,” she said, even though nothing seemed right about this situation. She turned and hurried after Marlene not even hearing his office door swing shut behind her.
S
amantha sat enveloped
in luxury in the back of the Blake Genetics limo in a state of shock. Monday of this week she’d been dumped by her college boyfriend Ryan via text message. She’d helped get him the sales job at Blake Genetics and now he’d repaid her by hooking up with an administrative assistant in sales. She’d been focusing on her career and dreaming of their wedding while he’d been playing around.
And now just three days later, this, whatever this was. She ran her finger along a seam in the black leather seat. She wasn’t completely sure what
this
entailed, but wherever they were going, she intended to prove just how valuable she was to Blake Genetics. Samantha knew she could help him nail the Daycon presentation. He viewed her as an asset to his company. This weekend could be her chance to tell him about her special project.
Marlene never looked up from whatever she was typing on her tablet.
“Oh, my purse,” Samantha remembered in dismay. “My phone.”
“Not necessary,” Marlene’s cool voice washed over her, and made her feel about ten again. “And don’t even think about posting anything about this weekend on Facebook. I’m sure you know that.”
“Of course,” Samantha said indignantly, although she had been thinking that she would post pictures of scenery if they were going anywhere beautiful. “I would never compromise anything of a work related nature.”
Marlene did look up then, eyeing Samantha with a blank expression. “Of course you won’t post anything dear. That would ruin your future here.”
What was the deal? Was Marlene threatening her? Did everyone who hung around Blake Putnam lose their humanity, their emotions? Or did they just hide everything better than she did?
“This is all work related, right?” She asked anxiously.
“Of course,” Marlene finally said, and though her expression didn’t change, Samantha felt a strong vibe of frustration. “Why would you even think anything else?”
Marlene slid out of the limo as soon as the driver opened the door. Samantha hadn’t even realized the limo had stopped.
“This is the most exclusive boutique in the city. Raymond and I will tell you what you need. Remember, enjoy yourself, dear.”
The bright May sunshine briefly blinded Samantha as she followed Marlene out of the car, still clutching the credit card and the note pad in her hands. The uniformed driver tipped his hat to her closing the door behind her. She would have pinched herself if her hands weren’t full. She was standing in front of the clothing boutique featured in every fashion magazine in the city, probably the East Coast. Every wealthy woman in the city tried to get photographed wearing something from Andrea’s. It was guaranteed to make the society pages. And she was about to go inside, and even own an outfit from there.
“We will have lunch here,” Marlene said, finally pausing long enough for Samantha to catch up. “I’ve arranged a duplicate of all your toiletries and have purchased a luggage set. The Andrea’s team has selected some ensembles for you to choose from, based on your measurements and hair and skin coloring.”
Samantha had to force herself not to say something sarcastic about the beauty of freedom of choice. She was still stuck on the ‘duplicate toiletries.’
“Welcome to Andrea’s Miss Jones!” said a man and woman who held the double doors open and hurried her inside.
“Samantha, you’re even lovelier than the photos,” the man said, hugging her around the shoulders. “I’m Raymond, dear, here to help you select everything you need for your weekend.”
Despite her dismay that somehow he’d seen photos of her, Samantha liked Raymond immediately. His eyes sparkled, and his smile lit up the room. He wore all black, as if on the Putnam payroll, but on him, it seemed friendly.
The woman who had opened the door for her wore a red baseball cap and gray sweatpants and sweatshirt. She didn’t seem like someone who would work in a sophisticated, expensive boutique, but really, Samantha mentally shrugged, what did she know? Marlene immediately drew the baseball-capped woman aside and they were deep in conversation in the corner of the boutique.
Samantha took a moment to look around the sophisticated store. The walls were all white, the floors gray cement and the ceilings two stories high. Clothing racks and metal and glass display cases were sprinkled throughout the large room, as were elegant sitting areas of white and brown leather. Lighting hung on metal cords, perfectly illuminating each area, presenting the clothing items as art, which she supposed they were. Glass vases were filled with yellow orchids, adding the only color to the environment aside from the clothing. The shop reminded Samantha of Mr. Putnam’s office, and she wondered if he owned the place.
“Walk with me,” Raymond said, wrapping an arm through Samantha’s and guiding her to a seating area. “You need some champagne, it will take the shock off, my darling. You were only just told about this trip this morning, right?”
Raymond returned with a flute of champagne and a crystal glass filled with ice water. “Drink up, my dear, and I’ll begin showing you all the goodies.”
Samantha gulped the champagne. She didn’t realize she was so thirsty. As Raymond refilled the flute, he whispered, “Pace yourself, dear.”
She leaned back in the couch, and finally, took a deep breath.
“Outfit One, is for this afternoon. A traveling ensemble. Simple black linen dress from Herve Leger – much more breathable than that work shift dear, although I like your thinking – paired with these sexy Michael Kors black sandals. We’ll pull your hair back in a low pony, tie it with this black Chanel scarf, pop these perfect pearl studs in your ears and voila, my little Audrey Hepburn is born!”
Samantha laughed, for the first time all day. “I love it all,” she said, and realized as she tried to stand up to hug him that the champagne had gone straight to her head. “Whoa,” she said, sitting down quickly.
“You just stay seated dear. I only need you to try the evening options. I’ve narrowed it down to three, but you will need only two,” Raymond said, his black eyes twinkling.
“Why do I need evening wear?” Samantha asked, startled. “And let’s not go crazy. A couple pieces I can mix and match and one night outfit is more than enough for a weekend. I’m really simple.”
“Yes, dear, I see you have the whole J. Crew vibe going,” Raymond said. “But it’s time to step up your game. You’re going to be surrounded by very wealthy people. You will have twelve different ‘looks’, dear.”
“Twelve?”
Samantha banged down her champagne flute.
“Naturally, dear. Boss’ orders. Just say ‘thank you, Sir’ and enjoy, know what I mean?”
“Well, yes, I guess,” Samantha said, feeling more uncomfortable with this situation every time Raymond opened his mouth. “Do you know where I am going?”
“Nope,” Raymond said and turned back toward his assistant who was taking another set of clothes off a wheeled in rack. “Outfit Two.”
“This is so overwhelming,” Samantha interrupted. “So
Pretty Woman
–ish. I mean, I have my own clothes. I’m sort of on trend, right?” she asked pointing to herself.
“Girl, you’re 23. Gorgeous. Fit. Perfect little body. But, you’re working hard for the money. Mr. Putnam, he’s got more than he needs. If he’d like to buy you some ‘business’ clothes, let him,” Raymond said, using the air quotes around business and making Samantha blush. “Outfit Three.”
Samantha wasn’t a fool. Did they all think she was? When men buy younger women things there usually are strings attached, especially when the older man is the boss. What had she gotten herself into? Who wears evening clothes at a business conference? How had she gotten herself into this mess? She’d never even spoken to Mr. Putnam before this morning, much less let him think she was interested. Or available. She stamped down the memory of the shot of electricity when they’d shaken hands. She needed to call this whole thing off. Could she and still keep her job? Samantha picked at her fingernail polish and ignored Raymond’s rhapsodies about Outfits Two and Three.
“Samantha, this is Judy, your stylist,” Marlene said, waving Raymond off. “She’ll be doing hair and makeup, photographing you in each outfit so you’ll know how to accomplish the looks on your own this weekend. Expect a lot of humidity, Judy,” Marlene added.
“I packed her a lot of hairspray,” Judy answered, grinning down at Samantha, a smile so broad her gums showed top and bottom, the red of her mouth matching her red baseball cap.
“I know how to fix my hair,” Samantha said, annoyed that they were treating her like a doll.
Judy looked amused.
“Ta da!” Raymond said, reappearing from behind the curtain holding a wonderful and simple outfit. Samantha smiled.
“White AG jeans, tight to show off that perfect little body, a James Pearse fitted light blue shirt. Big bangle jewelry. These great gray booties from Stuart Weitzman. These gorgeous diamond and rose gold A Link small cloud diamond earrings – to die for, am I right?”
Raymond handed her the gorgeous earrings and Samantha saw the price tag – $4,450 for the earrings alone.
“No, Marlene, I can’t,” Samantha said, standing up, finally able to walk to where Marlene and Judy stood packing a travel bag full of brand new makeup. “No, this is too much.”
She held out the earrings as if they were an explosive.
“Judy, excuse us,” Marlene said and pulled Samantha over to the far wall of the store. “Look young lady. This,” her sweeping gesture included the entire room. “Is what Mr. Putnam wants. What he expects. It’s what you agreed to. You are living every woman’s dream, you are living my dream, and boosting your career. I suggest you pull yourself together and enjoy the moment.”
She stared into Samantha’s eyes, her tone softened. “I know this is overwhelming dear, but truly, you should try to relax. It’s business, Mr. Putnam’s way. Don’t disappoint him. Be thankful. Lunch will be served in an hour.”
Marlene patted Samantha on the shoulder and walked away. Samantha stood alone, humiliated and confused. This is what I signed up for she reasoned. But she still wasn’t clear on what “this” entailed. It was so over the top. Samantha leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. She had to get a grip.
Something Raymond had said, burbled into her consciousness. There were going to be a lot of wealthy people there. But he didn’t know where or who.
“There must be a reason Mr. Putnam wants me to look a certain way, to dress a certain way,” Sam said under her breath.
A sudden thought struck her.
Maybe this is actually the deal negotiation he is bringing me to, not just the practice
, she realized. Yes, that was it. Nothing inappropriate. It was business. She was representing Blake Genetics. She would need to look her best, to dress like a top executive on a weekend business conference. She could do this, accept these gifts because it would help seal the deal. And she could wear them during other work events. Mr. Putman was making an investment in her.
“Ok Raymond,” Samantha said, strutting across the room in an attempt to channel an inner diva she never thought she’d need. “Bring it on. Outfit Four I think. I can’t wait to see what I get next!”
“That a girl!” Raymond said, kissing her on both cheeks. “Let’s do evening wear, since you’re in the mood. Follow me to the dressing room. We’ve been instructed to photograph you in each look! This will be so fun!”
Samantha tried on a strapless bias ruffle Oscar de la Renta floor length gown – light blue to match her eyes, according to Raymond – price $7,000 according to tag – that fit her perfectly. She’d never felt like a princess before. The diamond studs and simple diamond choker complimented the dress perfectly. And she now owned her first pair of Christian Louboutin heels, thank you Mr. Putnam.
Samantha gave her practical side the rest of the morning off as she approved, if that were the word for it, a wonderful Tadashi Shoji sleeveless scallop-neck and hem cocktail dress in a vibrant blue – to make her eyes more intense, according to Raymond – price $500, according to tag – that also fit perfectly.