way he emphasizes the word enthusiastic. But I have no idea what it is.
"You were saying?" I have Google. I can look up necklaces and pearls. But I'm not sure I want to know. "About the clothes?"
"Yes, Eve. Thank you." He motions to the boutique on our right.
A bright, open shop with three mannequins in the window. One in a fabulous red dress. Another in a more elegant black number. The third in a jumpsuit. All very trendy and cool. Dressed up enough to blend without looking stuffy.
"I'd hate to dress you like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's," he says. "Not that I dress anyone. I facilitate. The women here will help outfit you in exactly what you need."
"What do I need?" I ask.
"Are they going to a gala or something?" Addie asks. "It was just dinner with his friend, no?"
"Yes, Thursday it's dinner with Mr. And Mrs. Marlowe. But there are other events. Other dinners. Galas even. Mr. Hunt has a busy social calendar and he'd like Ms. Miller… Eve to be prepared, should he request her company," Lock says.
He wants me around. If he decides he wants me around later.
Is the hesitation Lock's lack of information? Or is Ian just… playing things by ear? Is he going to toss me aside the second he fucks me?
The thought shouldn't bother me—four-hundred grand is four-hundred grand—but it does.
Addie looks to me with concern in her eyes. "How old is he?"
I clear my throat. "That's not important."
Her blue eyes go wide. "Now, I know it is."
"Marisol is twenty." I'm not helping my case.
Glare fills her eyes. For a second. Then it's gone. Replaced with disappointment. Addie doesn't get angry. She jumps straight to disappointed. And right now—
Lock saves me. "Ms. Miller, I'm happy to discuss Mr. Hunt with you—this information is all very easy to find—but after we help your sister find a few gowns. She's welcome to wear something from her closet. But Mr. Hunt would like her to feel comfortable. And some of the people in his social circle… certain styles read as bold. Others as clueless."
"And her current clothes are clueless?" Addie asks.
"It's okay, Addie." I follow Lock into the shop. "I felt it when I met him for dinner. Like I'd worn shorts to prom."
Curiosity streaks her expression. "You want to fit in?"
"Not exactly. More…"
"Sparkle," Lock offers. "Stand out for your luster, beauty, unique style. Not for your…"
"Cheap clothes?" I offer.
He chuckles. "New Yorkers are so blunt. It's charming."
"How long have you been in New York?" I ask.
"Enough I know you're typically more blunt. New Yorkers, that is. All you Yanks are so matter-of-fact. So I'll be matter-of-fact with you."
Something tells me his idea of matter-of-fact is not the same as mine.
Lock continues, "Mr. Hunt has never shown an interest in 'alternative' women before. But he's rather fixated on your punk rock style. He wants you to dress as you. At all times."
Addie shoots me an I know he means sex look.
I hide behind my purse.
"I'm here to help you blend… as much as you want. He'd happily bring you to dinner in this outfit." Lock chuckles knowingly. "Quite happily. Those shorts are cut rather high."
Addie's laugh melts the tension in her brow. "She does dress a bit provocatively."
"You're seriously a grandma," I say.
"I wish. I could sit with my cats and listen to orchestra all night. Teach my grandkids violin all day. It would be so relaxing," she says.
Lock smiles, charmed or pretending. He motions to the shop. "Take a moment to look around. I'm sure—"
A woman interrupts him. "Lock, is that you?" She steps into the main room. Turns to me. "I'm Cynthia. You must be Eve."
Everyone knows me. I'm kind of used to it. It comes with the unicorn hair color. It was the same at school last year. When I had time to go to parties, everyone knew me as the girl with teal hair. People I'd never met knew who I was.
I offer her my hand. "Yes."
She shakes with a steady grip. Cynthia looks like a former model. Tall, thin, with dramatic features and fashionable attire. Black pumps. Grey slacks. Ivory blouse. Measuring tape draped over her shoulders.
Dyed hair, yes, but a soft shade of blond.
She's dressed more like Addie (jean skirt, lilac blouse, white sandals). Not me.
Though this place—
I don't know what to make of it.
At a glance, it's a normal place in the Village. A small rack of designer jeans and blouses. Ordinary basics on the table in front.