Here I Am (Arabesque) - By Rochelle Alers Page 0,34
call placed by Brandt Wainwright, lasting less than a minute, had granted her door-to-door service. She entered the store, exchanging a smile with a well-dressed clerk with expertly coiffed streaked hair. It was impossible for Ciara to pinpoint her age; it was obvious the attractive woman had been nipped and tucked to perfection.
“Good afternoon. I’m Rebekah, and is there anything I can assist you with, Miss…?”
“Dennison,” Ciara said. “I need the de rigueur little black dress.”
Rebekah’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. When the store manager told her Brandt Wainwright’s girlfriend was coming into the store, she hadn’t expected the tall, slender, bespectacled woman wearing jeans, a white tee and black leather mules. Her thick, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
“Day or evening?” the saleswoman asked.
“It’s evening. But it’s going to be casual.”
“Please come with me, Miss Dennison. I believe I have something that will meet with your approval.”
Ciara nodded when she saw the black cotton asymmetric dress with a draped shoulder. It was not only simple, but elegant. It was perfect. Rebekah also had a good eye, because when she slipped the dress over Ciara’s body it was as if it had been made for her, skimming her curves and ending at the knee.
Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she studied the back of the dress. “I’ll take it.”
Rebekah pressed her palms together. There was nothing better than a quick and easy sale. She pointed to Ciara’s bare feet. “Do you need shoes?”
Ciara wiggled her toes, thankful there were no chips in the raspberry polish. “Yes.”
“How about peep-toe?” Rebekah asked, staring down at her groomed feet. “Your dress is simplistic chic, so your footwear can be just a little bit sexy.”
“How sexy are you talking about?”
“An almost five-inch stiletto sexy,” the saleswoman crooned.
Five-inch heels would put her at the six-foot mark. Whenever she’d gone out with Victor, she had been careful not to wear shoes in which she would tower above him. She hadn’t been able to understand why, for all his brilliance, he’d had insecurities too numerous to count.
But it would be different with Brandt. He was six-five and she five-seven, and although they wouldn’t be seen together publicly, just knowing he was taller was a comfort. “Please let me see what you’re talking about.”
Minutes later Rebekah returned, dangling a black satin platform slingback with an origami bow at the peep-toe. Ciara recognized the shoe’s designer because of the distinctive signature red leather sole.
“What do you think?”
Ciara’s smile was dazzling. “Do you have them in five and a half?”
“I’m certain I do.”
The heels complemented the dress, while flattering her legs and feet. “I’ll take the dress and the shoes.”
Rebekah’s smile matched her client’s. “I’ll pack up everything for you.”
Less than forty minutes after walking through the doors of the Madison Avenue shop, Ciara walked out. The driver placed her purchases in the trunk after opening the rear door for his passenger.
Slumping against the leather seat, she closed her eyes. The style of Christian Louboutin stiletto she’d chosen was called Miss ChaCha. She wasn’t going out dancing, but standing in as hostess to Brandt Wainwright when he entertained his family.
She knew her role and responsibilities were becoming more complex—unorthodox, yet it’d had a profound effect on her patient. Brandt was no longer the sullen, grumpy man who’d fired nurses, refused to eat or cooperate with his medication regimen. Getting him mentally ready in his recovery was as important as his walking again.
The driver maneuvered along the curb in front of the high-rise and the doorman came over to open the door. He took the garment and shopping bag from the driver, carrying them into the building for Ciara. He gave them to her before activating the elevator that would take her directly to the penthouse.
The doors opened and she came face-to-face with Brandt. She hadn’t left until after he’d showered, changed his clothes and eaten lunch. “Hey, you,” she said, smiling.
Brandt returned her smile. “Hey. How was shopping?”
“Splendid.” Reaching into the back pocket of her jeans, she handed him the credit card. “Thanks.”
“Did you get everything you wanted?”
“Not everything.”
“What didn’t you get?” Brandt asked.
“There was a diamond necklace in the window at Tiffany’s that would’ve been the perfect accessory,” Ciara said, deadpan.
“Do you want me to call Tiffany’s and have it delivered?”
Leaning over, Ciara kissed Brandt’s clean-shaven cheek. “I’m joking.”
His eyes met hers, darkening with an emotion that frightened him in its intensity. Brandt wanted his nurse in the most intimate way possible, and he’d spent the time