many annoying nervous habits. It feels like control is being stripped from me and I don’t like it. At least Beck isn’t behind any of this bullshit. And as much as I’d like to tell Rachel what she can do with her opinion, she was one of the few people who was kind to Beck when he was left alone by his dad as a kid. There’s a lot to consider.
But do I want to fit in with his family? That’s the question.
I definitely don’t want him to think I’m here for his money. However, I don’t want to reflect badly on Beck, either. This is the truth of the matter. And tensions are indeed running high. God knows what he’s going through dealing with everything right now. God knows why exactly I’m even here. However, while I am, I want to be a good thing in his life. Something he doesn’t need to worry about.
She holds out the card with a sympathetic smile. “Every relationship requires compromise, I’m afraid.”
True enough. I’m just not sure about this particular one. The card is thicker, heavier than anticipated. I slip it into the inside pocket of my handbag for safekeeping. If money means power in this world, then I’m holding on to what little control I have. A cold wind slaps me in the face. The Rolls engine purrs to life and Rachel is gone. I hang my head back and look at the clear blue sky. Given how my day is going, it’s amazing a passing bird doesn’t just shit on me. Honestly.
“Hi,” I say to the waiting dynamic shopping duo. They’re so sophisticated. Bet they sit front row at fashion shows. “I’m Alice. Um, I don’t know what you’ve been told, but just a couple of outfits will be more than enough. No need to overdo it, right?”
They share a silent look.
I’m sequestered in a changing room larger than my apartment. It has plush white carpet with a couple of matching sofas, and ginormous gilt-edged framed mirrors. People rush back and forth fetching lingerie, shoes, evening gowns, active wear, and everything in between. Not all of the outfits fit. I won’t even try all of the suggested outfits on (beige people shouldn’t wear beige). However, we’ve managed to find a few different things that work. There’s a garment rack full of rejected outfits, another of possibly maybes, and half a rack of yes please.
And in walks the woman Beck admitted to avoiding at the wake. Yikes.
“Not bad,” she says, looking me over before directing a young man to deposit a collection of shopping bags from various stores to one side of the room.
Considering the amount of Spanx I’m currently wearing and the fact that I can barely breathe, you’d think I’d at least earned a solid good. The black Oscar de la Renta–pleated stretch-wool midi dress I have on is nothing short of beautiful and I wish to be buried in it. Same goes for the leather booties. So maybe despite all of my protestations and fears about selling out, I like expensive-people fashion sometimes after all. Label me a hypocrite.
I am, however, done for the day. Normally I like shopping. I even love it. But three hours of people trying to convince me I’d look great in neo-mint (whatever that is), yolk yellow, and electric blue, before attempting to sell me on feathers, puffy power shoulders (while I respect Anne of Green Gables it’s a hard no from me), and a silk boiler suit, is a lot. More than I can handle, apparently. I won’t be coerced or bullied into getting anything that doesn’t feel like me. And while the personal shoppers aren’t happy, that’s not my problem.
“Hi,” I say. “I’m Alice.”
Her gaze jumps to mine. “Sorry. Selah. Nice to meet you. We crossed paths briefly at the wake. You might not remember.”
“I remember.”
A nod and she looks away. “I’m Rachel’s assistant. She sent me over to check on how everything was going.”
“Fine. I think we’re about finished.”
Nothing from her.
“What line of business is Rachel in, by the way?” I ask, curious.
“It’s her department store you’re standing in,” answers Selah. “Or rather, her family’s.”
Holy shit.
Everyone’s heard of the Mac Department Stores, though there’s only a few of them in the country. Mac is where the seriously rich shop. Before today, I’d never even bothered stepping foot inside one. A solid choice, considering the dress I’m wearing costs over five thousand dollars. The personal shoppers tried to get me to