Chapter 15 #2
"Oh." I perk right up. "Sorry, I was thinking about what I'm going to wear." The dress at Charlotte's comes to mind but there's no way I can afford it on such short notice and since Archer called me a spoiled brat, I don't think I'll be using his black card to pay for it.
"I'm sure I have something you can borrow," Grace suggests.
"What? No." Drew chimes in. "Let's go shopping." He tilts his expensive watch face toward him. "I have about forty-five minutes to spare. I think there are a few shops around here. What do you say?"
I look at him, unsure of what angle he's playing here. He doesn't know me, we met briefly, and I mean so briefly I'm surprised he recognized me in the daylight.
"My treat," he adds. "Really. I mean, I'm asking you out, the least I could do is make sure everything is taken care of."
"Damn," Grace mutters with a grin. "You two have fun. I've got to go."
"It was so great to meet you," Drew says to her.
Grace makes her way to the door, motioning with her hand and mouthing for me to call her later.
"What do you say?" Drew asks once we're alone in this coffee shop full of people.
"What the hell," I snatch my bag off the table, "why not?"
Drew smiles, and it's so strangely wholesome. He guides me out, his hand on my lower back even as he opens the door. Once we're outside, he sticks his elbow out for me to hold on to. He's so fucking formal and chivalrous, and I should be swooning, but I don't feel anything at all.
"How's your day going?" he says to me while we walk down the sidewalk together.
"Oh, um, pretty well, thank you. What about you?"
"Better now." Drew winks at me and points ahead. "What about in there?"
The shop where the girls were bitches to me. A perfect place to walk into with a hot guy on my arm and his credit card prepped to get me whatever I want.
"Yeah, that works."
My chest flutters at the idea of showing him off, but then I remember the comment Archer made about me being a spoiled brat.
So what, maybe I am. At least I'm not a grumpy asshole.
"After you," Drew tells me, holding the door open. He follows me in, the store clerks flocking toward us without giving us time to even look around.
"Can I help you find anything today?" the blonde says to him, her eyelashes fluttering more than a normal rate. She doesn't take her eyes off him long enough to realize I'm the same girl from before. But I sure do recognize her.
"We need something for dinner," he tells her and glances down at me. "A dress, perhaps? Or whatever you're more comfortable in."
"A dress, yes," I confirm. "Long, though." I make a quick gesture to my casted leg.
"Formal? Casual?" The woman finally meets my gaze, her breath catching.
She coughs. "Excuse me, I'm so sorry. Had something stuck in my throat.
" Her eyes water and her cheeks redden, and I can't contain the happiness that floats through me.
It's pure fucking joy to witness her stumble over her words.
"We're going to Rao's," he tells her. "So maybe something with a sleek elegance to it, but not too formal."
"I have just the thing." She points toward the back of the shop. "If you'll just follow me."
We do, his hand on my back as I focus on not stumbling over my own feet. This cast is not easy to walk in, especially with the lopsided height difference with my shoes.
"What happened, by the way?" Drew whispers on our way over. "I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
"I'm clumsy," I lie. "Silly little accident."
"Are you okay?" he asks, genuine concern lining his question.
"Oh, I'm fine. Nothing to worry about. I should have these off in a couple of weeks." I hold out my arm and remember I still need to find a doctor around here who will see me and not drill me about information. How much do doctor visits cost?
"When dinner goes well, we'll have to plan something for when they're off. Maybe we can go dancing."
I tilt my head toward him. "Counting on it going well, are we?"
"A guy can hope, right?"
"What about this?" The clerk interrupts us to show off a pale-yellow long dress.
At first glance, it's pretty, but she and I both know damn well that redheads don't look good in pale colors. This bitch is trying to sabotage my outfit and still get a commission.
"Beautiful," Drew says, nothing wrong with his remark.
"How about something with a richer color?" I suggest, my tone neutral even though I'm considering strangling her with the straps of the yellow dress.
"We have this pink one over here." She strolls over to another soft palette dress, and I imagine fashioning the hanger into a point and stabbing her in the eye with it.
"Do you know anything about fashion?" I ask her.
"Excuse me?" she snaps back.
I want to explain to her that the colors she's picking out will do nothing but wash me out in the most unflattering way, to educate her on deeper colors, like dark green or browns. Hell, even a bubblegum pink would be better than the one she's trying to convince me of.
"How about this one?" I break off from Drew and trace my fingers along the delicate fabric of a dark purple dress, so dark it almost looks black. In the right light, it's a stunning shade of aubergine.
"Try it on," Drew encourages.
"Let me get that for you." The clerk cuts in front of me, snatching the hanger off the rack and turning toward the fitting rooms. "If you'll follow me."
Drew settles into a cozy chair in the back and waits patiently as I slip into one of the fitting rooms and start taking my clothes off. I suppress a curse when my top gets stuck on my cast and try not to get frustrated when it happens to my jeans, too.
The dress manages to cover my leg well, concealing it so you can't even tell I'm hiding anything underneath. My wrist is another thing, but unless I opt for a long-sleeved thing, I'm screwed. I'll have to make do with what I can.
The tag catches my eye and I reach for it, suppressing a gasp at the twelve-hundred-dollar price.
I can't expect this stranger to spend that much money, can I?
I mean, Archer bought me two designer bags, a pair of shoes, and a cell phone and we'd only known each other a week. Surely I could be okay with a dress.
I step out of the room and walk toward Drew, his eyes lighting up and sparkling bright.
"Wow," is all he says.
I do a spin, careful not to fall and hurt myself any more. "It might be a bit much," I tell him, not quite mentioning the hefty price tag.
"It's perfect…you're perfect." Drew stands, getting the attention of the clerk who's gossiping with another coworker. "We'll take this one, please." He slides her a silver credit card.
"You don't have to," I protest, despite very much wanting this dress. It's gorgeous, and I haven't felt this pretty since before.
"I insist." He swivels his finger in the air. "Do you want shoes? Accessories? Anything else?"
"No, I have shoes that would go great with this." The ones I picked up from Charlotte’s.
Drew doesn't bat an eye when the clerk brings him the card reader and finalizes the transaction. He taps the card on the receiver and returns it to his money clip.
I slip back into the dressing room, letting the dress slide off my shoulders and onto the floor.
I hang it up, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
The poor lighting casts the worst shadows on my already not-so-great appearance, deepening the shades of faded purple and green covering me.
I place my hand gently on my ribs, wincing at the soreness that's still present.
My gaze trails over the jagged scar on my stomach and the memory comes flooding back in.
It was a hot afternoon, and my father had been toying with his favorite pet.
That's what he called the girls that came to and from our house, and one of them was supposed to bear him a child—a son.
Having a daughter was pointless, he said.
He needed an heir. Someone to carry on the family name. Someone who wouldn't disgrace him.
Of course, he couldn't get a wife of his own, so he bribed and bargained for women who might be fertile enough to provide him with a baby.
It was disgusting and repulsive, but there wasn't anything I could do about it.
I spoke up a few times, questioning why he did what he did, but my words were met with his abuse, so I learned if I wanted to stay alive, I had to accept, or at the very least turn a blind eye, to his antics.
I always hated him; I don't ever remember a time when I didn't. And somehow, that hatred grew with each passing day. I fantasized about killing him, torturing him, even. I considered all the ways I could end his life—his threats making damn sure I never did.
He hurt me, sometimes when I didn't do anything to provoke it. He was like that, unpredictable and volatile, and after a while, I realized I had to just stay out of his way.
I felt bad for the girls that came into our house, some of them barely legal.
In the beginning, I tried to help them, to come up with elaborate plans to spike his drinks when I knew he'd be having them over in an attempt to subdue his abuse.
His wrath was inevitable, but I figured if I could help take the edge off, maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
He was no fool, though, and he quickly figured out what I was up to, beating me until I was unconscious time after time.
I stopped helping them for a while, staring straight ahead when his pets came into the house. It killed me in a way he could never manage.
It wasn't until one of them directly came to me that I snapped back to reality.
Madison was her name. She was beautiful, as were all of them, her eyes dimming each day that passed in his presence.
Over a few weeks, we spoke in hushed whispers throughout the house, coming up with a code to exchange ideas and come up with a plan.
If I couldn't save myself, maybe I could save her.
I had to hope things weren't completely hopeless.