Chapter 24
JAMIE
I wake up and Morgan is gone. I gather the t-shirt she loaned me up to my nose and take a deep breath—the slightest hint of her scent remains.
As I make myself a cup of coffee, my phone buzzes. My heart jumps—I hope it’s Morgan.
Instead, it’s an unknown number, but I read the message anyway.
Hey! It’s Eileen, Morgan’s assistant. She wanted me to let you know that she’s super sorry, but something came up this morning. I just got into town, and I’m planning on doing some shopping—you want to join?
That’s the life of a CEO, I guess. No wonder Morgan doesn’t have time for TV. I feel a little guilty for wasting a few hours of her evening, but I’m sure she would have complained if she were bothered. Very sure.
I reply to Eileen, Sure, sounds great! Would love to meet you.
With a promptness that I’m sure Morgan demands, Eileen replies, Great, lobby in 20?
Perfect.
I finish my coffee, get dressed, and head down to meet Eileen.
I don’t recognize her until she waves and says my name from her chair by the lobby fountain, because she looks like she just walked off the runway.
Long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, model-tall and slender. She’s wearing a pink tweed suit with a flower-like ruffle at the lapel, bold square shoulders, and a figure-skimming skirt. Her bag and shoes match, both Gucci.
“Nice to meet you, Eileen.”
“Likewise,” she says with a sweet smile. “Though I kinda feel like I already know you.”
I blink, unsure how to process that.
“From all the events,” she clarifies.
“O-oh, right.” I have been sharing some pretty personal stuff…
“I’ll fill you in on me so we’re even. Coffee?”
“S-sure.” Only after my mouth is shut do I remember I just drank a coffee in the room. Oh well.
I half expect Eileen to lead me somewhere super trendy and upscale with coffee that’s going to change my life, but when she leads me to the Starbucks next to the hotel, I feel a lot more at-ease.
Eileen rattles through her life story: middle child of three, gymnastics and cheerleading, wanted to be a fashion designer.
“Graduated college, then realized that I didn’t really want to design high fashion, so much as have enough money to buy it.” She shrugs lightly. “So I pivoted.”
“How’d you end up working for Morgan?”
“Well, I picked up a part-time executive assistant gig with the intention of getting a master’s degree.
Then I found out I’m pretty damn good at it, so I found another job that was full time.
That exec eventually left our company for Artemis, then tipped Morgan off when she was looking. I’ve been working with her ever since.”
“How long’s that been?”
“Five years now? Something like that.”
Eileen gets to the front of the line and rattles off her order like she’s said it every day of her life. “And I’ll get his too,” she says to the barista.
I order the featured latte because it’s on a poster in giant print right behind the counter, and Eileen thanks the barista in the local language as she pays, even though I’m pretty sure the barista is Australian.
“Thank you,” I say.
“No problem.” She flashes a bit of black metal as she returns it to her purse. “Company card.”
I nod, realizing that should have been obvious. “I’m still not used to all this…”
“Borderline irresponsible spending?” Eileen quips.
I laugh, caught off guard. “Okay, I’m glad it’s not just me.”
“Morgan is a different breed,” Eileen explains as she grabs her coffee and passes mine to me. “Private jets are her Starbucks.”
“Hm.” We stroll out onto a trendy shopping street. From what Eileen said, her upbringing was solidly middle class. But she seems to have acclimated well to this world. Still, there’s a sparkle in her eye as we walk past windows of haute couture that I’ve never seen in Morgan’s.
She points out each designer by name, giving me a brief history of the brand.
“Chanel might have been a Nazi spy,” she says conspiratorially. “Terrible woman.”
“Oh, really?” The fashion world is more exciting than I’d realized.
But Eileen isn’t all googly-eyes. She provides an apt critique of the garments we pass, praising some for their balance and inspiration while complaining that others lose the forest for the trees.
We stop by a cafe for pastries, and as we sit outside to eat, I ask, “What’s it like working for Morgan?”
“It is a challenge, let me tell you,” Eileen says, but there’s a smile on her lips. “The woman makes being type A look absolutely casual.”
“If she’s kept you on for five years, you must be really good at it.”
“I am,” she says sweetly.
“I hope this comes across how I mean, but… have you ever thought of, like… starting your own thing? I’m sure you could make an amazing fashion line.”
Eileen considers this over a bite of her pastry. “I’m Van Gogh. And Morgan is blue.”
I nod, hoping I’ll figure it out if I think about it for a second. I don’t.
Eileen drops her eyes back to me. “Sorry, I’m sure that didn’t make any sense. Some creatives thrive when they’re limited. Van Gogh did some of his best work when he used only blue. Doing something on my own, the uncertainty would be… overwhelming. Morgan and I complement each other.”
As she says it, she pulls out her phone, scrolls a bit, types something, then puts it away. Like Morgan, she checks her phone every couple of minutes. Anyone else might assume she was on social media.
But I know she’s casually keeping the gears of a multi-billion-dollar corporation spinning.
“That makes sense,” I reply. “And I’m sure working with Morgan… there’s never a dull moment.”
“No kidding.” Eileen laughs, breezy and bright.
We get back to our shopping, and a block later, I spy something in the window that has me slowing down.
There’s a mannequin in a suit, but it’s not the Brooks Brothers style that I’m used to.
The cut is slim, and the fabric looks light, airy.
The black has some warmth to it, and it’s styled over a sage green button-up with a stand collar.
Most importantly, the inside of the suit is lined with a silk floral print in shades of violet and magenta.
“You like that?” Eileen says, pausing next to me.
“I usually hate suits, but… yeah.”
Eileen wiggles with excitement. “Oh, you have to try it on!” Eileen has none of Morgan’s command, but the suggestion is just as compelling.
“I don’t want to bother them if I’m not buying it…”
“Who says you’re not buying it?” Eileen grabs me by the hand and pulls me into the store.
It doesn’t feel like being thrown into the deep end like it does with Morgan. It feels like we’re both kids in a candy store, especially when Eileen winks conspiratorially at me as she asks for the complimentary champagne.
“What can I help you with?” a middle-aged woman in a neatly tailored black suit asks me.
I glance around the store and realize that this isn’t really an off-the-rack situation.
Eileen senses my discomfort and swoops in. “Oh, he just loved what you have in the window. Can we see that on him?”
“Of course,” the woman says, and she steps towards the back.
“Don’t I need to tell her my size?” I whisper to Eileen.
“I think she’s got it covered,” she whispers back.
A few minutes later, the woman calls that my dressing room is ready. I awkwardly try to hand my champagne to Eileen, but she motions that I can take it with me, so I do.
The dressing room is larger than my bedroom was during undergrad. There’s a multi-angle mirror on one side, and the walls are done in gorgeous blond wood paneling. My suit hangs neatly on one wall, and there’s a little table to set things and a chair in the corner.
I set my champagne down and then change. The suit isn’t nearly as restrictive as I expected—there’s room cut into all the key places, and the fabric actually has some stretch to it.
I get all the pieces in-place, then brace myself before I look in the mirror.
I’m happy to humor Eileen, and a little excited to play dress-up, but I think I only like how suits look on other people. People like Morgan. Every time I see myself in one, it just looks… wrong.
So, I take another drink of champagne, then spin towards the mirror.
And… I like it. There’s a casual, breezy quality. It’s sort of artfully loose in places without being fully oversized. There’s no extra bulk at the shoulders, so my silhouette still looks like… mine. I slip a hand in a pocket, and I feel… comfortable. This isn’t a disaster, somehow.
I walk out to show Eileen, and she gasps as I step out.
“Oh my god, Jamie, that is fantastic. Spin, spin.” She twirls her finger.
I laugh, and shift my weight on my feet to do a little spin without taking a full step—something I picked up in dance class as a teen.
Eileen whistles. “Let me just see something…” She rummages in her bag and produces a small claw clip.
She’s a few inches shorter than me, but she’s also in heels, so I don’t need to bend down for her to step around behind me and pull the sides of my hair back into the clip. Eileen frees a strand to hang by my face, then nods in approval.
It’s the slightest hint of formality, still made breezy by the length and wave of my hair, but it brings the whole outfit together.
“Damn, Jamie.” Eileen folds her arms and nods approvingly. “You look hot.”
“Really?”
“Really. Please tell me you love it.”
“I… yeah. It’s… it’s pretty perfect.” I turn towards the store employee. “How much is it?”
“How much time is it to get tailored, he means,” Eileen cuts in. Then she leans and whispers to me, “Company card, remember?”
The woman glances at the gold watch on her wrist. “We can have it ready by this evening.”
“Fabulous,” Eileen says, and she hands over the credit card.
I lean in beside her. “Isn’t this, like, fraud or something?”
“Jamie, darling,” Eileen says with faux posh accent. “Looking amazing is a business expense.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “How much of your shopping goes on the company card?”
Eileen puts on an air of offense. “Please, I’m plenty able to buy my own indulgences. But, y’know, if I’ve forgotten a purse or a jacket on a trip here or there…” She shrugs.
She was kind of joking, but I also think she was kind of serious about the business expense thing.
I’d have absolutely no reason to need a suit if not for this job.
And there’s no way I could afford a suit nice enough to not look stupid around the people Morgan spends time with.
Maybe that’s why Morgan’s been permitting my sweaters and jeans—I can actually afford a nice, trendy sweater.
I look dressed down, for sure, but not… accidental.
This suit definitely doesn’t look accidental.
After Eileen pays, the woman brings me over to a stand by the mirror to mark the length for the hem and cuffs. I go change back into my usual clothes, and then we head back out onto the street.
“So now that you have a suit…” Eileen says. “You know what’s next?”
“Uh…”
“Accessories!” she squeals. “You need shoes and a belt and—you like jewelry, right?”
I nod.
“And jewelry! C’mon, I know just the places.” She grabs me by the hand and pulls me down the street.
There’s a warm feeling in my chest as I wonder if this is what it would be like to have a sister.