Chapter 6
Buck opens the back door, offering Camille his hand to help her out of the backseat. She takes it and steps out onto a wide sidewalk. A boutique sign reading Harper Exclusive hangs over the glass double door, surrounded by large windows.
Buck releases her hand, glancing at the doors before returning to the driver’s seat. “I’ll be out here when you’re done.”
“Thanks,” Camille murmurs, in awe of the boutique windows.
No mannequins are in the windows, just large abstract paintings hanging down from the ceiling on either side of the door. “Appointment Only” is written in black on the double doors. “You sure this is a boutique?”
“That’s it,” he calls over his shoulder. “If it’s locked, press the doorbell.” He gestures to a small, black button to the right of the doors.
She should be excited to go shopping in L.A., but in true Camille fashion, she feels like she’s bubbling up. She knows it started at breakfast. Not from the food, but from the company. She hadn’t known what she was expecting, but Wade surprised her in every way. He wasn’t a self-centered corporate brat; no signs of being uptight, despite the stress of being an executive in a company with high expectations of him. What surprised her the most was his relaxed manner. Eating breakfast with him felt more like she was hanging out with an old friend. He was great, and that somehow made her very nervous.
No, she thinks. You’re nervous because this boutique is about to tell you that they don’t have anything larger than a size six.
Calling Evelyn this morning was a bust. Camille forced some optimism, imagining Evelyn at the airport, boarding a plane to come here. But that would mean that Evelyn would’ve had to wake up early, figure out the restaurant fiasco, and get in contact with Delilah to sort out her plane ticket. Unlikely, to say the least, but it makes her feel slightly better imagining that she’ll have her best friend here soon.
A young woman in a black dress opens the door for Camille before she can reach out for the handle. “Good morning. Can I get your name, please?”
“Camille Lee.”
The woman steps back, opening the door wider. “Welcome to Harper Exclusive,” she says, waving Camille inside. “Ms. Ortego is waiting for you straight back.”
“Thank you.” She slows as she walks inside. This isn’t like any boutique she’s seen before. Racks of clothes on wheels are organized not in groups of one style in multiple sizes but various styles grouped by colors. Neutral color racks are at the front of the shop. The further she goes, the brighter, more vibrant the racks of clothing become. Their options range from relaxed, everyday wear to items suitable for an award ceremony. She even sees beachwear tucked at the end of a few racks. Her hand goes out absentmindedly to sweep over the fluffed-up feathered dress hanging on the deep red rack. She wants to take it from the rack and find out what it feels like on. No, I am here for business attire, not to play dress-up.
She follows the sound of voices to the back, where a podium sits in front of three mirrors between two dressing room corridors, the perfect vantage point to admire an outfit from all angles.
Facing the mirrors and podium is a plush white loveseat. On a delicate end table sits a silver tray with two empty glass flutes. The racks of clothes block the view of the podium, mirrors, and dressing rooms from the front of the store.
A tall woman walks out from a dressing room, talking to the woman behind her wearing a similar black dress to the woman who greeted Camille.
“I want all of the options to be comfortable and attractive. None of that frumpy stuff Apple Spelling just released in her latest collectors’ line. That was a disaster,” she tells the young saleswoman. The taller woman turns around, causing Camille to do a double take.
“Yes, Ms. Ortego,” the woman in black says, smiling serenely. Both of the women stop as soon as they notice Camille.
“Nancy.” It’s the tall friend of Leah’s who was walking out when Camille arrived.
Nancy gives her a smooth grin, her strong jaw looking more sculpted in the daylight. “You’re right on time.” Nancy glances down at the sleeves of her soft pink blazer, tugging on the rolled-up sleeves. “I’ve already picked out a few pieces for you to try on.”
She’s dressed in all black except for her pink blazer. Despite the color, the blazer’s hard lines and inability to give her the appearance of having curves give her an overall masculine feel that Camille hadn’t noticed last night.
“When Leah called me this morning, telling me that she wasn’t feeling up to par, I knew I couldn’t let you shop alone.” Nancy looks over at the sales associate, who is watching them both intently. “Give us a moment, would you, dear?”
“Of course,” the woman nods. “Would either of you care for a glass of champagne?”
Camille looks to Nancy, raising her eyebrows in silent excitement.
Nancy grins at the saleswoman. “We would.”
Nancy walks up to Camille’s side, wrapping her long arm around Camille’s shoulders, pulling her close as the saleswoman grabs the silver tray from the end table and hurries off. “I couldn’t leave you alone with these vultures. They have taste, yes, but they like to sell new clients those over-the-top Balenciaga pieces that make me cringe.” She directs her to the dressing room. “I put my favorite items in front.” Nancy pulls back the heavy beige curtain to reveal a dressing room that could fit ten women inside. A smaller version of the three-way mirror outside is tucked in the corner. The wall has three gold hooks, with the middle hook holding an impressive amount of clothes while the others are bare.
Nancy lets go of Camille’s arm, instructing, “Come out and show me what you try on.”
“Okay,” Camille says, sheepishly eyeing the hook full of clothes.
Nancy pulls the curtain shut behind her. The first outfit is a tapered, high-waisted, light brown capri that she doesn’t realize is leather until she touches it. She frowns and moves the leather capris to the left hook to try on. Leather in Los Angeles heat is the last thing she would pick out for herself. Just behind the capris is a black, fitted, three-quarter-length top with a neckline somewhere between a turtleneck and a crewneck. She steps out of her clothes. Camille hears the curtain pull back behind her as she pulls the shirt over her head.
“Hold on,” she calls frantically, popping her head through the neckline as she self-consciously tries to conceal herself. She’s wearing her favorite thong, meaning anyone walking into the dressing room has a clear view of her butt, the least favorite part of her body.
“It’s just me with the champagne,” the saleswoman coos, moving into the dressing room, careful to shut the curtain behind her. She gives Camille an unabashed glance, seeing her in the middle of dressing, and then carefully sets the silver tray down. “Allow me,” she says, moving quickly to the pants still clamped on their hanger.
“You don’t have to—” Camille begins, but it’s all for not. In the blink of an eye, the woman has the leather capris off the hook, unbuttoning them in quick repetition. “Thanks,” she murmurs, taking the pants from the saleswoman before she tries to hold them out for her step into. The part of the capris that she imagined would be a zipper is actually four buttons.
The saleswoman steps back, admiring the top. “That Stella fits you perfectly.”
“Thanks,” Camille breathes, hoisting the pants up and over her backside, trying to make it look as effortless as possible. She tucks the shirt in and then starts buttoning, the leather tightening with each button. The woman grabs the champagne flute off the tray as Camille buttons the final one.
“Here you are,” she coos, handing her the flute.
Camille chugs it as if it were her prize for getting into the pants. The attendant steps back so Camille can look at herself.
She steps up to the mirrors. “Okay,” Camille murmurs, looking herself over. The outfit looks good on her, but the bottoms accentuate her rear end. She turns from the mirrors, taking one long swig, finishing off the champagne. She hands the flute to the attendant. “Let’s go show Nancy.”
“Look at you,” Nancy rejoices, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. Another silver tray with a flute rests on the end table where the other attendant is standing, refilling it with more champagne.
They both grin appraisingly. She stops short of the large podium, causing Nancy to tilt her head as she looks her over.
“If I had a body like yours,” Nancy says, moving to the side to have a better look at her profile, “my parents wouldn’t have had near the trouble marrying me off.”
“I’ve never worn leather pants before,” Camille admits, catching sight of herself in the large mirrors behind her. It shows off her curvy bottom while concealing the dimples covering her backside. Nancy seems to be examining the same area. The sales attendant sets the champagne bottle down to move around to Camille’s side.
“Stella knows what she’s doing,” the woman says, admiring the pants. “I’ll grab some more from her collection in the back.”
“How do you feel?” Nancy asks, moving around to face Camille.
“Honestly?” Camille turns, looking at herself in the mirror. Her hands slide down the sides of her hips. She has to admit, she looks great. She just doesn’t feel great. “I feel self-conscious, but I’ve never enjoyed shopping for clothes.”
Nancy nods. “It’s a torture we women put ourselves through.” She takes a deep breath, rounding her shoulders back as she drops her arms to her sides. “But I won’t steer you wrong. I’m honest, if not to a fault. I say we put this combo on the maybe hook.”
Her next outfit is already off the hangers when she walks back into the dressing room. “How much are the pants?” she asks the saleswoman as she shimmies out of the leather capris, trading them for a pair of long, deep purple pants with a ribbon tie around the waist.
“What, the trousers?” the attendant asks, looking at the pants Camille hands her. “Ferretti’s run around nine hundred.”
Camille is speechless. A thousand dollars for one item of clothing?
“You can put those back.”
The sales attendant nods as Camille steps into the next pair of pants, enjoying the soft feel of the fabric. Comfort is way more her style.
The saleswoman grabs the top for her while Camille pets the sides of her legs. “Aren’t those nice?” she smirks at Camille, “Those are from Ferretti’s silk-linen line.”
Camille’s face drops. “Let me guess, nine hundred for these too.”
“Those are three hundred, I believe.”
Camille nods, unsure how she feels about trying on clothes that she would need several paychecks to afford. “That’s…better.”
“You’re going to love this top,” the saleswoman assures her, showing Camille the shirt. “It’s perfect for this heat, and this diagonal take on a mandarin collar is one of my favorite looks this season.”
The white short-sleeve shirt is just like she promised: lightweight and cool. Looking in the mirror, she has to agree. The straight, diagonal cut collar jutting off to her right shoulder does look edgy enough that no one would guess just how comfortable it is. She walks out to Nancy.
“I really like this one,” she says, looking down at herself, “besides the length of the pants.” She kicks her foot, tossing the extra several inches of material hanging past her feet.
Nancy lifts her head from Camille to glance at the sales associate walking by holding another pair of pants. “Your seamstress is here today, correct?” Nancy asks.
“She is,” the woman confirms, looking past Camille at the other saleswoman. Camille’s attendant hurries to take the pants from her as she looks back at Nancy. “We can have it ready first thing tomorrow morning, or we can put a rush on it if you need it for tonight.”
“There you have it,” Nancy says, waving her arm for Camille to step up on the podium in front of the large mirrors, “you can have it for tonight if you need it.”
“What’s tonight?”
Nancy shrugs. “I don’t know. I figured since you got in late yesterday, they wouldn’t talk shop with you until sometime today.” She evens her gaze at Camille. “What did you think about Wade?”
Her question catches Camille off guard. “Oh! Um…he gave me a bit of a fright when he got in. He didn’t know that I was staying in the upstairs guesthouse, so he scared me when he popped in while I was getting ready for bed.”
“Really,” Nancy chuckles. “She put you in the guesthouse? She must be hoping Easton will stop by this weekend and wanted to keep you away from his antics.”
Camille smiles. “I have no clue, but Wade was pretty mad to find me in the guesthouse. He was convinced that Leah placed me there as a means of hooking us up.”
“With Wade?” Nancy frowns. “Oh please, that boy has never had any trouble finding women. Easton’s the one we have to worry about. He’ll date anyone with a…” she catches herself. “Anyways,” she tosses her hair out of her face, turning to the couch, “there are worse things than you and Wade. You’re definitely more his type if you ask me.” She takes a small sip of champagne.
“What type is that?” Camille asks, watching her.
“One who has a good head on her shoulders,” Nancy presses her lips together disapprovingly as she glances down at her champagne.
Camille tries to keep a pleasant look on her face, though she was secretly hoping Nancy would complement her body type over her brain type. Not that she’s surprised. What heir to a fortune would go for a normal, pear-shaped woman when he can get supermodels and human barbies to choose from?
Nancy is still looking her over as Camille examines herself in the mirrors. “Ah, to have brains and beauty,” she sighs, taking another sip of champagne, “a young woman like yourself surely has plenty of men lined up for your hand.”
Camille ignores the clear question in Nancy’s statement, running a hand across the front of the bow cascading down the front of the pants. “Did Leah tell you what my budget was?”
“Budget, no. She only said that you would need a couple of casual pieces for the weekend, something for the pool, and a night out.”
“I don’t need anything for the pool. I’m here on business, not pleasure.”
“What is business,” Nancy says, swirling her flute around as she watches the champagne spin, “if not pleasure.” She sits and crosses one long leg over the other, the bright red bottom of the black leather loafers catching Camille’s attention.
“Are those Louboutin’s?”
Nancy flicks her toe in the air, eyeing the top of her shoe. “That they are. The men’s line is far more comfortable than those sky-high heels I have to get Leah for Christmas every year. I don’t know how anyone walks in those things.”
“For me, it’s with the grace of a newborn calf,” Camille smirks.
“I’m right there with you,” Nancy agrees. “When I was a teen, my mother forced me to walk around in heels for an entire summer until she finally gave up, proclaiming that I would never marry until I figured out how to walk with grace.”
Camille glances at Nancy’s left hand. The only ring on her hand is a thick gold band around her middle finger. No wedding ring, not so much as an indention in the skin where a wedding ring would go.
Nancy flutters the fingers on her left hand, following her eyes. “It never happened,” she admits, reading Camille’s mind. “The gracefulness nor the marrying.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
Nancy gives her a sad grin, switching her champagne flute to her left hand. “It worked out alright for me. More so for my brother. He got fifty-four percent of the company as my parent’s way of sticking it to me. They weren’t shy about letting me know that I wouldn’t inherit my fair share without a husband and offspring to pass it down to. I’m sure they figured it would straighten me out but,” she lifts her middle finger that has the gold band and taps it lightly against the glass. “I’ve always known I wouldn’t marry…not a man at least.”
Camille swallows, the last part catching her off guard. She realizes it makes sense, considering Nancy’s obvious preference towards more masculine appearances. She turns away from Nancy, heading toward the dressing room, looking over her shoulder at her. “So you agree that this outfit is a yes?”
“Agreed,” Nancy switches the flute to her other hand so she can examine the inside of the ring, “and don’t be scared of the bathing suits I picked out. The coverups will hide whatever you don’t want to show.”
Camille glances over her shoulder at her as she walks away. Nancy’s eyes are on the gold ring, watching it in a daze as she twists it around her middle finger with her thumb and ring finger. She feels less self-conscious now that Nancy, strong and intimidating, opened up to her. She might even try on a bathing suit.