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Never in my life have I been poked and prodded to such an extent, or been asked so many questions about a sense of style I don't possess. Thankfully, I had Mei as my cheerleader. But even still, I thought we'd never reach our goal of three-hundred thousand—a number I'm honestly numb to at this point—but we did. Just barely.
"Your feet must be fried."
Indeed, they are. My soles are tender, my calves burning with an aching tightness. I wiggle my toes inside my fuzzy slippers, finding little relief. "You have no idea—I got blisters on blisters."
She snorts, as another entourage of clothing racks rolls past us, aiming for my bedroom, pushed by men who look like they should be guarding the president. Dark suits, stern expressions, blacked-out sunglasses, the whole Secret Service wardrobe.
"Shall I call a masseuse, Miss Brooks?"
I nearly jump at the feminine voice behind me. A woman in a trendy two-piece suit rounds the couch, holding a clipboard. Sasha is her name, I think. I can't keep up.
I blink, swapping weird looks with Mei. A masseuse? After shopping? Where did Hayden find all these people? Is there some company rich people all know about, and just call up on the fly, whenever they need help wiping their asses?
"Uhh... that's alright."
"A cup of tea, perhaps? Or a hot meal. I could call in a private chef and—"
"We're fine with our waters. Thank you, though." I might sound blunt, but I can't bear another second of all this pampering and un-deserved doting... I'm at my wits end.
She smiles politely. "Of course, let me know if there's anything else I can assist you with. We should be done here shortly." With a curt nod, she disappears down the hallway.
"Whew." I release a breath, as does Mei.
"I'm pretty sure if you told her you wanted a kidney off the black market, she wouldn't bat an eye. She'd probably secure you express shipping."
Laughter spews from my lips, unable to contain itself. "Mei Nguyen, always speaking the first thing that enters her mind. Could you be any more morbid?"
"Wow..." Mei breathes next to my ear.
"I know..." I whisper back.
"That's really something."
"I know."
"Seriously, you might have the most pimped out closet this side of Central Park."
Admittedly, the closet was already stunning, even in its emptiness, but it's on a whole new level now, a transformation and attention to detail accomplished only by the hands of professionals.
Designer clothes drape off racks in a color-coded fashion, heels stand on pedestals as if they'll never set foot on pavement, and luxury bags peek from behind glass display cases under ambient lighting. Even freshly cut tulips lie across the center island, beside glass perfume bottles I don't recall buying.
Like a sail out of wind, I stand pencil-straight, stuck in the doorway, feeling as though one step, one blink too quick might wake me from this dreamland.
"You think so?" I ask, already knowing the truth.
"Definitely."
For a minute, I dare enter, letting the splendor sweep me off my feet. In silent awe, I brush my fingertips across the silky fabrics and luxurious marble, all but wondering who I might become, if I slipped on a particular outfit. I even lean over the island and smell the tulips, basking in their freshness, until their scent turns up sour. Fleeting, like this made-up reality.
"It's only temporary," I tell Mei, watching her shoulders deflate. She gets it without further explanation—he'll likely return everything, once our arrangement is finished. This is all part of the façade.
"You can steal a few pieces—or more than a few." My lips upturn slightly. "It's not like Hayden would notice, especially since he's never here. Where is he, anyway?"
"He said he had to stay late at work."
Now, what he does, exactly, working under his father at Kingston Entertainment, I haven't the slightest clue. He's yet to bore me with the gritty details, mostly because I haven't asked. Hayden's not the only one who equates the corporate nine-to-five to prison. Or... he used to think that. Now, I'm not so sure.
"Until ten o'clock at night?"
