Page 44 of Auctioned To Be Mine

The problem was, I couldn’t think of one. She wasn’t in my world. She ran in circles adjacent to my family but those weren’t circles that overlapped with my daily life. I couldn’t exactly call her up and say I was in the neighborhood. She’d see right through it.

I turned the idea over in my head while I took off my workout clothes and stepped into the shower. The water ran hot enough to strip paint. I stood under it and stared at the tile.

I could donate to the charity. I’d already planned to write them a check, something substantial, but I could make it an occasion. Ask for a meeting to discuss the donation. That was reasonable. That was something a normal person might do. Victoria would absolutely see through it but at least I’d get to watch her figure it out. I could tell her I wanted to discuss the matter over lunch. Very business casual.

Or I could just call her. Like an adult. Pick up the phone and say I wanted to see her again.

Why did that option freak me out? I wasn’t nervous. I didn’t get nervous. I was Callum Blackwell. I was a businessman. I didn’t get nervous over a phone call to a woman.

But dammit, the thought of getting rejected by her was too much. I was a chickenshit. Coward. That damn word again.

I got dressed, grabbed my keys, and drove to the store.

The Beverly Hills location looked different every time I walked through the door. Progress had a way of sneaking up on you when you were in the middle of it. Every day it looked slightly more like the vision Adrian had shared with me back at the beginning.

The floors were done. The white marble caught the light from the overhead fixtures and threw it back in every direction, filling the room with a brightness that made everything feel elevated. The champagne walls for the bridal section were complete, and I had to admit they looked exactly right. Not beige. Not cream. Something in between that was somehow more sophisticated than either. A shade dark enough to make a white wedding gown pop, but not dark enough to look dingy.

“There he is,” Drew called from somewhere near the back.

I found him standing with two of the contractors near the menswear section, where the dark wood paneling was being installed along the walls. It looked very classy. The kind of place a man could relax and enjoy a drink while searching for the right fit.

“Looking good,” I said, running my hand along one of the panels. The craftsmanship was excellent. I’d been particular about the wood grain matching across the seams and whoever they’d sent had actually paid attention.

“Almost there,” one of the contractors said. “We’ll have the paneling done by end of week. Then we’re just waiting on the shelving units for the accessories section.”

“They’re confirmed for Thursday,” I said. “I spoke with the supplier yesterday.”

“Then we’re in good shape.”

I thanked them and moved through the space with Drew at my shoulder. He nudged me.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“Drew.”

“What’s up with you?” he asked. “You look weird.”

I looked down at my attire, which looked fine. “No, I don’t.”

We stopped in the middle of the main showroom. The velvet couches and chairs had been arranged around a low marble coffee table near the window. It looked like a place where someone might sit for an hour with a glass of champagne and browse through a catalog that was preloaded on iPads. That was another Cleo idea. We didn’t want fingers touching all the white wedding stuff. They browsed, they picked, and then they got their grubby little fingers on whatever they wanted.

“How’s the opening looking?” I asked.

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Adrian called yesterday.”

“Good or bad?”

“Interesting.” Drew tilted his head. “He thinks we should do a fashion show for the launch event.”

“That’s not a new idea.”

“No, but his version is a little different.” Drew started walking toward the window, looking out at the street. “He thinks a traditional catwalk show is played out. Everyone does it. You walk some models down a runway and people golf clap and eat canapés and go home and maybe they remember one dress.”

“And his alternative?”

“He doesn’t have one yet. He said he wants to do something unexpected. Something that makes people feel something instead of just watching.” Drew turned back to me. “He’s thinking interactive, maybe. Or narrative. Like, tell a story with the clothes instead of just displaying them.”