Page 68 of Angel Eyes

“Simone, no.” I reached around her, but she slapped my hand away.

“You’re clearly in need of a pick-me-up. And nothing picks a girl up like a new look.” She raised a hand before I could protest again. “Don’t try to talk me out of it, Juliet. I am purchasing this dress. So, here’s what’s going to happen—either I buy it and you wear it somewhere fabulous, or I buy it for myself and strut around town looking like I have Hershey’s Kisses for boobs.”

The woman behind the counter gaped at us, her eyebrows disappearing into her hairline.

“Simone, you can’t keep giving me clothes.”

“Why not? I love clothes.” She eyed my sweatshirt and sneakers that had seen better days. “Besides, it looks like you could use all the help you can get. I’m giving you a pass today because you’re upset about something, but I can’t be seen with you in the future if you insist on dressing like you dug your clothes out of the dirty laundry hamper.”

“Wow, how quickly your altruism takes a left turn.”

She swiped her credit card, handing me a glossy bag marked Galeries Lafayette. “Hey, I never claimed to be a Good Samaritan. I’m doing this purely out of self-interest. You’re my only real friend in Paris, and I need you to look the part.”

“Your only friend?” I said as we moved toward the elevator. “What about Carter?”

Simone cast me an Oh, you poor fool look from the corner of her eye. “We need to work on your definition of friend. I don’t call guys I want to mount in the back of a taxi—”

“Cool, got it,” I said, throwing her a thumbs-up. “Not friends then.”

When the elevator doors slid open onto the main floor, I looked up at the domed glass ceiling. The sky had grown even darker, and my stomach growled, reminding me that ice cream, no matter how delicious, didn’t count as sustenance. I started in the direction of the exit but barely made it a few steps before Simone pulled me toward a jewelry display case.

“So, I take it things are going well with Carter?” I asked, threading my fingers under my chin as she examined a row of diamond rings.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Let me stop you right there, girly pop. As happy as I am for you, love at first sight is so not my vibe. Besides, it’ll take a lot more than one date and three successive orgasms for him to impress me.”

“Wow. Thanks for the visual.”

“Anytime. Ooh, look at this.” Her nose practically pressed against the glass as she stared down at a bracelet lying on a creamy leather pillow, glinting with sapphires set into the shapes of sunflowers.

“Juliet, wouldn’t that look lovely with your new dress? You should try it on.”

“Simone, no—”

“Excusez-moi, madame.” She waved over a saleswoman in a black pencil skirt. “Pouvez-vous s’il vous plaît nous montrer le bracelet?” The woman smiled at us, removing the bracelet from its case and fastening it around my wrist before I could escape.

“Oh, my God,” Simone whispered, pressing her fingertips to her lips. “It’s perfect.”

I frowned. “Yeah, except I’m not buying it and neither are you.” I grabbed her hand before it could inch any closer to her purse, and the saleswoman excused herself as Simone and I engaged in a tug-of-war with her Chanel. “Seriously, what’s with the impulsive buying spree?”

Simone planted her hands on her hips. “Well, excuse me for trying to make my friend happy.”

“I am happy,” I blurted out too quickly.

“Mm-hmm, and a terrible liar too. You don’t have to tell me what’s going on, but as long as you keep drooping like a wilted flower, I’ll have no choice but to keep buying you things.”

I sighed. “Look, why don’t we just get out of here?” Hooking an arm around her, I steered her to the exit. “If you want to make your friend happy, you can treat her to a cheeseburger.”

She snort-laughed as we pushed our way through the first set of double doors. But before we made it out onto the street, I heard the distinct sounds of shouting. I glanced over my shoulder in time to see the saleswoman in the pencil skirt pointing at me and a security guard hurtling in our direction. Closing in on us, he grabbed my arm, spewing rapid French in my face.

I threw Simone a panicked look. “What’s he saying?”

She frowned for a moment, then her eyes widened, falling to my wrist.

My wrist.

“He’s saying you’re under arrest for shoplifting.”

If you’ve ever wondered what the back room of a department store looks like, allow me to satisfy your curiosity—it’s awful. Like three out of ten, would not recommend awful.

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