Page 25 of Good Girl

She scans the four men with me and then offers a tight smile. “Sure thing, sweetheart. Let me know if you need help with anything. I’ll just be over here.” She gestures to a rack of dresses, then picks up a weird little vacuum cleaner that has steam coming out of it.

My—the—men fan out and leave me standing alone. I almost ask for them to come back to me, wanting to ask for their help with choosing because this store is so out of my league. But they haven’t just wandered off in an uninterested haze. Nope, they are actively looking at clothing.

Dresses.

Jumpsuits.

Skirts.

Tops.

Hudson even has a coat hanging from his fingertips.

My eyes go wide, and I glance over at the saleslady. She is tracking each of them, the vacuum thingy aimed at nothing as steam froths from it. Slowly, she turns to look at me with an expression I can’t place, and it’s my turn to offer her a tight smile.

Let her think whatever she wants.

She turns back to the men, and seeing that they all have a few hangers in their hands, she claps her hands together. “How about I get you a rack, and we put your lovely young lady in a fitting room?”

Obviously, whatever she was thinking moments before has been tucked away in favor of the big commission she’ll get from this sale.

She disappears for a moment and then comes back with an empty clothes rack on wheels. “The fitting rooms are at the back.”

Figuring that is an instruction for me to follow her, I make my way toward the back, pausing to look at a cute cream lace dress. The neckline reminds me of something a priest would wear, the bodice gives the impression that it will mold to my body, then it flares out from the waist, thick folds giving the skirt flare. I carefully retrieve my size, then go to the fitting rooms.

There are four, two on each side with a space in between that faces a big mirror at the very back and some comfy-looking chairs at the opening, which the men have all taken advantage of. The saleslady has chosen the far back left, with the huge pale blue curtain pulled back by a thick white rope.

The woman follows me into the fitting room, and I’m immediately confronted by the now-full clothing rack.

“Okay, if you go ahead and hang that dress—oh, isn’t it lovely? Just came in today. I can’t wait to see it on you—but yes, hang it on the rack, then change into one of the outfits your, erhm, friends have selected for you. Then give me a call, I’ll come in and make sure everything looks perfect or nix an outfit if it isn’t working for you before they see it. How does that sound?”

I watch her reflection in the mirror, and while I can tell she is slightly uncomfortable, she isn’t going to say anything.

No, wait, I’m wrong.

“I’m just going to ask—you don’t need to answer if you don’t want to—but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t.”

I brace myself. Is she going to ask me if I’m a prostitute? An escort?

A cool hand lands on my elbow, and I turn around to look into earnest eyes. “Are you okay, sweetheart? Do I need to call security?”

This random stranger is worried about me? What am I projecting out into the world that is so different from a few days ago that the cab driver and this sales woman think I need help? It’s ironic, really. This is the one time in my life that Idon’tneed help.

I know my eyes are wide and my eyebrows are raised, but I can barely feel my face because of the shock. I swallow and try to form words because, with every passing second, more concern fills her face. “Yeah, I mean, yes. I’m okay. They’re actually my—”

What do I say? Lovers? Family friends? One is my dad, and the rest are his friends?

Interest sparks in her eyes, and I decide that I’m sticking with myballs to the wallmantra. And besides, the truth might make her day.

I lean into her and quietly say, “They’re my sugar daddies.”

Her mouth pops open with an O. “Oh, well, wow.”

Grinning, I hang my dress on the rack. “Yeah, this shopping trip is a reward for . . . things.”

I glance at her from the corner of my eye. Wide-eyed, she nods, her eyes going unfocused, and it’s hard not to snicker at the idea of what she is imagining. Is she honestly picturing the five of us together?

After a few seconds, she straightens and adjusts her blouse before grinning at me conspiratorially. “Well, it sounds like we need to make sure they spoil you really well. How about we start trying these on, and once I have your shape and fit, I’ll pull a few extra things that I think will work well for you?”

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