Page 10 of A Little Moore Action
“Ms. King? When you have the first outfit on, I need you to come out to the platform please.”
“The platform?”
“Yes, the room with the three-way mirror? We passed it on the way in. I need to see what you have on.”
Great, she probably thinks I’ll steal something and wants to catalogue everything I’m wearing. I hadn’t even gotten to try on the Gucci pussy-bow blouse yet. I pout into the mirror but reply, “Sure thing, Susan. Be right out.”
In the mirror, I take inventory of what will probably cost me half of said tax refund. A black Tom Ford pencil skirt and an Alexander McQueen blush-colored silk blouse. I’m no slouch in the wardrobe department, but I’ve never owned anything this nice. Or should I say, this expensive.
It’s the stuff I dreamed of buying while wearing an Old Navy hoodie and Walmart jeans while I studied for my finals a few years ago and a couple floors down from here.
I take one last longing look at the clothes I’ve yet to touch and exit the dressing room, humming to myself.
Resolved to spending a fortune, I shuffle in my bare feet down the corridor and into the platform room.
“I’m wearing the bright pink La Perla panties, so you can definitely put those on my bill, Susan,” I say while looking down. I run my hands down the length of my body, enjoying the feel of the expensive fabrics. “And this pencil skirt is in serious contention, though I can’t wear it today. It would look odd with my flat sandals.”
“Then we’ll have to get your shoe size so we can bring you a selection of shoes to go with that outfit,” says a deep, familiar voice.
I close my eyes and count to five, hoping that when I open them Chase won’t be there. That I hadn’t just announced what color underwear I’m wearing to my new client. Slowly, I open my eyes… and sigh.
Not only because I had, indeed, announced the color of my panties, but because it isn’t fair that my new client looks this good.
He’s sitting on one of the pink velvet couches behind me, relaxed against the plush cushions, legs crossed like only men can get away with in public. He’s changed suits entirely, going with a navy so dark, it’s one shade this side of black. The top button of his new white shirt is undone, and I can see the hollow at the base of his throat. I spend a weird amount of time looking at his throat. I mean, who gets turned on by a hollow?
Me, apparently.Iget turned on by a hollow. (Internal eye roll.)
“What are you doing here?” I cringe at my sharp tone.
He just grins. Great. Now I’m contending with a sexy hollowanda charming smile.
“I thought we could have aPretty Womanmoment.” He gestures to the room, which I have to admit, does remind me of the shopping scene in that iconic movie. But wait a minute…
“Did you just call me a hooker?”
FOUR
Chase
“I, uh…”
Campbell erupts into a fit of laughter so hard she doubles over.
“Oh my God… you should see… your face,” she says between deep breaths as she tries to control her laughter.
A second before, my mind seized in panic. Now, watching her previously guarded face transform in delight, I find myself grinning back at her. This isn’t who I was expecting. I mean, Iwas, but I wasn’t.Forbeshad highlighted King Marketing, the company. Sure, most of it had been about its president, CEO and founder, Campbell King, but the focus was on her business acumen, her savvy marketing strategies, her prestigious educational background and awards. The magazine hadn’t focused on Campbell King, the woman. On her laugh, her eyes, or her sexy Southern lilt. (If they had, they’d have sold a thousand more copies.) There’d been a picture, but it was a group shot. I hadn’t thought to look through all the names under the picture to figure out which person was Campbell. It hadn’t mattered what she looked like; it mattered how she did her job.
And besides the article, all my other searches had come up with company background information and her personal resume. No pictures. So although I am quite familiar with her impressive marketing talents and credentials, I’d been unprepared for her… everything else.
“So glad I could amuse you,” I tell her.
Her laughter ebbs, and she wipes a hand under her eyes. “Amuse? Yes, definitely that.”
A minute passes as we just stare at each other, smiling.
“I’m pleased you like the ensemble, Ms. King. So glad to have gotten the sizing right.”
I start, having forgotten Susan is still in the room, standing some distance behind the couch I’m on. From the look on Campbell’s face, so had she.
