Page 121 of Faking the Pass
He shook her hand. “Thank you for arranging a private shopping window for us.”
She beamed, her gaze moving between us. “It’s my pleasure. So what are we looking for today?”
“I’m not really sure. Nothing really,” I said before Presley interrupted.
“Anything and everything,” he said. “Ever seen the movie Pretty Woman?”
Chelle nodded, her eyes growing larger.
“We’re going to make that shopping scene look like a dash into a convenience store. No budget, no upper limit. Whatever she wants.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Lowe.”
My head whipped around to face him, and I reached out to touch his arm. “Presley, no. This isn’t… why are you doing this?”
Chelle tucked her hand into the curve of my elbow and drew me toward the first clothing rack.
“We’re going to take excellent care of you, Rosie. You’re going to havesomuch fun. How about starting with a glass of wine while you browse?”
I selected several items to try on, and Chelle brought me a ton more once I was in the dressing room. There were no price tags on anything, but I could tell from the fit and the sheen ofthe fabrics, these were high end items and probably ridiculously expensive.
Eastport Bay drew a lot of yachters from around the world, especially during the Summer and Fall. Thanks to the incredible Atlantic views, numerous beaches, and low-humidity climate, quite a few celebrities and business titans kept homes here as well.
I was sure the millionaires and billionaires appreciated designer labels and exclusive boutiques and probably wouldn’t look at the price tags even if there had been any.
But I was just an almost-and-maybe-never debut film actress. I’d never in my life had extra money to spend on clothes. I certainly didn’t now—not with the lawsuit pending.
And I didn’t want Presley wasting any more money on this hoax.
“How are we doing in there?” Chelle asked through the slatted door. “Need any different sizes?”
“No, I’m finished. Just putting my own clothes back on.”
I emerged from the dressing room with a single item in hand—a silky midnight blue dress I couldn’t bear to leave behind. It had felt like wearing a cloud and fit like it was made for me.
Besides, assuming Randy didn’t withdraw our movie from distribution, I’d need something to wear to the red-carpet premiere I was contractually obligated to attend, along with several other mandatory events.
Really, itwaskind of a business expense—and I fully intended to pay Presley back for it.
He was standing by the counter, which was covered in garment bags. His wallet was out.
Glancing over his shoulder at me, he said, “That one, too,” and handed the woman behind the register his card.
“What do you mean, ‘that onetoo?’” I asked, rushing over to him. “I only picked out this one thing.”
“Chelle said you liked these others,” he said, “And that they fit and looked great on you.”
In shock, I blinked. Blinked again. “You boughteverythingI tried on?”
Next to the garment bags were several handled shopping bags containing shoe boxes. Chelle had insisted I try on shoes to match every outfit so I could make an “informed decision” about the total look.
It appeared Presley had bought every pair. But why?
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I said to him. “It’s unnecessary. And it’s too much.”
He grinned at Chelle as she handed him back his credit card along with the receipt.
“Nothing’s too much for my wife.”
