Page 24 of Handle with Care
“I think,” he says as he studies his phone again, “we should pick up the shoes first since they’re easier to carry, then collect the dress.”
“’Kay,” I agree easily, and we start off toward the head office of the first fashion house. And when we arrive, it’s an impressive old building. Georgian? I don’t even know. Maybe Victorian. I wasn’t an architecture student. It has been modified, though, with imposingly tall glass windows and doors that are modern and chic. They glide open for us with a whoosh of welcome air-conditioning. I try not to sag with relief.
Will walks to the reception desk and gives the name of the person we’ve arranged to meet.
A woman soon comes downstairs with a posh carrier bag for us, and they exchange slips of paper to sign for the transfer and collections receipt. Will signs with a flourish. She smiles at me, and I smile back.
And that’s it. Then, she’s gone. We didn’t even get to go see what their office looks like or what the behind-the-scenes reality is at one of these major brands. But I’m going to guess it’s probably like the museum office, except maybe slightly more glamorous, harangued-looking people working on deadlines.
The second fashion house lets us up to their offices on the second floor of the building into a meeting room, where we trade receipts again, but we’re shown the full-length dress, with stunning florals and a full skirt, sleeveless.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, admiring it.
Will nods, matter-of-fact. “That’s the one.”
And then I realize he has the exhibition tracking spreadsheet somehow on his phone, and he’s verified the exhibit photo. Sneaky bugger. But also, useful. Apparently, his superpower is organization. Who knew?
The assistant smiles back at us. “I’m so glad. It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Here’s my card should you need anything else. Just call.”
“We’ll send your office invites to the private view,” Will tells her smoothly. “Next month.”
She practically blushes. “Sounds perfect.”
It’s my turn to keep from rolling my eyes, for the flirtation and, also, who said anything about tickets to the opening?
Once we’re outside on the street again, I give him a sidelong glance. “Private view invite? Subtle.”
He shakes his head and gives me a long-suffering look. “There will be a private view event, because there are always private views for exhibitions like this for the sponsors, donors, lenders, and friends. And sending invitations is the courteous thing to do. I’ll make a note for Lily, though I’m sure she’s thought of this already.”
For once, I’m not sure what to say, partly for the brush-off about the young woman upstairs—who even I can see was veryattractive—but also Will’s ease at navigating a whole other world he was born into, navigating social politics. And I, clearly, am not. Even with my love of parties, this is a whole new league, and I definitely feel outclassed. And, if I’m honest with myself, self-consciously out of my depth.
“Right,” I say finally.
“Right,” he agrees, gazing at me for a moment longer than is strictly necessary. For a moment, I wonder if he’s interested or something, but that’s impossible, because it’s Mr. McLaren, and he has a girlfriend. Probably several.
“I get it now.” I run a hand through my hair with my free arm.
“Get what?”
A long sigh escapes me. “Why you don’t need the dating apps. Women just fall into your bed.”
Will shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “Women don’t.”
I squint at him as I analyze his comment forward and backwards in seconds. Does he mean women actually don’t fall in, or they aren’t in his bed? “You probably throw them in.”
“I do not.” Exasperated, he sighs. “Your wild ideas about me aren’t my problem.”
“Fine.” I hold the dress in a garment bag, draped over my arm. “Maybe this is a good time to call the car service.”
He looks visibly relieved. “Thank God. Excellent suggestion.”
I snort. “It’s for the exhibits, not you.”
“I don’t care. I’ll take it.”
Once we return to the museum, we soon wrap up after we put the new exhibits safely away and part for the weekend. Will he meet that brunette woman I saw him with at the bar when I met Russell that time a while ago? Is she another conquest for him, like the woman today? Thinking about that didn’t make me feel any better. And I’m not sure why I care.
Chapter Twelve
