Page 39 of Enigma: The Final Chapter
My hand runs along the racks of beautiful, luxurious clothing as our personal shopper guides us to the vast dressing room at the back of the store. This boutique not only sells formal dresses, but it also has jeans, cashmere sweaters, trousers, skirts, and a range of accessories. From the price tags my eyes watered over while walking past, my budget couldn’t even stretch for half a scarf in this establishment.
“Mr. McGregor informed us that you'll be attending a cocktail party on Christmas Eve. Due to the short notice, we won’t have time to make alterations to the dress you choose, so choose wisely,” our personal shopper, Melinda, advises. “I'll have my assistant bring in the first selection of dresses we have chosen from the measurements and color swatches you emailed us earlier today. If you don’t find anything to your taste from that selection, we’ll move onto the floor until we discover the perfect dress.”
Melinda is smirking a pleasant smile, but her nose remains high in the air, and her tone is snobby and condescending.
After filling two champagne flutes with chilled champagne, she attempts to leave with the bottle in her hand. “Leave the bottle.”
Melinda’s lips thin at Harlow’s request, but she leaves the bottle as instructed before exiting the oversized dressing room with a huff.
“Did you see the price tags on the dresses on the way in?” Harlow queries, her eyes bulging. “We need to drink at least ten bottles of champagne to recoup some of Cormack’s expenses.”
A small giggle escapes my lips from her boldness.
By the time Peta, Cormack’s personal assistant, joins Harlow and me, we’ve consumed one bottle of the expensive champagne and are well onto the second bottle. I’ve spent the last hour giggling like a school girl while Harlow tried on the range of dresses the personal shoppers selected for her. The variety is enormous, ranging from puffy 80’s bridesmaid-looking dresses to ones that look like she was going to stand on the corner to bring in some extra cash for Christmas, but no matter how many dresses she tried on, none of them matched her flamboyant demeanor.
Harlow picks up one of the hideous accessories that came with a dress and throws it at my head. “Stop giggling,” she requests with a huff. “Not all of us strike gold with the very first dress we try on.”
I scamper off the button-studded day chaise I’m sprawled on and pace toward Harlow, my footing unsteady in my inebriated state. “You have a personal shopper whose idea of a fun day would consist of having her poodle’s hair permed.” Harlow and Peta snicker softly. “So how can you trust her with finding the perfect dress that will have Cormack’s Hulk breaking out of his pants?”
“That’s my cue to leave,” Peta says under her breath while pretending to gag.
“You,” I say, slightly slurring when Melinda walks back into the dressing room with a hideous peach-colored silk dress draped over her arms. “Bring us every emerald green dress you have. Pronto!” I clap my hands, more brazen in my tipsy state. When she skedaddles away, I shift my focus back to Harlow. “With your beautiful auburn hair and green eyes, emerald green will have Cormack in a tizzy and hisHulkemerging.”
Confident I have her on the right track, I shift my gaze to Peta. “Oh, no. I’m only here to pay the final bill.”
“What do you think, Harlow? With her skin tone and unique eyes, I’m thinking… candy apple red?”
Harlow gasps. “Yes, definitely.” She eyes Peta with as much enthusiasm as I am like we’re about to play Barbie dolls with a real-life Barbie.
By the time another hour passes, we’ve narrowed down Peta and Harlow’s selection to two dresses each, and we’ve consumed another bottle of champagne. Both dresses are unique in their own right, but each has their own defining qualities that make it hard to choose between the two. Alas, at well over five thousand dollars a dress, they can only select one.
My eyes bug when a light bulb switches on in my head. “Can I borrow your phone? I know the perfect person to ask.”
Harlow tosses me her phone, her brow scrunched. I dial a number I have memorized before raising her phone to my face. Hugo’s broad grin fills the screen a few rings later.
“Hey, Isabelle,” he greets me with his familiar drawl.
He was only discharged from the hospital yesterday afternoon. Raquel and another nurse, Monica, have been assigned as his home-care nurses in Regan’s apartment until he recovers. Isaac and I have visited him every day since he was admitted. Thankfully, Isaac didn’t mention the ‘cuddling’ incident, although his jaw did tick when I greeted Hugo with a brief hug each day.
“I need a favor.”
Hugo chuckles. “Are you drunk?”
I roll my eyes and poke out my tongue, stunned he could determine that from only hearing me speak four words.
“Youaredrunk,” he chuckles. “Where the hell is Isaac?” His eyes shoot around the phone screen as if he's seeking Isaac in the background.
“I’m not drunk-drunk. I’m just a little bit tipsy.” I impress myself by only slightly slurring.
When Hugo’s vigorous assessment fails to find Isaac, his eyes return to the front of the screen. “Who are you trying to get fired this week, Izzy?”
I screw up my nose. “Ha-ha.”
“I know there's no way in hell Isaac would let you go out unattended, so who’s there with you?” His grin is so wide, my eyes hurt when I stare at it.
“Roger is standing outside.”
His boisterous chuckle barrels down the line. It’s so infectious, I’m soon giggling along with him. “He has as much personality as a wet blanket,” he says between fits of laughter.
