Page 23 of Maverick Mogul

“Hi, Charlie? Grace’s Aunt Skye here. She’s happy to accept. Very thoughtful of you.” Skye waggles her eyebrows at me. “Mhmm. She’ll be ready then. Okay, be well!”

She ends the call, and I already have my finger pointed at her, ready to scold.

“God help me,” Skye says, one hand raised to deflect me. “You will let this man be nice to you, Gracie.”

“And pay for spa services.” Jen agrees. “And a new wardrobe. Why not?”

“Because… It’s like he’s saying my wardrobe isn’t good enough to be seen with him,” I grumble. “LikeI’mnot good enough.”

“Yeah, that’s just your high school insecurity talking,” Skye informs me firmly.

“She’s right.” Jen agrees. “Don’t look a gift charge card in the mouth.”

“I guess…”

* * *

I’m still feelingconflicted when the town car picks me up an hour later.

I watch the city pass me by in a blur outside the window. Charlie doesn’t get it. I’m the girl who takes the subway to Bergdorf Goodman to pick upsomeone else’ssummer wardrobe. I’m not the girl who rides the elevator up to the penthouse salon and sits back to get pampered herself—while someone else does my makeup.

Does he really think I need polishing up to be worthy of my place on his arm? Or, even worse, was he secretly wishing he’d picked some other fake-dater all through the last wedding event?

It’s all feeling a whole lotPretty Womanby the time I get to the blowout. And trust me, that is the least romantic movie in the world.

Then my shampooist puts her hands on my scalp and starts massaging, and I can’t help but moan out loud.

Dear Lord, that feels good.

“Sorry!” I blurt, but she laughs.

“Don’t worry, I get it all the time. Oh look, your manicurist is here.”

My what?

I try to remember that I’m annoyed with Charlie, and deeply uncomfortable with this whole ‘makeover’ thing, but as I’m buffed and puffed and massaged, the idea slowly drifts far away until I’m floating on a little island of pleasure, totally relaxed.

My phone buzzes while I’m sipping a complimentary mimosa.

‘Having fun?’

I pause. ‘It’s fine,’ I reply, but he just sends a laughing emoji.

Damn him, he’s right again.

When I walk into the Personal Shopping department, a familiar face is behind the counter. I’ve talked to Maya a dozen times in the past year, picking up tailored or special-ordered items for Mrs. Bassinger.

“Hi there,” I begin, fully expecting to re-introduce myself. “Grace Sommerville, here for—”

“The Bassingers.” Maya finishes. Then she looks up. “Oh, wow! You look great!”

“Oh… Thanks.” I probably have too much makeup on for the blush to show through.

“I don’t see any Bassinger pickups scheduled…” she frowns, checking the system.

“I’m actually here for me.” I admit. “The appointment might be under Fox?”

“I see you here!” She skims a look over me, and her customer service smile eases into a genuine excitement. “Weddings! I love weddings the most. And to tell the truth, I’ve been dying to get my hands on those outfits of yours.”

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