Page 60 of The Betrayer
At the question, I cringed at the same time I saw one of Rita’s eyebrows rise higher than I had seen it before.
“Whatever she wants, Barker.” I sighed, shoving my hands into my pocket out of want of something to do with them. Part of me wanted to wring the dressmaker’s neck for his ill-timed question. Had he said that on purpose?
I glanced at Rita. She was observing me, but she didn’t look like she was going to storm out immediately, either.
“Ms. Simmons, if you’ll follow me, I believe I have a nice selection in your size.”
With a last look at me, Rita followed Barker into the back of the store, and I let out a sigh of relief. My recent dating history had come up in our conversations, but in more general terms. The idea that I came to the dress shop often enough to have a “usual order” was something else entirely.
She hadn’t run away screaming or cursing at me, so maybe that was a good sign.
Barker returned about ten minutes later, a pleased expression on his face. “I believe Ms. Simmons will find a dress she likes,” he said, his tone smug.
“I don’t believe anyone has come in here and left empty-handed,” I answered, my usual far-too-clear compliment to get Barker preening. He always knew what I was doing but never seemed to tire of our game.
“My reputation stands for a reason,” was the man’s reply. The measuring tape hung around his neck, and he settled his hands over the paunch hidden by a sweater over which he wore a vest.
“It certainly does.”
Silence settled between us for a minute.
“I like this one,” Barker said finally, the comment I had been waiting for.
“Yeah?” I asked, nonchalant to hide my curiosity.
“She’s not like the others if you will forgive my saying so.”
I shrugged. “I know.”
“She’s smart and classy—I can see it in her dress choices, and I’m never wrong.”
Unlike the last girl you brought in here, his unspoken seemed to say. My memory from that night had already begun to fade, and so had the girl, but I remembered a confection of pink and sparkles.
“She chose a prom dress for a gala,” Barker said as though I hadn’t noticed.
I made a noncommittal noise in my throat.
“I haven’t seen the young lady in here again,” Barker mentioned obliquely.
“We decided to go our own ways,” I answered just as circuitously. I certainly wasn’t going to tell Barker, the notorious gossip, the details of what had happened. It would be splashed all over the gossip rags in a few days.
“Ah, well, it certainly happens.” Barker knew I wasn’t telling the entire story, but he accepted that I wouldn’t tell him, either. “I like this new one, though. Good head on her shoulders.”
“And you can tell this all in one fitting?” I raised my eyebrows as I looked at him.
“Of course.” Barker sniffed. “I’ve been doing this many years, Mr. Finlay. I can instantly tell who someone is by the dress they choose and how they do their fittings. Ms. Simmons was polite and friendly, and her dress choice classy. Ms. Levesque, by the way, was none of those things, and she very specifically chose your company colors—had me redye the satin twice until it was perfect. Quite demanding.”
I filed away the comment, wondering why Barker had brought up Paul’s girlfriend when he probably had a million other examples of demanding, unhappy clients. The statement had even come with a significant look, much like the one he had given me the night of the gala when he had given me similar information.
Noise became a hand that parted the curtain to the back of the store and the dressing rooms. Then the curtains parted, and Rita stepped out. For a moment, I forgot to breathe.
“This one, I think, Mr. Barker. What do you think?” She smiled at the tailor.
The man hurried to her side, making a fuss about the dress and how it fit on her in a way that I wished I could. But it was far too early for that, and I held my words back.
Rita looked stunning. She was tall, with an athletic build that was still soft where it counted, and the slinky black dress hugged every single curve. With her long, dark hair and green eyes, she was the definition of alluring.
It took every ounce of self-control to tear my eyes away, so I wasn’t staring at Rita as she worked with Barker to work out the small details of the dress’s fit.
