advanced on them and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Mercer, Derek is still in training. How can we assist your client today?”
Within seconds after seeing the gray suit, Natasha rattled off a list of brands and styles at Derek before sending him to the stockroom. Christian dreaded seeing what he’d bring back, but to his surprise, the stack of boxes included exactly what Natasha had requested plus a few of Derek’s own selections. Just as he was ready to revise his assessment of Derek, he saw Leslie wince when Derek amateurishly slid a shoe onto her foot.
“Snug?” Derek asked sympathetically. “If you’ve been shopping a while, your feet may be a little swollen. Let’s try this one.”
Natasha watched with a sour expression as Derek exchanged the Marc Jacobs for a Cole Haan. Christian was startled, wondering if Derek understood the concept of commission. When Natasha was pulled away again, Derek looked up at Leslie and softly said, “These are on sale for half the price of those others, and they’re twice as comfortable. They’ll look great with your gray suit, and no one should work with aching feet.”
“Thanks,” Leslie said, smiling down at Derek. She looked so grateful that for a minute, Christian thought she was going to kiss him.
Christian conceded that Derek was nice, but if he wanted to continue to buy expensive suits, he’d have to learn how to be nice and sell.
Natasha surfaced again, baring her teeth in what could have been mistaken for a smile if her jaw muscles weren’t twitching. “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked, then frowned as she saw which shoes Derek was boxing up for Leslie.
“I sure did,” Leslie said, smiling again at Derek.
Once the transaction was complete, Christian carried Leslie’s bags to her car and sent her on her way with a few more reassuring words. When he walked back through Drayden’s, Derek was straightening a display and Natasha was nowhere in sight. Christian paused and said, “That was nice. Bringing Leslie the less expensive shoes. Even though you’re a trainee, aren’t you working on commission?”
Derek shrugged and said, “Did you see her eyes when she saw the price of those Marc Jacobs pumps? She seemed like someone who needed a break. I pictured her as a single mom, struggling to dress herself on a budget. I couldn’t see forcing her kids to eat mac and cheese out of a box just so I could make a few more bucks.”
“Leslie is a top seller in a commercial real estate firm. She’s trying to be promoted to their Indianapolis office. She is single, but I don’t think her goldfish eats mac and cheese.” He felt contrite when Derek blushed, adding, “It’s the thought that counts.”
Derek’s face fell as he looked past Christian, who turned around and spied Natasha at a perfume counter. “We’re gonna need a bigger boat,” Derek said glumly.
Christian laughed and said, “So you have seen Jaws! You’re funny, Derek. I have to run; I’ve got another appointment. What time do you get off?”
Derek blushed again and stammered, “Uh…well…I close tonight.”
“Would you like to meet for a drink or something?”
“Well…um…”
“If you feel like a drink after work, I’ll be at the Aurora piano bar in the Congreve at about nine. If I don’t see you, no big deal.” He smiled at Derek again and escaped just as Natasha glided up.
When he left the store, he had to maneuver his way through the usual crowd of children who surrounded Gert, a fiberglass cow that had once been part of the Chicago Cows on Parade exhibit. Gert was dressed in an original Drayden’s Cattle Cozy and was a silent testament that someone in the Drayden’s organization had a sense of humor. She seemed to be staring balefully toward the moon that hung outside the planetarium at the center of the mall. The only things missing were the Dish and the Spoon. His observation reminded Christian that he was hungry. He grabbed a veggie wrap at Sirius Dogs and ate it while he walked to the Congreve, listening to his messages on the way.
It wasn’t until midway into his seminar that it struck him why Derek had been flustered by his suggestion that they meet for a drink. Maybe he’d thought Christian was asking him out. Which meant that Derek was probably straight and now thought Christian was gay. It was a misunderstanding that would clear itself up if the need arose. Christian had actually intended to disguise a mini lesson in salesmanship as a social meeting. Derek could use the help.
A couple of hours later, Christian let a dirty martini work its magic, bringing him down a notch from the high energy level of his seminar. With the smoky tones of the piano bar’s chanteuse in the background, he read over his notes for a self-help book he intended to write as a supplement to his classes. When he spotted Derek entering the bar from the hotel lobby, he quickly gathered up the papers and placed them in his bag, then stood as Derek gave a meek, self-conscious wave before he walked toward him.
“I’m glad you made it! Can I get you something from the bar?” Christian asked cheerfully.
“I’ll get it,” Derek said.
Christian noticed that the bartender slid a drink across the bar before Derek had a chance to order. Nor did Derek pay for it. He was apparently a regular at the Aurora and ran a tab. That interested Christian as much as Derek’s casual attire. The blue-and-green-striped shirt was definitely Paul Smith, and Christian was sure he saw the signature red stripe of Prada at the back of Derek’s black shoe. There had to be a story that explained Derek’s clothes. Maybe he was selling shoes because he’d been disowned by a wealthy family. Or he was a Lvandsson grandson working his way up the ladder.
When Derek plopped down in a chair across from his and slung one arm over its back, Christian decided that Derek would benefit not only from a lesson in salesmanship but in posture. Since it was obvious that he’d endured a harrying day, Christian merely asked, “Tough day in the trenches?”
“It wasn’t so bad. I was actually able to help a few customers without Natasha the Hun spearing me.”
“I think Attila would have been afraid of Natasha Deere. I do admire her selling skills and good taste, though.” Christian grimaced as he heard “Morning Train” blare in ring tones from his bag. He thought he’d turned off the phone before the seminar.
“Do you want to get that?” Derek asked.
Christian pulled the phone from his bag, squinting apologetically at Derek as he flipped the cover open.
“Chrissie! It’s your mother.”
Christian flinched, sure that Derek had heard his mother call him by his childhood nickname. “Mother, you know I’ve told you—”
“Yes, they’re both two syllables. I remember, Christian.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to shut out the memory of “Happy Birthday, Chrissie!” on his ninth birthday cake. Assuming the cake was for a girl, the baker had frosted it with tiny yellow roses and daisies embellished with pink swirls. Of course, his friends had howled, and until they moved, he was stuck with “Chrissie.”
He came back to the present when he heard his mother saying, “So I need you to call a few galleries. The Rania, Lee Young, um…Who else is showing my work?”
“Wait, you need what? Where’s your manager?” Christian asked.
“Simon? He ran off to Acapulco for the week with his latest bimbo.”
“Mother, you can’t afford to have unreliable people in charge of your career.”
“But I have you, dear! Anyway, Simon’s not unreliable. He just cracked the West Coast market for me. Beverly Hills, no less. So I want to move some paintings around—”
“Okay, I’ll make the calls.” Christian looked remorseful and made talking motions with his hand, though Derek didn’t seem the least bit fazed. In fact, Derek was barely able to tear his eyes from the stage, where the singer was crooning a melancholy ballad. Christian began