WRONG WITH my clothes?” Holly demanded as Leonard helped them out of the car in front of a Fifth Avenue shopping mecca.
“Not a thing. You do the artist with paint on her hands bit quite well. All you need is a French cigarette in your mouth and a beret on your head,” Ethan answered.
“Very funny.”
He laid his hand on the center of her back to guide her through the store’s revolving entrance door. Holly’s shoulders perked up at his touch.
“However,” he continued as they bustled through the busy sales floor, “there is the shareholders’ gala, and then there’ll be charity dinners and social occasions we will be attending. As we discussed, this arrangement necessitates an appropriate wardrobe.”
When they reached the Personal Styling department, an older blonde woman in a sleeveless black dress and pearls was awaiting their arrival.
“Are you Diane?” Ethan extended his right hand. “My assistant, Nathan, spoke with you earlier.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Benton.” Diane took his outstretched hand with both of hers.
“This is my friend Holly Motta.”
“Oh...” Diane gave her a limp handshake, taking notice of the paint under Holly’s fingernails.
“Hi!” Holly chirped.
She was going to have to get used to the surprise in people’s voices when they met her. Everyone probably knew Ethan as a wealthy playboy who dated fashion models and princesses of small countries. He’d have no reason to be with a mere mortal like her.
Ethan raised his eyebrows at Holly, which made her giggle and feel more at ease.
He peered straight into Holly’s eyes while he spoke to the other woman. “Diane, my friend will be accompanying me to numerous events. She is an artist, with little need for formal clothes. Can you help us outfit her in a way that stays true to her creative and unique self?”
Holly’s mouth dropped open. Could anyone have said anything more perfect? He wanted to buy her clothes but he didn’t want to change her.
Diane was stunned as well. “Cer...certainly,” she stuttered. “Can I offer you a glass of champagne?”
And thus began her trip to Fantasyland. While Ethan sipped bubbly on a purple velvet settee, Diane showed Holly into a private dressing room that was larger than all the fitting rooms in the discount shops she usually went to put together.
Six full-length mirrors were positioned to allow for a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view. The carpet was cream-colored, as was the furniture—no doubt chosen so as not to compete with the clothes. A vanity table with padded chair was ready for any primping needs. Hats, gloves, scarves and purses had been pre-selected and lay waiting in a glass display case. A collection of shoes stood neatly on a shoe rack. Jackets and coats hung from pegs.
Diane ducked away behind one of the mirrors.
Holly whistled out loud as she took it all in. And then laughed at her predicament. She’d overheard Ethan talking on the phone in the car about a Diane. And a Jeremy. He had prearranged the gallery visits and now this, too. And Holly had thought herself to be the taking-care-of-business type! She could take a lesson from him.
“We’ll start with daywear,” Diane announced as she wheeled in a rack of clothes.
Besides the fact that there hadn’t been any money when she was growing up, Holly had never been especially interested in clothes. She dressed functionally and comfortably, and ended up staining most everything with paint anyway. But if she had ever dreamt of wearing stylish garments made of luxurious materials these would be them.
The first ensemble Holly tried on was a white pantsuit. The slim line of the trousers made her legs look eight feet long. And the coordinating blazer with its thin satin lapels was both distinguished and chic. Worn with a navy silk shirt unbuttoned one notch past prim, the outfit delivered “sexy” as well.
Diane moved in quickly to pin the jacket’s waist for a trimmer fit.
She suggested Holly try a brown slingback shoe, then plucked the proper size from a stack of boxes waiting at the ready. Diane might be a bit snobby, but she sure as heck knew what she was doing.
“Perhaps you’d like to add a touch of lipstick?” Diane inquired—a polite way of reminding Holly that she’d need to attend to her makeup and hair.
Diane opened a drawer in the vanity table that contained a palette of options. Holly dabbed on some lip gloss, undid her ponytail and brushed her hair. Surveying herself in the mirror, she knew this was without question the best she had ever looked.
“Shall we show Mr. Benton?” Diane suggested.
When Holly stepped into the waiting lounge that seemed destined for wealthy boyfriends and mothers of brides, Ethan was busy typing into his phone.
He leaned comfortably back on the settee with one leg crossed over the other knee. Effortless elegance. Although the wavy reddish-brown hair that always had a bit of a tousle to it made sure hints of his untamed side came through.
Ethan glanced up. His eyes went through her and then right back down to his phone.
Holly was delighted as recognition gradually took hold. His jaw slackened. Eyebrows bunched. Nostrils flared.
Only then did his eyes rise up again for the double-take.
And take her in he did, indeed. Ever so slowly. From the tip of her head to the pointy toes of her designer shoes. His gaze was wicked. As if she was standing in front of him naked rather than dressed in this finery. The feeling thrilled and aroused her down to her core.
That smile made its way millimeter by millimeter across Ethan’s face. “My, my...”
“So you approve?” she flirted.
“To say the least.”
“Do you want to see more?”
Focused on the opening of her shirt, where perhaps that questionable button should have been closed but wasn’t, he sighed. “I would most definitely like to see more.”
She pivoted, and when her face was out of view from him let a satisfied grin explode. This was so much fun. She was long overdue for some harmless fun. Harmless, right?
Diane helped her into the next outfit and pinned it for alterations. Another silk blouse—this one black, with a square neckline and a gold zipper down the back—tucked into a tan pencil skirt. The look was dressy, but edgy.
Ethan’s reaction was all she could have hoped for as he lingered over the snug fit of the skirt across her hips.
Next, dark wash jeans tucked into boots and a flowing white blouse were complemented by Holly’s own black leather jacket.
“More,” Ethan demanded.
A crisp red dress with a pleated skirt, short sleeves and matching belt provided a timeless silhouette.
A silver satin cocktail dress draped her curves without being tight. At the sight of her in that one, Ethan shifted in his seat.
As a kid, Holly had sprouted up early and had always been the tallest girl in her class. She remembered feeling big and awkward. It had taken her years to train herself out of slouching her shoulders forward. Slim, but with hips wider than was proportionate to her small bustline, she’d never thought she wore clothes well.
Until today.
With Diane’s wizardry to pinch here and fold there, these clothes looked as if they’d been custom-made to flatter her perfectly.
In all, ten outfits were put together, ranging from casual to semi-formal. Extra pieces would be added to mix and match.
Ethan had promised that no matter what happened with their phony engagement the clothes would be hers