Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
So, yeah, those were the first words he’d spoken to me all day. Real charmer, this one.
But try telling that to the little sizzle of desire that shot through me as I placed my hand in the one he had extended toward me.
“What are we doing here?” I asked, turning to look at the building.
It was decked out in its notorious Christmas style. I knew that, at night, there would be impressive light shows. As for the inside, though, I had no idea.
It seemed I was about to find out, though.
“You need clothes,” Cosimo said, moving toward the doors, leaving me to rush to catch up.
“I have clothes. In my apartment. I could go grab those clothes,” I insisted.
“No.”
“No?” I asked, stubbornly standing in the doorway he was holding open, so he couldn’t follow me in.
“I can’t imagine that’s a difficult word to understand,” he said, placing a hand to my hip, and pushing me inside, the heat of his body at my back.
The building seemed even bigger inside than it had outside, and with Christmas displays everywhere.
Penguins with red top hats here. Giant nutcrackers there. And twinkle lights everywhere.
I hadn’t even thought about the holidays yet.
And they were approaching with an almost alarming swiftness. I swore Christmas came faster and faster with each passing year. I could barely keep up.
“Why can’t I wear my own clothes?” I asked as Cosimo seemed to completely ignore me as he started walking through the store. As if he knew where the women’s department was.
“These will be your clothes,” he said, weaving effortlessly through the crowds of people. Or, should I say, the damn crowds parted for him. Like some sort of freaking celebrity. And I was practically running behind him in my new, kind of slippery, heels.
“Well, if I have to buy new clothes, I’m not buying them here,” I insisted when I finally caught up with him. But only because he’d stopped walking.
“You’re not buying anything,” he said, inclining his chin toward a woman in a very tasteful, yet sexy, white office-type dress.
“Mr. Costa,” she greeted. “Glad you made it back,” she told him, doing a quick, but obvious, perusal of him. “And Miss…” she said, her head turning to look at me.
“Whitlock,” Cosimo supplied.
“Yes, of course. Miss Whitlock. We are ready for you,” she declared, holding an arm out.
“Ready for me?” I whispered to Cosimo, who was reaching for his phone again.
“You have an appointment,” he informed me.
“An appointment for what?” I pressed.
But he was back to ignoring me. And the saleswoman was leading me away.
Thankfully, the saleswoman handed me off to a man named Jeffrey, who was all too happy to fill me in on what was going on.
Cosimo had booked me a personal shopping appointment.
Which, apparently, included the flute of champagne that was pressed into my hands, and a dressing room that was practically its own apartment, and filled with racks of various items of clothing the shopper had picked out for me according to the information Cosimo had given him.
“What kind of information?” I asked, sipping the champagne I didn’t need, because I already felt like my head was spinning.
“Sizes,” Jeffrey told me. “And your coloring. Dark hair, light eyes, skin tone. It helps me find pieces I feel would flatter you,” he told me, walking over to the racks.
“I don’t know the first thing about any of this,” I admitted. “All my clothes are from big box stores. Or thrifted,” I admitted. Jeffrey’s gaze moved over my outfit, brow raised. “Cosimo gave me these,” I said, waving toward my clothes.
“So he has good taste and good looks?” Jeffrey asked, giving me a devilish smirk.
“Well, he needed something to balance out his terrible personality,” I said, getting a surprised choking sound out of Jeffrey.
Fifteen minutes later, after telling me all about materials and styles and things I wouldn’t even pretend to understand, Jeffrey was moving to the door to give me a chance to try on clothes in private.
“Fair warning, I was told you would require a wardrobe to last at least two weeks,” he said. “So, if you want to see anything in different colors, just let me know.”
Two weeks?
I was still trying to work my mind around that as I reached for one of the tags on a single pair of slacks.
Six hundred.
Six hundred dollars for pants.
I mean, yes, being connected this man had kind of imploded my life. But that didn’t mean I felt like he owed me six hundred dollars, period. Let alone per pair of pants.
I stormed back toward the door, pulling it open.
Only to find Cosimo leaning against the wall beside the door, looking down at his phone.
His brow quirked.
“What is it?” he asked.
“This is ridiculous,” I said, watching him sigh and tuck his phone away.
“What is ridiculous?” he asked, finally giving me his full attention.