Style (Dressing a Billionaire Book 2): A Romantic Comedy by Jamie Lee Scott

the door.
    Having a Pretty Woman movie flashback, I said, “You obviously don’t get paid on commission.”
    “Right,” he retorted. “And I’m making a mistake. A big, big mistake.”
    “So, you’ve seen the movie? Thanks so much for your insight. I’ll be sure to tell Hugo Popovits you weren’t interested in his business.” I turned and walked out, not even looking back to see if he believed me or not.
    And just like the pretty hooker, Vivian Ward, what should have been a fun morning of shopping turned to dread. But I moved on and window shopped until I found a store I wanted to explore more. I went into six other stores and avoided even looking at the sales staff, because I didn’t see anything Hugo might like. Then I walked into EZ and got lost in looking at the skinny jeans and wonderful colors for men’s clothing.
    “Excuse me, Miss, you look like you’re not finding what you need,” a young Hispanic man with short cropped brown hair said.
    His physique smallish, but athletic, he wore an eggplant purple cashmere V-neck sweater with brown stretch skinny jeans, and gray mélange highway driving shoes. I estimated his ensemble at roughly two grand. And I marveled how he pulled it off with no socks and still managed to look professional.
    “I like what you’re wearing,” I said.
    I gave him the same spiel I’d given the skinny asshole at CD. After avoiding the last several store salespeople, I’d gotten my nerve back.
    “What does he like?” The man asked.
    “Board shorts and graphic tees,” I said. “Honestly. I’m not even kidding.”
    He didn’t laugh or eye me from head to toe and decide if I could afford his store. And I remembered, I still had Hugo’s credit card. I could buy this whole damn store if I wanted.
    “Okay, that’s a start.” He walked me to a rack of short-sleeved shirts.
    “We’re from Dallas, and it’s hot there right now. I mean not as hot as this place, but hot enough,” I offered.
    He pulled several shirts from the clothing rod and placed them on a couch. All poplin shirts in a variety of geometric prints. Then he grabbed half a dozen pairs of jeans in various colors and a polo shirt. “We don’t carry shorts this time of year. We’re moving into our Fall/Winter line.”
    I didn’t even care. This store rocked with its casual vibe, rich fabrics, and even richer prices. I tried not to look at the tags, because it didn’t matter, but the polos started at $275. “I love the patterns.”
    He’d spread out short-sleeved button front shirts in lightweight fabrics. Plaid, solids, mosaics, and polka dots.
    “You said he liked graphic tees, so I think this is still original, but a step up. And the jeans and shorts aren’t your typical denim.”
    By the time he finished bringing me selections, the couch he’d placed them was barely visible.
    I stepped up and arranged the shirts with the pants I liked, then rearranged them.
    “Oh, I like that combination,” he said, and pulled out his cell phone to take a picture. “I may put that on a mannequin.”
    I did a mental fist pump. Yes, I still had my touch. I could dress a man. Hell, Derek had been happy. Maybe I could get Hugo into a more stylish look after all.
    “What’s your best-selling shoe?” I asked.
    He walked me to the shoes and picked up a loafer. A loafer, go figure.
    “Suede. And available in an array of colors. Dark chocolate is a bestseller.” Then he looked down at his feet. “And these driving shoes are quite comfortable.”
    “I noticed them when you walked up. Unique, and yet stylish, and they’d go well with most of the outfits I put together.”
    I smiled.
    “I know it’s summer, but I really like your sweater, too. What other colors is that available in?” I reached out and stroked his arm. Yummy cashmere.
    He walked me to the shelf with the sweaters. “We’ve got it in lavender-blue, orange, yellow, purple, and green.”
    He made the colors sound like children’s finger paint