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

colors, but they melted me with their soft fall hues. “I’ll take one of each color.”
    I gave him Hugo’s sizes and pointed out what I wanted. I’d been in there an hour, and he’d worked with me as if I’d been the only customer he had. Which I definitely wasn’t. We even looked at three different tuxedo jackets.
    “Do you have a tailor on staff?” I asked.
    He didn’t miss a beat. “Of course.”
    “If you can hold these, I’ll be back with Hugo, so he can try them on. I’m not buying all of this only to have to bring it back.”
    “When do you think you’ll come back?” he asked.
    “He’s sleeping right now, so hopefully we’ll be back before five.” I sort of said the last part as a question. I had no idea when I’d get him out of the room.
    “Where are you staying?”
    “Aria,” I said.
    “Would you like them delivered for him to try on in his room?”
    Sure he was pulling my leg, I said, “Can you do that with two sizes of each of what I picked out? I can put a deposit, or pay in full, if necessary.”
    He waved me off. “I’ll deliver them myself.”
    I mentally told the prissy pale man at CD to fuck off.
    “You’re a gem. I wish all of the other stores I visited were this accommodating.”
    “I’m the manager, Miss, so I’d be honored to do what it takes to make your client happy.”
    Not to mention, you’ll have a nice dinner on the commission, I thought, but then felt bad, because he’d been so incredibly nice.
    And I suddenly fell in love with another man: this wonderful store manager with the mocha skin and the black hair. And who probably had a sexy name like Alejandro, Antonio, or Fernando.
    I gave him my room number and my cell phone number. “Around four?”
    “I’ll make it happen.” He walked me out of the store. “I look forward to seeing Hugo in these.”
    With that satisfaction. I took myself out for a cappuccino. I sat on the terrace of the café and watched the throngs of people walk by. I wanted to tell the CD guy he was an asshole, and that I’d found a store that wanted my money. Instead, maybe I’d waltz right in there and mess with the guy.
    “May I…oh, you again.” The disdain in his voice palpable.
    I pulled out Hugo’s Centurion card and said, “Do you take American Express?”
    He nodded. His eyes wide.
    I pulled down a dress and looked at the tag, “This dress, $5000.” I picked up a pair of men’s shoes, “These shoes, $2500.” I walked to the menswear. “This shirt, $1200.” Then I turned on him. “The look on your face when I pulled out my Amex card? Simply priceless.” I turned on my heel and muttered under my breath as I walked out the door, “Fucking priceless.”
    Until I walked into that store, I’d thought the Pretty Woman scenario had been “made for the movies.” Now I knew. People worked in stores where they couldn’t even afford the merchandise and still look down their noses at people of their own class. What a pity.

Chapter Seven
    I knocked lightly on Hugo’s hotel door. I’d been back at the hotel for a few hours, but I’d treated myself to a massage, manicure, and pedicure. Oh, and just in case I got lucky at something other than the slots or poker tables, I got a wax, and I’m not talking about my upper lip, though I did have that waxed, too. When I was finished, I had nothing left but a landing strip.
    I didn’t want to wake him up. But after the pampering, I couldn’t wait any longer. If I had the guts, I’d have stood outside his door in nothing but a tie, but that’s so cliché.
    He opened the door, still dressed as he’d been that morning.
    “Hey, I got a massage and stuff from the spa and put it on the room. Let me know what it comes to and I’ll pay you back.” I pushed by him and into the room.
    His room looked much like mine. Elegant and modern. The white carpet and walls the same, but different artwork.
    “You don’t have to repay me. It’s all on me. I’m just glad you agreed to get