Jackson leaned down and gave me a quick kiss, obviously pleased that I had capitulated. "I don't care if people recognize me. I'm tired of living my life hiding behind baseball caps and sunglasses. I'm shopping with my girlfriend today and I don't care who sees it. You forget I'm not the only one who will be recognized now."
My pulse quickened at Jackson's use of the term girlfriend and I decided if Jackson was okay with being recognized, I was fine with it as well. Besides, if I wanted a future with Jackson, I had to get used to him being a public figure. I doubted people would actually recognize me on my own, but standing next to Jackson was a dead giveaway.
Craig was waiting for us downstairs and I couldn't help feeling bad that he had to spend so much of his time just waiting around to see where our whims took us. He double-parked when we got to the shopping district of Fifth Avenue, taking his usual position of leaning against the side of the car looking foreboding. I felt sorry for the police officer that would try to give him a ticket.
Even though I insisted on no private appointments, Jackson had still called Sherry for advice about which stores to go to. Apparently, she was a clotheshorse with impeccable taste and I couldn't help but wonder what she looked like. I pushed the unwelcome feeling of jealousy aside. I was going to trust Jackson until he gave me a reason to be suspicious.
"Sherry highly recommended Ferragamo. Do you like that designer?"
"Sure, when I see it on the runways on television. Isn't it really expensive?"
The corners of Jackson's lips turned down. "Remember, no looking at price tags. Just choose what you like and try it on. Otherwise, I'll do the choosing."
I sighed at Jackson's autocratic manner but didn't comment. Most girls would be flattered that their boyfriend wanted to spare no expense when shopping, but most girls didn't have the world thinking they were money-grubbing opportunists.
I let Jackson guide me into the store and we were instantly transported from the loud crowd of Fifth Avenue into a hushed mecca of fashion. There were a few customers milling around but I noticed the salespeople outnumbered them.
A tall saleswoman with thick blonde hair slicked back into a chignon, dressed in shades of grey and dripping with silver jewelry, sauntered over to us and I couldn't help but notice her gaze sweep over my jeans and white blouse that billowed loosely around my waist. I had thought I looked casually chic when I left the apartment but next to this beautiful Amazon woman, I felt inadequate. At least her gaze was kind, if a little bemused.
"Hello. Can I help you?"
It was almost comical the way her expression changed as her gaze drifted to Jackson. Her eyes widened and her lips slightly parted in recognition. To her credit, she recovered quickly and shifted her gaze back to me, as if she was afraid to be caught gawking at Jackson. I couldn't help but notice her eyes narrow as she studied me, and I saw a flare of recognition in her eyes.
"I'm looking for an evening dress for a party."
"Of course," she replied, and I was impressed by her even tone. "How formal of a dress are you looking for?"
I bit my lip, glancing up at Jackson. I wasn't sure how formal a launch party for a lounge would be, especially one that was bound to be celebrity-studded. Jackson answered for me when he saw me hesitate.
"Pretty formal." Jackson glanced down at me, his gaze softening. "Do you want to just look around first?"
I nodded, smiling pleasantly at the saleswoman. "I'll let you know if I need anything."
She nodded and faded into the background, as proficient salespeople do in high-end stores. Jackson and I wandered over to the women's section and I was amused by how sparse the offerings were. I was used to racks of clothes filled with different sizes and styles but at Ferragamo, each pedestal showed off one piece of clothing.
I immediately gravitated towards a black dress that was much more risqué than anything I had ever worn. It was black and sleeveless with a plunging neckline that was only a few inches above the waistline. A black belt cinched the middle, the rest of the dress draping down and hitting above the knee.
"Do you like it?"
I turned to Jackson, a half-smile on my face. "Well, it's certainly not like anything I've ever worn before."
"Try it on," he urged. "Why don't you grab a few dresses and put on a fashion show for me. It's been a while since I've been able to ogle you while you try on clothes."
I couldn't help laughing at Jackson's lascivious expression, and I was happy to oblige. The only problem was that all the dresses hanging in the store were size zeroes. I turned to look for the blonde salesperson and she was instantly at my side.
"Did you need something?"
I blinked, a little startled at her sudden appearance, but I just nodded towards the black dress. "I wanted to try that on, but it's not my size."
"We keep all the sizes in the back. Just tell me which dresses you want to try on and I'll be happy to get your size for you." Her eyes assessed me as they swept over me. "A four or six?"
"A six," I answered, although I was worried that these designer clothes were made for twigs and I wouldn't be able to fit into my normal size. I decided not to dwell on it. If I had to wear a bigger size, I would wear a bigger size. I was happy with my figure and Jackson didn't seem to have any complaints.
Jackson trailed behind us as I pointed out the dresses I wanted to try on. I noticed furtive glances in our direction from the other salespeople as well as the handful of customers milling in the store. I heard two Japanese women speaking rapidly to each other in their native language and I gulped when I not only heard "Jackson Reynard" in the mix of Japanese, but also "Emma Mills."
After I had chosen my dresses, the saleswoman, who had introduced herself as Corinne, ushered me into a dressing room that was as big as my living room. The fact that it was better furnished than my living room didn't pass my notice.
"Would you like anything to drink? A glass of champagne?"
I shook my head, wondering if you were always offered refreshments at expensive stores. I couldn't help but laugh at the image that popped into my head of myself drinking a glass of champagne while trying on jeans in the tiny cubicle of a dressing room at Old Navy.
"What's so funny?" Jackson asked as he stepped inside.
"Jackson! You can't come in here!"
"Why not?"
"Because it's a women's dressing room!" I didn't want to explain that I was horrified at the thought of Jackson watching me struggle into a too-small dress. There needed to be some mystique in our relationship.