“Super. You go change and I’ll pack everything else up, and then we can get started. We’ve got a lot of shopping ahead of us.”
She gave Audrey a dismayed look. “We do?”
“Logan’s instructions are, and I quote,” she said, pulling out her BlackBerry and reading from the screen, “‘Make sure that she gets a few weeks’ worth of clothing, along with some evening wear. You know my events calendar.’” She looked up from the screen. “I do, and it’s a doozy.” She looked back down again and continued to read. “‘Also, take her to the best bookstore in Manhattan. My library needs restocking.’” She looked up at Brontë in surprise. “He has a library?”
“Not really,” Brontë admitted, her lips twitching with her efforts not to smile like a lovesick idiot. “And I really don’t need that many clothes. Just a change or two.”
Audrey shook her head and waved the phone. “I have my orders, and I’m afraid they trump yours.”
Brontë didn’t disagree. She just took the clothes and went to change. She emerged a few minutes later, fully dressed. The clothing was elegant and yet casual. The price tags had been removed, so she didn’t know what they’d cost, but she had horrible visions of exactly how much everything had set Audrey back. “Thanks for the clothes. How much do I owe you?”
Audrey gave her a look. “Very funny.”
“I can write you a check.”
The other woman stared at her. “Are you or are you not aware that you’re dating a billionaire? He has a little cash to throw around. This is coming from his wallet, not mine.”
Brontë flushed. “Just because he has the cash doesn’t mean that I want him to spend ridiculous amounts on me. I’m a grown woman. I can buy my own clothes.”
Audrey arched a brow at her. After a moment, she said, “Well, that’s something I don’t hear very often from women in Logan’s circles. Huh.” She shook her head, as if not quite believing her ears. “Anyhow. Today, the shopping is on Logan. You can argue with him when he gets home. As long as you’re with me, though, his card is the one we’re using.”
Fair enough. She’d go light on the shopping today to please Audrey and go back later for more stuff if she needed it. “Sounds good. Where are we heading?”
“Fifth Avenue and Madison Avenue,” Audrey said promptly. “That’s where the best shopping is. Do you have a preference?”
“Someplace with reasonable, comfortable clothing?”
Audrey stared at her for a minute. “Oh, honey. No. We’ll start with your dress for the party tonight. I’m thinking Bergdorf’s or Saks. And shoes. We’ll definitely need some shoes. This could get a little pricey, so I just want you to close your eyes and remember who’s buying, okay?”
Brontë crossed her arms. “Audrey, this makes me . . . really uncomfortable. I don’t know that I can spend someone else’s money like this.”
“I know you can’t,” she said with a reassuring pat. “That’s why I’m in charge. And may I just say that this is a refreshing change? Usually I have to pry his girlfriends away from the Centurion card.”
“I thought he hadn’t dated much in the past year?”
“He hasn’t. I’ve been with him for several.” Audrey gave her another tight, efficient smile. “Shall we go?”
They headed out, Audrey chattering a mile a minute as they walked the few blocks to the shopping district. Brontë tried to pay attention to Audrey’s nonstop stream of conversation, but she was too busy soaking in the atmosphere of New York. Skyscrapers rose all around her, and the streets were crawling with pedestrians, the curb lined with cars. Awnings hung over the front of apartment buildings, and nearby someone pushed a street cart. Taxis were everywhere.
She’d never seen anything like it. It was crazy . . . and vibrant. The city was alive with people and business, and it was like being in the center of a very slick, industrious anthill. She could see why so many people loved living there. Standing on the street, surrounding by endless tall buildings, it truly did feel like the center of the universe.
Audrey continued to chatter as they walked, barely paying attention to other pedestrians or traffic. She’d been working for Logan for three and a half years, Audrey told her. He was a very fair boss, though he could be demanding of her time. And even though she’d been asked to buy presents for occasional girlfriends or to manage his calendar for his personal life, she confessed that she did not shop for many women, which made Brontë feel better.
At least it did until Audrey added, “Especially after Danica.”
Danica? Brontë swallowed, feeling a sick knot in her stomach. “Who’s Danica?”
Audrey chewed on her lip, looking chagrined. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Except . . . the party tonight? You’re going to be there, and the other guests on the list? They all know about Danica, and someone’s sure to bring it up even if she doesn’t show up.”
Brontë gritted her teeth and repeated herself. “Who’s Danica?”
The assistant sighed. “I really shouldn’t tell you. My number one loyalty is to Logan, and this feels disloyal. It’s not my place to speculate—”
“Audrey,” Brontë interrupted. “Who is Danica, and why do I need to know about her?”
The other woman wrung her hands, clearly torn. After a moment, she said, “Danica is Logan’s fiancée. Ex-fiancée.”
Brontë stared at her. He was engaged? He’d never told her. “Exactly how ex of a fiancée is she?”
“They broke things off about two years ago. He hasn’t really dated anyone seriously since.”
Her stomach clenched uncomfortably. Logan had had a fiancée. Past tense. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. He’d almost been married. That was a little different from dating. “Why did they break up?”
Audrey shrugged. “I can’t speculate. That’s Logan’s business and not something he shared with me. But I do know it was ugly. They’re not speaking. That’s why you have to look stellar at this party tonight. Odds are that she’s going to be there, and you can’t give her any reason to pick you apart.”
She swallowed uncomfortably. “I’m a waitress. I’m dating a billionaire. You don’t think that’s reason enough for her to want to tear me apart?”
“It is. You just don’t want to give her any more.”
“‘The wise learn many things from their enemies.’”
Audrey paused to stare at her. “Huh?”
“Oh. Um. Aristophanes. Never mind.”
Audrey pointed to a store they were passing. “We can start here. They have some really nice selections. Sophisticated and moneyed. Nothing that screams streetwalker.” The assistant looked at Brontë’s clothes, and then added, “Not that I think you would have trouble with that, but you never know. Some women think that if they’re spending a lot, the clothes should have a lot of flash. It’s just the opposite, really.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Brontë murmured.
The store was like something out of a movie, complete with marble floors and soft music piped in. They wandered through some of the racks, Audrey leading the way. She seemed to know exactly where she was going, and Brontë was content to let her take charge.
As they walked, a pretty blouse with a delicate ruffle along the neckline caught her eye. All right. If she was going to be staying with Logan for a few weeks—maybe more, maybe less—she needed clothing that wouldn’t embarrass him. She paused and examined it, admiring the pale silky fabric, then flipped over the tag. Her breath seized in her lungs.
That blouse cost more than two months’ rent of her Kansas City apartment.
Brontë put it back on the rack, hoping desperately that her fingerprints hadn’t smudged anything, and followed Audrey with wide eyes.
The assistant began to pick through a rack of dresses. “You have such lovely dark hair and pale skin that I think you could probably look great in a nice jewel tone. Maybe blue? Green? Do you have a preference?” She glanced up at Brontë and noticed her expression. “What’s wrong?”
Brontë reached for a nearby tag and winced. “I really don’t feel comfortable with the prices here.”
Audrey gave her an exasperated look. “Are you still going on about this?” She shook her head and turned back to the rack of clothing, flipping through dresses. “You are dating a billionaire. Wearing T-shirts and jeans is fine for at home, if that’s your thing. But if you go out? People are going to look at what he’s wearing, and they’re going to look at what you’re wearing. You have to convey an image. The functions that Logan attends? They frequently make the society pages. The last thing you want is for someone to point out fabulously wealthy and handsome Logan Hawkings and his thrift store girlfriend. Understand?”
Brontë said nothing.
Audrey gave her another disappointed look. “Do I need to call Logan? Because if we don’t get you outfitted appropriately, I’m the one who’s going to be in trouble, Brontë. As his assistant, it’s my job to make him look good. And if you look good, he looks good. And I really like my job and would hate to lose it.”
“That is totally emotional blackmail.”
“Yes, it is.” Audrey pulled a dress off the rack and held it up to Brontë’s chest. “Now, green or blue?”
***
Several hours later, Brontë returned to Logan’s apartment with sixteen shopping bags. Once Brontë had caved in, Audrey had been a determined shopper, and Brontë now possessed several pairs of designer shoes, matching jewelry, four designer handbags, two clutch purses, four cocktail dresses (for starters, Audrey had said), and multiple sets of everyday clothing. Since Audrey had been determined that she be fashionably beautiful from the inside out, Brontë now had bags of designer unmentionables from Agent Provocateur and La Perla.
The lingerie, she admitted, she rather liked, since she knew Logan would appreciate them. The rest, though—well, it bothered her. But since she didn’t want to get Audrey in trouble, or embarrass Logan, she’d caved in to the pressure and bought it. She’d stopped looking at price tags since that just seemed to slow everything down, and she felt sick at the amount they’d spent on clothes that day.
All she kept thinking about was that it could have paid her rent for a year. Fed a family of four for a year. Purchased a small car or two. Instead, it was just sweaters and skirts and matching earrings. For the amount of money they’d spent on her shoes, they should have been gold-plated and given her a foot massage as she put them on.
She and Logan hadn’t discussed closets, and she didn’t want to be presumptuous, so she filled a closet in one of the spare rooms. Once her things were put away, she took a long, luxuriant bath, pulled her hair into what she hoped was an elegant upsweep, and began to apply her makeup.