The Collector
Page 30
“Problem?” he asked.
“It’s like the triple mirrors in dressing rooms.” She wiggled her shoulders. “You see too much.”
He’d see more when he talked her into a nude, but one step at a time.
“So.” He picked up the coffee again. “Errands.”
“You don’t have to help me run errands. I got a new dress.”
“I have to get my mail anyway.” He glanced around the studio. “And I need to get out of here. You probably need your shoes.”
“Yes, I do. Give me a minute.”
Alone, he pulled out his phone, turned it back on. Seeing over a dozen v-mails, e-mails and texts gave him an instant headache.
Yeah, he needed to get out.
Still he took the time to answer a few, in order of priority, stopped, stuck the phone away again when she came back out, wearing the cropped pants and top she’d worn in. “I just folded the dress up in my bag, in case you decided I couldn’t keep it after all.”
“It’s not my dress.”
“It’s definitely too short for you, but— Oh.” Instant distress. “It belongs to someone. Let me put it back.”
“No, I said keep it. Chloe left it here—or maybe it was Cara—months ago. She, whichever one it was, knows the rules.”
“There are rules?”
“Leave stuff here,” he began as he herded Lila to the elevator, “for more than two months, it goes into wardrobe or the trash. Otherwise, I’d have their stuff scattered everywhere.”
“Strict but fair. Cara. Sister? Model? Girlfriend?”
“Half sister, father’s side.” And since one of the messages had been from Cara, his thoughts circled back to Oliver yet again.
“They’re releasing the body tomorrow.”
She touched his hand as he pulled the grate open on the main level. “That’s a good thing. It means you can have the memorial soon, say goodbye.”
“It means an emotional circus, but you can’t get out the push brooms until the elephants dance.”
“I think I understand that,” she said after a moment, “and it wasn’t flattering to your family.”
“I’m a little tired of my family right now.” He grabbed keys, sunglasses, a small cloth bag. “Put this in your purse, will you? For the mail.”
She couldn’t imagine needing a bag for mail, but obliged.
He stuck the keys in his pocket, shoved the sunglasses on.
“It’s a tiring time,” she commented.
“You have no idea.” He led her outside. “You should. You should come to the funeral.”
“Oh, I don’t think—”
“Definitely. You’ll be a distraction, plus you keep your head in a crisis. There’ll be several crises. I’ll send a driver for you. Ten o’clock should work.”
“I didn’t know him.”
“You’re connected, and you know me. Luke will ride up with you. Sunday. Is Sunday a problem?”
Lie, she ordered herself, but knew she wouldn’t. “Actually it’s my interim day—between the Kilderbrands and the Lowensteins, but—”
“Then it works.” He took her arm, steered her east instead of south.
“I was going down a block.”
“One stop first. There.” He gestured to a funky women’s boutique.
Waiting for the walk signal, the rumbling mass of a huge delivery truck, the gaggle of what she knew to be tourists given the tone of their chatter, gave her a minute to catch her breath.
“Ashton, won’t your family consider the nosy temporary neighbor an intrusion at your brother’s funeral?”
“Lila, I have twelve siblings, many of whom have spouses, and ex-spouses, kids, stepchildren. I have assorted aunts, uncles and grandparents. Nothing’s an intrusion.”
He towed her across the street, around a woman with a wailing infant in a stroller, and into the shop, one with color and style. And, she imagined, really big price tags.
“Jess.”
“Ash.” The willowy blonde in a black-and-white mini and towering red sandals scooted around a counter to offer her cheek to Ash. “It’s good to see you.”
“I’ve got a few stops to make, thought I’d check to see if you found anything.”
“I went to work as soon as you called. I’ve got a couple things that might work. Is this your model? I’m Jess.”
“Lila.”
“You’re right about the red,” she said to Ash. “And I think I know which is going to work. Come on back.”
She led the way into a breathlessly cramped storeroom, then took two full-skirted red dresses off a wheeled rack.
“Not that. That.”
“Exactly.”
Before Lila had a chance to really see both, Jess stuffed one back on the rack, held out the other.
Ash spread the flounced skirt out wide, nodded. “It should work, but I need the color under it.”
“Got that covered. I came across this at a consignment shop weeks ago and picked it up thinking you might find it useful at some point. It’s perfect for this, I think. Rather than the bulk of several slips or underskirts, this has the multicolor flounces on the bottom. And if it’s not right, you could get a seamstress to make one.”
“Yeah, let’s see.” He took both, pushed them at Lila. “Try them on.”
“I’m the one with errands,” she reminded him.
“We’ll get to them.”
“Let me show you a dressing room. Would you like something?” Jess said smoothly, as she nudged Lila out of the storeroom, around and into a dressing room with the damn triple mirror. “Some sparkling water?”
“Why not? Thanks.”
Once again, she changed. The slip bagged at the waist so she dug a paper clip out of her purse to tighten it.
And the dress fit like a dream.
Not her style, of course. Too red, too in-your-face with the low scoop of bodice. But the dropped waist made her look taller, and she wouldn’t argue with that.
“Are you in that thing?”
“Yes. I just . . . Well, come right in,” she said when Ash did just that.
“Yeah, that’s it.” He circled his finger again. She rolled her eyes, but did the twirl. “Close. We’ll need to . . .” He reached down, hiked a section of the skirt up.
“It’s like the triple mirrors in dressing rooms.” She wiggled her shoulders. “You see too much.”
He’d see more when he talked her into a nude, but one step at a time.
“So.” He picked up the coffee again. “Errands.”
“You don’t have to help me run errands. I got a new dress.”
“I have to get my mail anyway.” He glanced around the studio. “And I need to get out of here. You probably need your shoes.”
“Yes, I do. Give me a minute.”
Alone, he pulled out his phone, turned it back on. Seeing over a dozen v-mails, e-mails and texts gave him an instant headache.
Yeah, he needed to get out.
Still he took the time to answer a few, in order of priority, stopped, stuck the phone away again when she came back out, wearing the cropped pants and top she’d worn in. “I just folded the dress up in my bag, in case you decided I couldn’t keep it after all.”
“It’s not my dress.”
“It’s definitely too short for you, but— Oh.” Instant distress. “It belongs to someone. Let me put it back.”
“No, I said keep it. Chloe left it here—or maybe it was Cara—months ago. She, whichever one it was, knows the rules.”
“There are rules?”
“Leave stuff here,” he began as he herded Lila to the elevator, “for more than two months, it goes into wardrobe or the trash. Otherwise, I’d have their stuff scattered everywhere.”
“Strict but fair. Cara. Sister? Model? Girlfriend?”
“Half sister, father’s side.” And since one of the messages had been from Cara, his thoughts circled back to Oliver yet again.
“They’re releasing the body tomorrow.”
She touched his hand as he pulled the grate open on the main level. “That’s a good thing. It means you can have the memorial soon, say goodbye.”
“It means an emotional circus, but you can’t get out the push brooms until the elephants dance.”
“I think I understand that,” she said after a moment, “and it wasn’t flattering to your family.”
“I’m a little tired of my family right now.” He grabbed keys, sunglasses, a small cloth bag. “Put this in your purse, will you? For the mail.”
She couldn’t imagine needing a bag for mail, but obliged.
He stuck the keys in his pocket, shoved the sunglasses on.
“It’s a tiring time,” she commented.
“You have no idea.” He led her outside. “You should. You should come to the funeral.”
“Oh, I don’t think—”
“Definitely. You’ll be a distraction, plus you keep your head in a crisis. There’ll be several crises. I’ll send a driver for you. Ten o’clock should work.”
“I didn’t know him.”
“You’re connected, and you know me. Luke will ride up with you. Sunday. Is Sunday a problem?”
Lie, she ordered herself, but knew she wouldn’t. “Actually it’s my interim day—between the Kilderbrands and the Lowensteins, but—”
“Then it works.” He took her arm, steered her east instead of south.
“I was going down a block.”
“One stop first. There.” He gestured to a funky women’s boutique.
Waiting for the walk signal, the rumbling mass of a huge delivery truck, the gaggle of what she knew to be tourists given the tone of their chatter, gave her a minute to catch her breath.
“Ashton, won’t your family consider the nosy temporary neighbor an intrusion at your brother’s funeral?”
“Lila, I have twelve siblings, many of whom have spouses, and ex-spouses, kids, stepchildren. I have assorted aunts, uncles and grandparents. Nothing’s an intrusion.”
He towed her across the street, around a woman with a wailing infant in a stroller, and into the shop, one with color and style. And, she imagined, really big price tags.
“Jess.”
“Ash.” The willowy blonde in a black-and-white mini and towering red sandals scooted around a counter to offer her cheek to Ash. “It’s good to see you.”
“I’ve got a few stops to make, thought I’d check to see if you found anything.”
“I went to work as soon as you called. I’ve got a couple things that might work. Is this your model? I’m Jess.”
“Lila.”
“You’re right about the red,” she said to Ash. “And I think I know which is going to work. Come on back.”
She led the way into a breathlessly cramped storeroom, then took two full-skirted red dresses off a wheeled rack.
“Not that. That.”
“Exactly.”
Before Lila had a chance to really see both, Jess stuffed one back on the rack, held out the other.
Ash spread the flounced skirt out wide, nodded. “It should work, but I need the color under it.”
“Got that covered. I came across this at a consignment shop weeks ago and picked it up thinking you might find it useful at some point. It’s perfect for this, I think. Rather than the bulk of several slips or underskirts, this has the multicolor flounces on the bottom. And if it’s not right, you could get a seamstress to make one.”
“Yeah, let’s see.” He took both, pushed them at Lila. “Try them on.”
“I’m the one with errands,” she reminded him.
“We’ll get to them.”
“Let me show you a dressing room. Would you like something?” Jess said smoothly, as she nudged Lila out of the storeroom, around and into a dressing room with the damn triple mirror. “Some sparkling water?”
“Why not? Thanks.”
Once again, she changed. The slip bagged at the waist so she dug a paper clip out of her purse to tighten it.
And the dress fit like a dream.
Not her style, of course. Too red, too in-your-face with the low scoop of bodice. But the dropped waist made her look taller, and she wouldn’t argue with that.
“Are you in that thing?”
“Yes. I just . . . Well, come right in,” she said when Ash did just that.
“Yeah, that’s it.” He circled his finger again. She rolled her eyes, but did the twirl. “Close. We’ll need to . . .” He reached down, hiked a section of the skirt up.
