Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I took one step…and another, thinking I might be okay when I reached the sofa that anchored the viewing section of Seb’s office. But no. I licked my dry lips and raced to the en suite bathroom, where I promptly puked my guts out.
So let’s recap.
In the space of less than twenty-four hours, I’d gone from riding the high of my life to praying to the porcelain god in my boss’s office. Those were the kind of dizzying extremes that would make anyone take a hard look at their life.
Problem: I wasn’t sure who I was anymore.
2
LORENZO
“Thank goodness you’re here! Come in. Hurry.”
Enid motioned for me to enter, pausing to scan the street like a mad sentry before ushering me into Mr. Gowan’s grand foyer. I set the two shopping bags I’d lugged from my car onto the black-and-white marble floor, then shook my cramped fingers to encourage blood flow while regarding her curiously.
“Is Mr. G okay?” I asked.
“Oh, he’s fit as a fiddle today.” Enid beamed, pivoting toward the ornate gold-framed mirror to check her reflection. She patted her short red hair, fussed with the collar of her pink cardigan, and smooshed her lips together as if to ensure even application.
This was not normal behavior on so many fronts.
Enid was a middle-aged caretaker and nurse who wore basic button-downs and polyester pants with sensible white Crocs, bless her soul. And she touted organic skin creams and balms so often that I was sure she had an allergy to cosmetics. Yet here she was, all gussied up with rosy cheeks and fuchsia-stained lips.
“Good. Um…what’s going on?” I gestured at her pearls and narrowed my gaze. “Do you have a date?”
She swatted my arm playfully. “Fat chance that would be. Mr. Gowan is expecting company today.”
I winced at her high-pitched squeal of delight, then smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. He must be feeling better.”
“Yes, the promise of a nice visit with old friends and new acquaintances can do wonders for the soul,” she replied cryptically.
I supposed that was my cue to ask which of Mr. Gowan’s octogenarian pals warranted an extra spritz of Daisy by Marc Jacobs, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Besides, I had no doubt Mr. G would tell me all about it. He was a fabulous gossip, and he tended to save the best tidbits for our weekly chats over coffee and fabric selections.
“O-kay. Uh, well, I brought the pillows he ordered and”—I unzipped my satchel and pulled out a semi-squished bakery bag—“fresh croissants from Joan’s on Third. Almond with extra powdered sugar, chocolate, and…plain. Start the coffee, and I’ll take these to the boss. Is he in the living room?”
Enid plucked the treats from my fingers and set them on the round table under the ginormous crystal chandelier. “Yes, but there’s been a slight change of plans. Coffee and croissants will have to wait. As I said, Mr. Gowan is expecting a visitor any minute now.”
“Why didn’t you text me? I wouldn’t have schlepped all those pillows over here if I’d known,” I huffed. “I’ll put them in the closet in the spare bedroom and give him the deets tomorrow after—”
“Don’t go anywhere yet,” she interrupted, clutching my elbow, her eyes wild with excitement. “You won’t want to miss this.”
“Miss what?”
“A star sighting,” Mr. Gowan rasped in a gravelly tone. “Good morning, Lorenzo dah-ling. You look positively resplendent, my dear.”
I spun on my heels to greet my old friend fondly. “Oh, my! Same to you, hot stuff. Is that a new cravat?”
His thin, bony fingers trembled around his cane as he lifted his free hand to adjust the paisley silk fabric tucked into his collar. “It’s an ancient favorite.”
I brushed an invisible bit of lint from the front pocket of his velvet-and-satin smoking jacket, humming in admiration. “So debonair.”
“You’re too kind,” he replied, patting my cheek like a beloved old aunt…from another mother.
Which sort of summed up our relationship.
Here’s the deal…Mr. Gowan was an old queen and a loyal patron of BGoods. He’d spent a small fortune in knickknacks and accessories over the past decade, and he made sure I was credited for every sale. I have to admit, my younger self hadn’t known what to think of him.
I’d been a twenty-five-year-old party boy with an inflated sense of my own allure who’d been perfectly willing to flirt for hefty commission checks. And trust me, I was an expert flirt. The key lay in the balance between praise and interest. Praising hair, jewelry, fashion sense, and acting as if I were interested in the why, how, when, or where of any of those topics while peddling my wares usually equated to a nice payday.
When I was younger, I’d pretend to care about things like Sally Flanagan’s daughter’s endless parade of bad boyfriends and the cat apartment Trace Unger made for his posse of feline children. My smile would fall the moment they walked out the door like brittle drywall in an abandoned house.