“What are we doing here?” she asks.
“You’ve never been to the outlets before?” I ask.
“I’ve never shopped here before,” she answers. In other words, she’s window-shopped but never bought anything. Considering the wardrobe I’ve seen so far, I’m not surprised. I’m under the impression she’s bought everything she owns either from one of those Chinese online companies or from the clearance section of a big box department store.
“This is Essence,” I tell her as we step inside. “This is how you will be dressing from now on.”
Her eyes grow wide as she takes in the room. White marble makes up the floors and walls. Crystal and gold chandeliers hang from the ceiling. It isn’t overly crowded, and there are exactly two employees working, who approach us as soon as we walk in.
“Are they even open this late?” she asks.
“Hello Mr. Graves,” a woman greets me, then turns to look at Annelise with a fake smile that ticks in the corners when she sees the red dress. It’s that bad. “You are Annelise?”
“I am,” Annelise answers, though it comes out with the lilt of a question mark.
“Mr. Graves told me you were coming and that you are interested in a new wardrobe. I’ve already pre-selected a few items based on taste. They are waiting in the dressing room,” the woman says, and we follow her in that direction.
“You know my taste?” she asks, and it’s obvious she’s never been to a place like this before. It’s almost endearing.
“Not your taste, Miss Bates. Damien’s,” the woman says. I can feel Annelise looking at me. The woman leads her into a dressing room, and I wait about ten feet outside, checking my watch. The Opal room is only now starting to pick up, so I’m not worried about the time. Also, I own the place, so it doesn’t really matter what time I show up.
After a few moments, Annelise steps out sheepishly, though she has literally no business looking that unsure of herself. It’s a short, glittery black skirt that bunches in the back, hugging her perfectly taut ass beautifully, paired with a lace corset on the top.
“This is really lovely on you,” the woman says, and I give one nod.
“I’m not sure what to wear over it,” Annelise says, looking at herself in the mirror and flushing again.
“It’s not meant to be covered up,” I say, and Annelise just stares at me. “But…it’s lingerie,” she says, and I’m almost embarrassed. But the woman just smiles at me. “I’ll box it up.”
After that is a satin, emerald green dress with a corset top and just enough frill and flow to look classy but short enough to be sexy with easy access. Annelise isn’t crazy about the way it makes her tits look. That’s literally the selling point for me.
“Box it,” I tell the girl.
There are a few more cocktail dresses, all of which she tugs on in hopes that will make them longer and look more like an evening gown. The black satin dress with the thigh-high slit and plunging neckline that dips nearly to her navel.
“Yes,” I say, desperately needing to tuck myself in my belt.
“It’s so revealing,” Annelise argues, tugging at the top in a failing attempt to pull it together.
I take a step closer, taking her hands and pulling them down. “This is how you will dress any time you work a night shift. It’s the mandatory dress code of the Opal Room.”
“But I look like a stripper,” she says. The woman bites her lip and takes the other items to the front to box them up. Once her back is to us, I spin Annelise to face me. “You are a lady of the evening. A guest at the Velvet Lounge. You are not a stage girl. And you are with me, the owner of the Opal Room. There is a difference, and you will not be confused.”
Annelise nods, glancing at herself in the mirror again. “I’ve never dressed like this in public.”
“You won’t be in public. You’ll be with me, and everyone will know that you are with me,” I tell her.
“I know. Because I have to stay within a yardstick of you at all times,” she says while tugging at the dress again. She’s one yank away from ripping the sheer, three-thousand-dollar fabric.
“That and your eyes will stay on me at all times. Other than when you toss the room a shining smile,” I remind her. Then, I reach into my pocket and pull out a small box. “Just in case you or anyone else forgets, you will also have this.”
I pop the box open with my fingers, revealing a gold locket.
“That’s lovely,” she says with a hint of a gasp, the obvious response considering just how much this little trinket is worth.
“It’s symbolic. Everyone who knows me, which in this caseiseveryone, will know when they see you wearing this exactly who you are,” I say as I reach around her neck to put the necklace on her. I am standing so close to her that my chest almost touches hers. My fingertips brush the nape of her neck as I secure the clasp of the latch, and she swallows hard at the contact. Afterwards, I trace the chain with my finger, around her neck, over her perfectly defined collarbone and down to thelocket resting near the swell of her breasts that rise and fall with every breath. She exhales softly and her sweet breath smells of strawberries.
I step back, and she touches it, looking at herself in the mirror again. I think it’s starting to hit her just how high the stakes are right now. Standing behind her, I move her hair into place, flowing over her shoulders like blonde, rose-scented waves, and my eyes meet hers in the mirror.
