“I wasn’t.”
I blink. “It’s good to be Kaz Lindström.”
“Harley, during the ride from Brooklyn Heights to Manhattan, you brought up the subject a hundred times, and I pretended not to hear you. We have an arrangement. You’re mygirlfriend, so you get to buy anything your heart desires.”
It must be good to be Kaz Lindström’s real girlfriend.
Devlyn was a fool.
“Stop looking at me like that and go shop, woman.” He taps the tip of my nose with his finger.
The intimate gesture startles us both.
We stare at each other, wide eyed.
What just happened?
Kaz clears his throat. “I can’t stay parked here for long unless I want someone to rip me a new one.”
“I guess I don’t have a choice.”
“This is a premier fashion destination.”
“That’s not the point––”
His narrowed gaze cuts my sentence short.
“Have a great day, Kaz. I’m off to shop for a pretty dress, and shoes, and a handbag, and lots and lots of other pretty things for tonight’s Active Kids gala.”
“By God, she’s got it.”
I’m grinning as I get out of his vehicle.
I close the door and wave.
I turn around to face Saks Fifth Avenue.
I could never afford to buy much at Saks at regular price, but every year, I saved up to get one designer item I coveted during their sales event.
Those days seem so far away.
My attention is snagged by a stylish woman in a red pantsuit entering the shop, carrying a crocodile skin Hermes bag.
I grimace, flashing back to that awful day at Grazie Mille.
I give the stylish woman a second glance, and pat myself on the back for selecting the best outfit I was able to hold onto––black pants, a white T-shirt that readsCôte d’Azur, Francein light blue I scored at a discount store, and black ballerinas I acquired at the same store because they had a nick in the back of one shoe. I don’t look like I’m made of money, but I look decent enough, security won’t kick me out.
When I enter the store, I turn around in a circle, taking it all in. Even though it’s eleven o’clock and the store just opened, there are quite a few shoppers milling around.
There’s nothing like kicking off Saturday with some retail therapy.
Worried I’ll get thrown out because I’m acting like a freak, I put an end to my gawking and head toward the escalators. Imake my way to the women’s department and stroll toward the counter where a smiling brunette stands pretty.
“Hello,” I say. “I have an appointment with Judith.”
“Judith doesn’t work on this floor. She works on the designers’ floor.”
Dollar signs float around her head like in a cartoon.
