Nicholas puts a black AmEx on the counter and slides it over to me. “Get what you need for tonight—dress, shoes, jewelry, purse. The works.” He waves negligently. “Whatever you like.”
I stare at the card while my accountant brain redoes the math to factor in shoes, accessories and a purse into my budget.Is there anything okay in my accessory collection? Do I need to get diamonds? Can anybody tell if I get cubic zirconia instead?“But you’re already doing so much.”
He frowns. “My dates don’t spend their own money to go out with me.”
“They don’t?” Does this mean I have to wear the kind of thing his previous dates wore?
“It isn’t that much money, Molly.”
That jerks me back to the conversation—and the list of things he asked me to buy. “Jewelry isn’t that much money?” I don’t know what kind of stuff his previous women splurged on, but he’s got to be joking here.
Or they took advantage of him, which I have trouble believing. He’s too sharp and capable. He probably looked the other way.
He shrugs. “Maybe they didn’t buy jewelry with my money. Some of them.”
“That’s what I thought.” Nicholas is too perfect to be somebody’s sucker. “So what’s the real budget?”
“The budget is: you buy whatever you want for the gala. And if you still haven’t hit the credit limit, treat yourself to some books or whatever else you feel like grabbing.” He smiles.
I pick up the card and consider its cool surface. The centurion in the middle gazes off into the distance. “Isthere any limit on one of these?”
“Not that I’ve found.”
“So…”
“So I guess you can buy all the books and chocolate you want.”
He’s joking… Right? Except his expression is dead serious. Like a doctor informing you you’re having a heart attack.
Maybe his calm steadiness hides how frivolous he is with money. On the other hand, he’sreallyrich. So it honestly might not matter if he gets a brand-new truck or offers to buy me whatever I want. Actually, considering the relative levels of our wealth, his spending five or six figures like this is like my cheering myself up by picking up a pretty lipstick from Walmart.
And he’s probably worried that I won’t be able to afford something nice enough to match up to the rest of the gala’s guests. The family hosting the event might be more important to him than I thought.
But the thing that really decides me is—I’d rather choke on cat vomit than look shabby next to Dana. She has the better body and face, but I want to do what I can to close the gap. I don’t want Nicholas to look at her and begin to wonder what the heck he’s doing with me.
“Is there any particular store you want me to hit?” I have no idea where to get something suitable. The kind of place you’d take your fake boyfriend’s black AmEx to, so you can shine like proper arm candy.
He looks at me blankly, then picks up his phone. He starts tapping the screen. “Let’s find you a consultant.”
He keeps tapping and tapping, then mutters, “That cocksucker.” Finally he stops and smiles.
“Okay, so I couldn’t find a personal shopper on this short notice, but one of my sisters-in-law is going to go with you. Lucie is nice, so hopefully you’ll hit it off.”
* * *
When I reach the exclusive boutique Nicholas told me about, I suddenly realize that his “sister-in-law Lucie” is actually Lucienne Peery of Peery Diamonds. It seems impossible, but the towering height, the gorgeous face with cool blue eyes…
It’s her.
Although I don’t follow celebrity news closely, everyone has heard of her and seen her photos. She’s infamous in some ways. The woman has graced more gossip sites than anybody I can think of.
Plus, a few months ago the Internet was crazy with the news that her father had been convicted of a bunch of financial crimes, and her ex-boyfriend had stolen from her company. Her life is like a soap opera you can’t tear your eyes from. It was plastered all over the TVs in the gym, and I saw a few segments. Plus, Georgia followed it religiously, saying she always knew Lucienne Peery was a good woman.
“Nobody’s as one-dimensional as the media makes it sound,” Georgia said.
If Dad were here, he’d fall to his knees. Lucienne is exactly the kind of daughter he wishes I could be. Tall, fashionable, accomplished and brimming with unshakable confidence.
A royal-purple dress and nude stilettos look incredible on her. Discreet rubies and diamonds glitter on her ears and throat. A string of rubies around one slim ankle glints as she struts toward me like the world’s hottest model. On her finger is a stunning sapphire and diamond ring and a white gold wedding band with diamonds encrusted on it.
