In her way, though, she thinks she’s doing me a favor. It’s the diva’s way.
Macy’s is only a block away, so we walk, which means Addie will fuss with her hair for fifteen minutes or so before we begin.
The Susanne Cosmetics counter isn’t busy. Only one or two customers are looking at products. That will change after today. Tons of women will want the new Burgundy Orchid shade of Susanne lip plumper. I hope they have enough in stock to accommodate the thousands who will want their lips to look like they just finished a grape Popsicle.
“May I help you?” a salesperson asks us.
“I’m Addison Ames,” Addie says. “We’re here to do a selfie with the new lip plumper.”
“I’m not aware of that.”
“Call corporate. They’ll confirm it. This is my assistant, Skye.”
“Yes, nice to meet you. I’ll have to verify all of this with the store.”
“With all due respect”—Addie glances at the employee’s name tag—“Blanche, we don’t need permission from the store to take a selfie. This is a public place.”
“Still, I—”
“She’s right,” I say. “We do this all the time.”
Blanche sighs. “I don’t want to get in any trouble.”
“You won’t. We brought our own plumper and everything.” Addie gazes in one of the mirrors. “God, my hair is ghastly. Where’s the restroom, Blanche?”
“The south corner.”
“Thanks. I’ll only be a minute, Skye.”
I nod. Yeah. Make that fifteen minutes at least. I walk around the cosmetics counter to find the best area to shoot the photo. Then I pull out my phone to check comments on the pretzel post and maybe get through some email while I wait.
I pull up Instagram. Hmm, I have a notification. I click.
And my heart stampedes.
I have a new request to follow me.
@bradenblackinc
Chapter Twelve
My Instagram is private, which is why Braden has to make a request. I actually deleted quite a few requests earlier today from people I didn’t recognize. They probably wanted to follow me only because I was tagged in Braden’s oyster post the other night.
To accept or not to accept?
That is the question.
He literally kicked me out of his bedroom last night.
Okay, not literally. But I’m not that far off.
He said he got an important message on his phone he had to deal with—apparently billionaires have to deal with important stuff late at night—and went into his office, while I dressed as quickly as I could. I left the room to find Christopher already in the living area petting Sasha.
“Ready to go, Ms. Manning?”
I nodded and knelt down to give Sasha a scratch behind her ears. “Yeah. Thanks.”
What transpired next was a repeat of the previous night. I followed Christopher into the elevator, and he pressed the button. The car was waiting in the garage level. Christopher opened the door for me, and I got in.
He drove me home.
All of this took place in a span of about a half hour.
It seemed like a year.
When I finally got home, I went to bed in my clothes without washing my face, something I never do, only to wake up this morning with racoon mascara eyes, a huge reminder of the previous evening.
And now Braden wants to follow me on Instagram.
Why? I rarely post. Instagram is my job, and I don’t take my work home. I don’t have much of a private life. This afternoon, Tessa posted us at lunch. That’s her thing. Apparently she thinks her followers want to know everything she eats. Maybe they do. I have no idea. Taking a photo of a BLT with avocado isn’t exactly art.
Of course, neither is a photo of Addie wearing lip plumper.
Addie returns, hair coiffed and purple lips freshly plumped, delaying my decision whether to accept Braden’s request. Good. It’s too much to ponder at the moment.
“Ugh,” Addie whispers to me. “Is it just me, or is this shade horrendous?”
“Not just you,” I whisper back. Then, in a normal voice, “I’ve scouted out the lighting in here. I think the selfie will look best at the other end of the counter. Plus, there’s less in the background to detract from your image.”
“Sounds good.”
We set up the photo with Addie puckering her lips and holding the tube of plumper in one hand, her other arm outstretched in the “selfie” pose. I take several, choose the best, and do some quick edits. I hand the phone to her.
“Skye, there has to be a filter to make this shade look a little less…purple Kool-Aid.”
“I figured we shouldn’t use it. Fair advertising and all.”
She hands the phone back to me. “Sorry. Use a filter. I can’t be seen like this.”
“But—”
“The filter, Skye. I’ll deal with the fallout from Susanne, if there is any. My bet is there won’t be. They’ll be super psyched about the mega increase in sales.”
“You’re the boss.” I make the necessary adjustments and hand the phone back to Addie.