At first, I feel like a culprit as she leads us into the closet, but the more she talks, the more I get infected with her excitement. We make our way through the vast storage space. It’s totally crammed with unending closets, shoe racks, accessory bins… every usable space is packed with something and labeled with code I don’t even attempt to decipher. But Veronica navigates it like she knows the location of every scarf and belt. She unearths dresses and shoes and hair accessories, making me try them on, clucking her disapproval with each one she doesn’t like, before tossing another one at me.
We finally settle on a pale blue dress from a current collection. It has a flattering neckline, and a fitted bodice that hugs my waist and hips then flows down to drape loosely around my legs. The silky fabric at the neckline is studded with tiny glittering stones, which also rise from the hemline in exquisite patterns. Veronica smiles in approval and turns to Chelsea, who has been quiet since we came. “What do you think?”
“It’s fantastic,” Chelsea says, she’s leaning on one of the bins, nodding her head in approval. “It’s perfect with your hair,” she tells me. “You could pass for a wood nymph, or maybe Titania.”
“Yeah, right.” I roll my eyes, but Veronica is nodding in agreement. She dashes off to find the right pair of shoes and a clutch, then sucking on her e-cig she hurries off again. This time she returns with a box containing a large hair clip. She brushes my hair to one side and places the clip, then steps back and rubs her hand together.
“I think you’re a genius, Veronica,” Chelsea declares.
I shift a little so I can see my reflection in a visible part of the mirrored walls, and I gasp. I really do look like a wood nymph, something beautiful straight out of a fairytale.
“Wow!” I exclaim.
“I know.” Veronica is grinning, and I feel so grateful I could hug her. She takes a picture with her phone, then packs everything up in a box. “I’d better see your pictures somewhere that matters,” she warns.
I’m going with Landon, so there’s no way my pictures won’t end up somewhere that ‘matters.’ Not that I really care. I had other things on my mind. Landon was already in San Francisco, probably caught in the whirl of final preparations and meetings, and somewhere in the same city, was Ava Sinclair.
He’s been fucking her for years.
I don’t want to dwell on her, and I’ve tried not to, but after I return to my office, my mind goes back to last night. They were comfortable with each other, friendly even. It didn’t look as if she was nursing any rancor about Landon supposedly dropping her like a ‘hot smelly potato’ as her brother said.
Maybe Evans Sinclair had exaggerated, I tell myself. Maybe it was his imagination that Landon had used his sister to get the Gold Dust. Maybe Landon and Ava were just friends and business partners. Maybe they’d never been lovers.
Even though I know the idea is wishful thinking, especially given her body language from last night, it still makes me feel better. I spend the next hour reading the comments on the latest of my articles on the Gilt Travel website, replying just a few of them.
Joe is with Landon in San Francisco, so I have a replacement driver, Rafael. When I’m ready to go home, I call him, and by the time I get downstairs, he’s waiting for me in a Swanson Court International town car. He’s younger than Joe, Latino, with wistful brown eyes and hair in a long dark ponytail.
“Good evening,” is all he says, when I’m inside the car. Like Joe, he doesn’t talk much.
“Good evening,” I reply, wondering if reticence was a quality Landon looked for in employees. Just then, my phone starts to ring. It’s Landon
“Still at work?” His voice is deep and husky on the phone, and it reminds me of last night, that same voice whispering endearments in my ear while he made love to me.
I’m suddenly overcome by a wave of loneliness. “No. I’m on the way home.”
“Lucky you.” He sounds wistful.
“How are things?”
“We’re ready.” He pauses. “I’m mostly waiting for you to get here.”
“What do you have planned for me?” I say with a smile.
I hear him chuckle. “Why don’t you come and find out.”
I sigh, missing him so much it actually hurts.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
“Just that I can’t wait to see you either,” I say truthfully.
“Rachel.” He says my name slowly, almost as if he’s savoring the sound on his tongue, and the knowledge that he feels the ache of our separation makes my heart swell. “Well, at least you still have your clubbing tomorrow night,” he reminds me.
I manage a laugh. “You’re still jealous.”
He doesn’t attempt to deny it. “I am, but I want you to have fun. I’ve arranged for Rafael to pick you up and take
you wherever you want, in a car more suited to night crawling.”