“Whatever it may be.”
He downed his in three gulps, and urged me to do the same. I set down my empty glass with my head spinning. I had missed dinner last night—thanks to him, and hadn’t gotten breakfast either—thanks to his father and Louise. One glass of champagne was my new limit.
“So what are we doing here?” I glanced around the store, taking in the general splendor as the wheels in my PR driven mind started automatically turning.
If I could just get him excited about the idea of doting on someone new (one of Nick’s favorite things in the entire world was ‘doting’), then maybe he would be less resistant to the idea of me procuring an actress, or a model, or an heiress to attract his attention.
Maybe I could convince him to buy some of these earrings—
“We’re here for you.”
I turned around in surprise to see him staring at me, an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression gentling his face. I didn’t understand. Was this my big apology?
“For me?” I repeated, very much as a question this time. “What does that...what do you mean, we’re here for me?”
Another rather strange expression flitted across his face, as his mouth twitched up in a crooked smile. “That dress I ruined, it was Dior. I know, because I found the wet tags stuck in my pocket this morning. That couldn’t have been...that was quite the dress to have spoiled.”
A f
lush of sudden embarrassment reddened my cheeks.
That couldn’t have been...easy for you to buy. That’s what he was going to say.
He was right, of course. But I didn’t want to hear him say it. I was mortified already that he’d sobered enough to realize why I’d left on the tags.
“Nick,” I shook my head quickly, heading for the door, “you don’t have to—”
“Please.” He caught my wrist, pulling me gently back. “Let me.”
“No,” I said firmly. “That’s not the kind of relationship we have. That’s not what this—”
“What?” he interrupted. “Working with me means that you have to budget in for collateral fountain damage?” He shook his head, pulling me farther into the store. “No. I broke it, now you have to let me fix it.”
I started to shake my head again, but he cut me off.
“And if you’re stuck on this whole ‘that’s not the relationship we have’ bullshit, then I can play along. The relationship we have is professional. You are therefore being professionally recompensed for damages accrued in a professional capacity. Hazards of the job.”
My lips twitched up, and I tried not to smile. He saw through it at once.
“Or, I could just tell the truth. Say that you’re one of my best friends, and I’m truly sorry for ruining your big night out, and I’m sorry for ruining your dress.” His head tilted down with a coaxing grin. “Since I have more money than Donald Trump, will you please let me pay for it?”
Nick was used to getting what he wanted. And I was used to eventually caving in.
But this time—I had to say that I was sincerely touched.
One of my best friends.
I never knew he felt that way.
“Alright,” I agreed quietly, collecting my thoughts. The champagne wasn’t making it very easy. “But something the same price—not a penny more, okay?”
He rolled his eyes, but agreed—steering me through the winding aisles like a train conductor who had been there many, many times before.
Predictably, he went straight for the lingerie section, but I shook my head and tugged him over to the purses. The last thing I wanted Mitchell Hunter to see was a picture of his son buying me some lacy garter. Besides, as expensive as they were, the purses were probably some of the cheapest things in this store.
“Really?” He slumped against the counter with obvious disappointment. “Bags?”
“Not bags,” I corrected, “purses.”