“There’s a couple more things for you to try on,” he says firmly, gesturing towards the sidekicks.
“Anton—”
“Do you really want to fight me on this, Jessa?” he asks. “You know what they say: pick your battles.”
I guess this is as good a way as any to spend a work day. I shrug. “Alright then. Bring on the next.”
He gives me an approving nod, and my stomach does this little flippy thing that hasn’t happened since Tommy Lawrence smiled at me for the first time sophomore year.
I spend the next two hours trying one sexy dress after another. Only after I insist does Carolina bring out a few trousers, blouses and, by some miracle, a sweatshirt or two. Of course, even the sweatshirts are incredibly chic and luxurious. They make cashmere look like a potato sack.
At some point in the middle of my forced shopping spree, I actually start enjoying myself. I forget that I’m still a little nauseous and I throw myself into the fairytale.
Never forgetting that it is, in fact, a fairytale.
That fact becomes all too clear when Anton’s phone rings.
“What?” he barks into his phone. He actually sounds like he’s pissed that he’s been interrupted. That has to mean he’s enjoying himself, too, right?
“Say no,” he growls in response to whoever’s on the other end. “What the fuck does he think he’s doing?”
His expression turns darker and darker, and I can feel the romantic day slipping further and further away.
I move surreptitiously into the dressing room, ready to change back into my own clothes, when I realize that they’re gone. I stick my head out to find Carolina standing nearby.
“Carolina, where are my clothes?”
“Um, Anton requested that they be… disposed of, Ms. Jessa.”
“Excuse me?”
Before I can throw a fit that I wasn’t consulted about this, Anton’s voice drowns out my protests. “I don’t give a fuck!”
I glance at Carolina, who gives me a reassuring smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Here you go,” she says, passing me the designer jeans and sweatshirt combo I earmarked half an hour ago.
I change into them quickly, but I can still hear Anton’s conversation filtering into my dressing room.
“… When is he coming? I fucking know that, Yulian… I’ll get there when I get there. He can wait.”
I step out of the dressing room and make eye contact with Anton. His mood has changed drastically in just a matter of minutes. His expression is lethal as he gets to his feet.
“Let’s go,” he spits.
He moves past the sidekicks without waiting for me to answer. I have to run to keep up with him. He doesn’t even make an attempt to pay before he slams out the doors.
“Anton… we have to—”
“Don’t worry, ma’am,” one of the sidekicks tells me as they hurry to catch the doors for us. “It’s all taken care of.”
I frown. “What… how?”
“Mr. Stepanov has a standing account here.”
Jesus. I hurry after him and get into the Ferrari before Anton can tear off without me. A few seconds longer and he might have done just that.
“Anton, what’s going on?” I finally pluck up the courage to ask.
“Nothing that concerns you,” he replies sharply.