Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
The next bag was one I was sure I’d seen a million times in the city. A simple brown bag that said Medium Brown Bag on it. I’d always figured that it was just some sort of bag company or something that a lot of businesses used.
Nope.
As it turned out, everything inside that bag was from Bloomingdale’s.
The first thing I pulled out was the softest damn thing I’d ever felt in my life.
A cashmere turtleneck in a light, ice blue color called Grotto Blue.
Had he picked this out for me?
No.
No way.
He probably had a mom or sister or some woman on his staff to run these sorts of errands. Still, it was perfect. The neck looked like it would cover the bruises on my throat. Which, as silly as it was, I didn’t even want to look at myself.
I reached back into the bag, feeling something buttery, but finding a completely different sort of material. Pulling the fabric out, I found a pair of black slacks, high-waisted, and slightly wide in the leg.
The final bag was a lavender color with the words Bergdorf Goodman on it.
There was a box inside.
Shoes.
I flipped open the top, folded back the tissue paper, and found the most amazing pair of black pumps I’d ever seen in my life. They had a heel, but not too tall or too thin, with flat leather and a dainty strap.
In my size.
I had no idea how anyone could possibly know that.
But, as I slipped the shoe on my foot, finding it fit like a glove, I had to assume it had something to do with being in my apartment.
I’d never considered before that anyone would step foot in there except me. I never even let Lauren up. I always just met her in the shop or on the street.
Maybe I wouldn’t have been so embarrassed by it if I put literally any effort into making it my own. But I’d been busting my ass at the shop, then on damn jury duty, then trying to catch up at the shop again after the jury duty ended. I barely had time to stuff something in my mouth and then brush my teeth before bed. There was no brain power or energy leftover to paint or decorate.
But, clearly, someone in the mafia had been in my apartment.
That was mildly horrifying.
Even if I did get some amazing clothes out of the deal.
I’d just finished my breakfast, and was about to go indulge in a long, hot shower before getting dressed when there was another knock at the door.
When I answered, I was handed yet another bag.
“I was told to tell you to be ready by eleven.”
“Ready for what?” I asked, brows pinching.
“I wasn’t told anything more than that,” he said, sounding apologetic.
“Ah, um, okay. Thanks,” I said, closing the door.
Did I kind of rush to the island to reach into the bag to see what else I might have gotten? Damn right, I did.
It wasn’t as exciting as a new designer outfit.
But it was somehow even more thoughtful.
A nice blow dryer.
Heat protectant spray.
A regular brush.
And a rounded brush to do my bangs.
To hide the gashes on my forehead.
I would be presentable if I could curl my bangs and wear a turtleneck. I could go anywhere without anyone knowing something had happened to me.
Maybe he was sending someone to take me to see my grandfather.
Hope blooming, I took all my things back to my room, laying the outfit out on the bed, then turning on a music channel on the TV, since I still didn’t have my phone, and went ahead and luxuriated for almost an hour before forcing myself to climb out.
I wondered if, when all this was done, if I snuck this hair dryer home with me, if Cosimo would ever know. Because, damn. I mean, I always kind of thought a blow dryer was a blow dryer. I’d been horribly wrong. Because my hair was bouncier and shinier than usual by the time I was done.
Checking the time, I went to slip into my fancy panties, realizing suddenly that there was one thing Cosimo—or whoever shopped for him—had forgotten.
A bra.
I was supposed to wear this fancy new cashmere shirt with no bra. And, let’s face it, the heels were only going to make my step, you know, bouncier.
I chewed my lower lip for a moment as I watched the clock tick closer and closer to eleven.
I had no choice.
I climbed into the clothes, and tried to turn to and fro in the mirror, seeing if you could tell I was braless.
I mean, I was still young enough to have some decent natural lift. But I wasn’t exactly flat-chested, and I liked to haul those babies up as much as possible.
And, well, the cold.
The cold was going to be a factor, damnit.