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Hunter just smiled.
Jeanette hung two of the outfits inside a large, well-lit changing room. It had a chair, a small padded bench, a dozen hooks and a three-way mirror.
In the changing room, Sinclair stripped out of the gray skirt suit she’d worn on the plane, and realized her underwear was looking a bit shabby. The lace on her bra had faded to ivory from the bright white it was when she’d bought it. The elastic had stretched in the straps, and one of the underwires had a small bend.
She slipped into the first dress. It was a pale pink sheath of a thing. It clung all the way to her ankles, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Making matters worse, it had an elaborate beading running over the cap sleeves and all the way down the sides. And it came with a ridiculous ivory lace hood thing that made her look like some kind of android bride.
There was a small rap at the door. “Mademoiselle?”
“Yes?”
“Is there anything you need?”
Cyanide? “Would you happen to have a phone?” Or maybe an escape hatch out the back? She could catch a plane to New York and start over again.
“Oui. Of course. Un moment.”
Sinclair stared at the dress, having some very serious second thoughts. Maybe other women could pull this off, taller, thinner, crazier women. But it sure wasn’t working for her.
Another knock.
“Yes?” If that was Hunter, she wasn’t going out there. Not like this. Not with a gun to her head.
“Your phone,” said Jeanette.
Sinclair pulled off the hood, cracked the door and accepted the wireless telephone.
She dialed her sister Kristy, the fashion expert.
Kristy answered after three rings. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Hey, you,” came Kristy’s voice above some background noise of music and voices. “What’s going on? Everything all right?”
“It’s fine. Well, not fine exactly. I’m having a few problems at work.”
“Really? That’s not like you. What kind of problems?”
“It’s a long story. But, I’m in Paris right now, and we’re trying to fix it.”
“Hang on,” said Kristy. “I’m at the Manchester Hospital Foundation lunch. I need to get out of the ballroom.” The background noise disappeared. “Okay. There. Did you say you were in Paris?”
Sinclair’s glance went to the three-way mirror. “Yes. I’m doing a makeover, but I think I many have taken a wrong turn here, and I need some advice.”
“Happy to help. What kind of advice?”
“What do I ask for? Is there something that’s stylish but not weird?”
“Define weird.”
“At the moment, these crazy people are trying to dress me like an android bride, porn queen.”
There was laughter in Kristy’s tone. “Crazy people? What did you do to upset the French?”
“It’s not the French. It’s Hunter.”
“Hunter’s in Paris?”
“Yes.”
Kristy was silent for a moment. “Are you sleeping with him again?”
“No.”
More silence. “You sure?”
“Yes I’m sure. What? You think I wouldn’t notice? We’re shopping for clothes.”
“I know things about Hunter that you don’t.”
“We’re not having sex, we’re shopping for clothes. And I’m all for that. Just not these clothes.” Sinclair glanced in the mirror again and shuddered.
“Where are you shopping?”
“La Petite Fleur.”
“Well, they’re good. Is somebody assisting you?”
“Yes. A nice lady named Jeanette, who appears to have horrible taste in dresses.”
“Put her on.”
“Just a minute.”
Sinclair cracked the door again. “Jeanette?”
“Oui?” The woman instantly appeared.
Sinclair held out the phone. “My sister wants to talk to you.”
If Jeanette was surprised by the request, she didn’t show it. She was gracious and classy as she took the phone, and Sinclair was grateful.
“Allô?” said Jeanette.
Sinclair closed the door. She didn’t want to risk Hunter calling her to come out there.
She stripped out of the dress and tried the other. It was made of black netting, with shoulder-length matching gloves. A puffy neckline of feathers nearly made Sinclair sneeze, while rows of horizontal feather stripes camouflaged strategic parts of her body. The netting base was see-through, so underwear would be out of the question beneath it.
Another knock.
“Yes?”
“You going to show me something?” asked Hunter.
“Not a chance.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
She took in her own image. Maybe she just didn’t have the body for high fashion. Other women looked good. Kristy always looked good.
“I really don’t want to go into it,” she said to Hunter.
“Keep an open mind. It can’t be that bad.”
“Trust me. It’s that bad.”
“Perhaps you’d care to try a different designer?” came Jeanette’s voice.
“Is Kristy still on the phone?”
“She will ring you back. But she made some suggestions.”
Sinclair flipped open the door latch. “No peeking,” she warned Hunter.
Then his cell phone beeped and she heard him answer it.
Good. Hopefully he’d be busy for a while.
She opened the door wide enough to take the new dresses from Jeanette. They were in blues and golds, and these ones didn’t appear to be pornographic.
She closed the door, took a breath, and tried on another one.
It was much better, and she felt a surge of hope.
It clung to her body, but not in an indecent way, and the fabric was thick enough that she could wear underwear beneath it. The netting on this dress was brown, and it was only used for a stripe across the top as well as a flirty ruffle from midcalf to the floor. In between was a glittering puzzle pattern of gold, brown, purple and green material.
Sinclair turned. She liked the way the ruffle flowed around her ankles, and the dress molded nicely to her rear end and her thighs.
There was another rap on the door. “How are you, madame?” called Jeanette.
Sinclair opened the door.
Jeanette cocked her head to one side. “Not bad,” she said of the outfit. “You’ll need some shoes with a little jazz to compete. And maybe a little more support in your bra.”
Was Sinclair offended by that last remark? No way. She was starting to like her new image.
“One moment,” said Jeanette.
She returned promptly with a bra, matching panties, a pair of stockings, and some spike-heeled, precarious-looking, rhinestone-studded sandals.
When Sinclair walked out of the change room, she nearly took Hunter’s breath away. The dress was a dream. Well, mostly her body beneath it was a dream. She looked glamorous and stylish, and it only added to her innate class.
“Can you hang on a minute?” he asked Richard Franklin, one of the Osland International lawyers.
“Sure,” Richard responded.
Hunter covered the phone. “Perfect,” he stated to Sinclair.
She smiled and, as usual, it lifted his mood. He found himself thinking about the evening ahead, and tomorrow, and the next few days. What could he show her in Paris? How could he keep her smiling?
He forced himself to switch his attention to Jeanette. “Can you do two or three more like that? And a couple of ball gowns, and some daywear?”
“Absolument.”
“You look fantastic,” he said to Sinclair.
It was a rocky start. But then she reflexively glanced in the mirror beside her, and he could tell by the shine in her eyes that she liked the outfit, too.
“Try to have fun,” he told her.
“I’m getting there.”
He gave her a thumbs-up.
They’d need some jewelry to go with it, of course. But that could be tomorrow’s mission.
It occurred to Hunter that he was probably having a little too much fun at this himself. But he shrugged it off. Dressing a beautiful woman ought to be fun. And if a man couldn’t have fun spending his money, what was the point in making any of it?
Jeanette herded Sinclair back into the change room, and Hunter returned to his phone call.
“Thanks for waiting,” he said to Richard.
“Do you have a contact name?” asked Richard.
“Seth Vanderkemp. The Castlebay Spa headquarters is on Rue de Seline. Do we have a contract lawyer on standby?”
“We do. In fact, I can get someone there overnight. When will you know?”
“Tomorrow. If it looks like we can get a contract, I’ll give you a call.” Hunter knew this was their last chance to get Luscious Lavender into a spa chain in time for the Valentine’s launch. If Castlebay was open to making a deal, he didn’t want to lose a single minute.
He ended the call.
Immediately, his phone rang again.
“Hunter Osland.”
“What the hell?” came his cousin Jack’s voice.
