Annihilate Me (Vol. 1) (The Annihilate Me Series) (10 page)

She
touched her hair, which was dyed black and cut in a severe, angular bob that
suited her personality.
 
“I can’t
exactly break my tough-as-nails reputation around here now, can I?
 
You understand.”
 

She
stood and reached for the pair of glasses next to her computer.
 
“I hear we’re going shopping,” she
said.
 
“And we don’t have much time
to get it done before tonight.
 
So,
where to first?
 
Bergdorf?
 
Tough to go wrong there.
 
And then, I think Cartier.
 
Some diamond studs.
 
A beautiful ring and bracelet.
 
And obviously a necklace.
 
Something classic.
 
That’s what the night calls for.”

“He
told me I could keep everything.”

“That’s
right.
 
Perks.
 
And don’t forget, dear.
 
He’s a billionaire.
 
Whatever we buy today, tomorrow and
going forward is a drop in the Wenn bucket.”
 

She
grabbed a piece of paper off her desk and handed it to me.
 
“This is how you two met.
 
In the car, commit it to memory.
 
It’s not much, but you need to have it
down.
 
You’ll wing it a lot when
you’re together with him tonight—I have a feeling you two will riff off
each other.
 
But what’s on that
piece of paper is your script.
 
Don’t ever deviate from it.”

“Noted.”

“There’s
a car waiting downstairs for us.
 
What time is it?”
 
She
checked her watch.
 
“Christ.
 
It’s already past one.
 
We need to move on this.
 
Tonight’s important to him, and we are
not going to disappoint.”

“What
is tonight, anyway?”

“Another
benefit.
 
This one to support the
Met, which is one of the bigger events.
 
It’s not their gala, which is why it’s at the Four Seasons, but everyone
will be there, so no pressure.
 
It’s
another way for him to make the sort of connections that will keep Wenn
Enterprises moving forward.
 
He
never wanted the position his father put him in, but Alex always does what’s
right, despite how his parents treated him.
 
He’s determined to keep the company growing,
but lately, that’s been difficult for him.
 
Too many women trying to catch the eye of the eligible bachelor.
 
That’s where you step in.”

“So,
I gathered.”

“Come
on, princess,” Ms. Blackwell said as she moved past me.
 
“We need a dress, shoes, undergarments,
and jewels—in that order.
 
And
STAT.
 
I don’t know how we’re going
to fit that ass of yours into a dress without tailoring, but we’ll do it.
 
Hopefully.
 
And, no, that wasn’t an insult.
 
It was envy.
 
Every woman wishes she had a body like
yours.”

“Why
don’t I feel that way?”

“Seriously,
Maine?
 
Seriously?
 
You either need to wash your mirrors, or
you need to get your head checked.
 
God!
 
Let’s go.”

 
*
 
*
 
*

Outside
the building, a black stretch limousine was waiting for us at the curbside, and
once again, I was struck by how quickly my life was changing.

“Bergdorf,”
Ms. Blackwell said to the driver, who was holding open the rear door for
us.
 
“We need to step on it.
Rápidamente
!”

I
sat next to her, the driver got inside, and off we went down Fifth, only to cut
over to Sixth, so we could make the loop that would bring us to our
destination.

“Read
your notes,” Blackwell said.

“I
am.”

“Don’t
miss a word.”

“I
don’t intend to.
 
This isn’t exactly
rocket science.
 
There are only
three paragraphs here.”

“We
made it simple for you.”

I
shot her a look.
 
“You could have
made it complicated, and I still would have nailed it.”

“Maine,”
Ms. Blackwell said, stretching out the word in exasperation.
 
“Maine, Maine, Maine.
 
Stop being so sensitive.
 
We made it simple because we don’t want
you overwhelmed on your first night.
 
And you probably will be overwhelmed for good reason.
 
This is a new world for you.
 
We were just trying to be helpful.
 
God!”

“Sorry.”

“Read!”

*
 
*
 
*

When
we arrived at Bergdorf, Ms. Blackwell was on a tear.
 

“Valentino,”
she said as we hurried through the store.
 
“That man understands women.
 
He celebrates curves.
 
Or, at
least, your curves.
 
I’m a
stick.
 
But look at what he did with
Sophia.
 
No stick figure there, but
an icon nevertheless.
 
He
understands how a woman should dress.
 
If we’re lucky, we’ll find something, it will fit, and then we can move
the hell on and find some shoes.
 
That will be easier.
 
Hopefully Dior because, after all, they’re goddamn Dior.
 
Then the undergarments, which must
include Spanx.
 
They will even you
out nicely, but you might not be able to breathe, which doesn’t matter to me
and shouldn’t matter to you.
 
Consider it a concession for looking great.
 
Then we get out of here and get to the
good stuff at Cartier.”

We
took the elevator; Ms. Blackwell crossed her arms and tapped her foot as we
rose.
 
The doors slid open, and I
followed her as she steamrolled toward the Valentino section.

“Somebody,”
she said to no one in particular.
 
“I need assistance.
 
Straight
away.
 
As in now.”
 
She snapped her fingers above her
head.
 
“Hello!
 
We need assistance here.
 
Stop sexting, people.
 
And, yes, I said sexting.
 
I know how you young people are.
 
You can do that on your lunch
break.
 
You’re probably sexting each
other and you don’t even know it.
 
God!”

A
young woman appeared beside us.
 
She
was model material—tall, fine bones, creamy skin, pale blonde hair.
 
If she was annoyed by Ms. Blackwell’s
demands, she didn’t look it.
 
Her
mouth was set in a half-smile.
 
“How
may I help you?”

“Valentino,”
she said.
 
“Something black.
 
A gown.
 
Very pretty, very chic, very Valentino.
 
Über, über, über.”
 
She motioned toward my butt.
 
“And it needs to fit that.”

I
blushed.

The
woman appraised me from behind, which was ridiculous, and said, “I think I have
something.
 
It arrived this
week.
 
It’s a bit unconventional,
but it’s a showstopper.
 
It’s not on
the floor, but I can take you to it.”

“It’s
like we’re going to a viewing,” Blackwell said.

“Excuse
me?”

“You
know, a corpse.
 
A viewing.”
 
Her brow furrowed.
 
“But you don’t know.
 
You’re too young to know.
 
The idea of death means nothing to you
now.
 
But it will—just wait
and see.”

We
followed her into a round dressing room.
 
A pedestal was in the center of the room, surrounded by tall
mirrors.
 
One of the mirrors was a
door.
 
The woman opened it,
disappeared inside for a moment, and then came out with the dress draped over
her arms.
 
“It’s exquisite,” she
said.
 
And then she let the bottom
of the dress drop as she held it up, so we could see all of it.
 
She slowly turned it to reveal all of
it.

“It’s
stunning,” I said.

Ms.
Blackwell went over to study it.
 
“Leather bodice.
 
Sleeveless.
 
Lace at the
throat.
 
A layered tulle skirt with
silk lace accents.
 
The back is
gorgeous.
 
Look at the treatment of
the lace, Jennifer.
 
Very
intricate.
 
Very pretty.
 
Obviously hand done.
 
Oh, Valentino.
 
No corpse here.
 
Divoon.”
 
Her eyes flicked up to meet mine.
 
“What size are you?”

“Five.”

She
looked at the clerk.
 
“Will this fit
her?”

“It
might.”

“Strip,”
Blackwell said.
 
“We’ll put it on
right here.”

I’d
spent enough time in a gym not to feel awkward undressing in front of two
women.
 
I removed my suit and draped
it over one of the chairs behind me as I saw that Blackwell was sizing up my
body.
 
And then, with the clerk’s
help, I put on the dress.

“Well,
it’s beautiful,” Blackwell said.
 
“But it needs to be tailored.
 
Somehow, it fits your ass, which is a goddamn miracle, but the bodice
needs to be fitted.
 
Don’t you
agree?”

She
didn’t ask me.
 
She asked the clerk,
who nodded.
 
“I could ask our tailor
to come in, and we could have this for you in a week.”

“It
needs to be done within the next hour,” Blackwell said.

“I
don’t think that’s possible, madam.”

“How
much is the dress?”

“Twelve
thousand.”

I
felt my throat constrict.

“We’ll
pay twenty thousand if the tailoring is done within the hour.
 
Can you make that happen, or do I need
to speak to your manager?”

“Give
me five minutes,” she said, and she left me alone with Blackwell.

“Money
is mute, but it always talks,” Blackwell said.

“Twenty
thousand dollars?” I said.
 
“For a
dress?”

“Jennifer,
that’s nothing.
 
Get over it.
 
Now, turn around.
 
Let me see.”

I
did.

“Turn
to your left.”

I
did.

“Now
face me.”

I
faced her.

“This
is the one—and on the first shot.
 
How the hell did that happen?”

“I
believe it was the clerk’s idea.”

“She
had a vision—I’ll give her that.
 
Now, she needs to get me a tailor.”

The
woman did, Blackwell smiled, and the fitting began.

*
 
*
 
*

When
we were finished, we found the perfect pair of Manolo Blahnik Bakhita
double-buckle sandals with three-inch heels.
 
I loved them on sight, and was relieved
when Blackwell agreed.
 
Next, I
followed her to the undergarment section, which she happily raided.
 
We paid for it all, and then we left the
building for Cartier, where Blackwell wasted no time finding exactly what she
wanted.
 
Never once was I consulted.

“That
ring,” she said to the clerk.
 
“That
necklace.
 
That bracelet.
 
Those studs.”

I
tried them on, and dipped down to look at myself in a long rectangular chrome
mirror.
 
This can’t be happening
, I thought as I pressed my fingers against
the diamond necklace.
 
This
is a dream.