Liberty At Last (The Liberty Series) (22 page)

“How did you know?” I asked.

“That’s my job,” he said, and ushered me into a changing room.

In under a minute, he’d given me three dresses to try on. “Try the gold one first,” he said. “You seem like you’re burning out, and your buddy out there said you have a lot more shopping to do.”

I nodded at him and looked at the dress. It was a light golden color, with thin spaghetti straps and thousands of sparkly beaded fringes hanging in tiers. It was tiny and very, very pretty. Delicate. Almost too pretty — it was a cocktail dress for a princess. I was afraid I was going to break it as I pulled it over my head.

I came out of the dressing room and the clerk slapped his hand over his heart. “Damn, girl,” he said, beaming at me.

I turned and looked in the mirror. It
was
very pretty. It was also very small. John would approve, I felt sure. I looked at the price tag. It was very expensive — as in very,
very
expensive.

“It’s two thousand dollars,” I said, turning to look at him, feeling betrayed.

“Honey, your boyfriend will love this dress. If he has a pulse, he will absolutely love it,” he said.

“
But
—”

“Honey?” he said, cutting me off. “You seem like a nice girl. But maybe you haven’t been around so much?” He looked at me and smiled.

He leaned in closer and spoke to me conspiratorially: “Guys who have credit cards like the one your boyfriend has?” he asked. I nodded warily. “Guys like that don’t care about a couple thousand dollars,” he said. “It’s chump change to them.”

I knew he was right about John — he wouldn’t even blink at the price. I, however, found it ludicrous, bordering on immoral. “Can you find me something cheaper?” I asked, looking in the mirror. I loved the dress, but the price was unthinkable.

“Cheaper is as cheaper does,” he said, clearly joking. I burst out laughing. “But yes, I will. I’m putting this aside for you though, just in case. You look
hot
in it. Your name’s Liberty — right?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, Liberty, let’s go to the cheap seats and see what we can find for your hot little body.” He charged off, like he’d had about a dozen lattes, and I less than eagerly followed. He was fun, but shopping for hours? Not my thing.

An hour later, I’d tried on over fifteen dresses. None were as pretty, as tiny, or as expensive. Michael had taken a seat on a couch in the middle of the shoe showroom and looked as if he wished he were sleeping — maybe after having a margarita.

“What do you think?” Justin asked me. I was sure he worked on commission, but he didn’t seem to be focused on finding the most expensive things. He wanted to make me happy, and he clearly loved shopping.

“I don’t know anymore,” I said, hanging up the most recent dress. It was black and small. It was fine, but it wasn’t special. Not like the gazillion-dollar dress that was still bothering me.

Justin showed no signs of slowing down. He seemed to genuinely want to find me the perfect dress — and the perfect shoes and the perfect pocketbook, he’d told me. And then the perfect wardrobe to take back to Warwick. I, however, was ready for my sweatpants and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Shopping was exhausting. It was almost as bad as training.
Almost.

“I have to check in with my buddy,” I said, motioning over to Michael.

“I’ll keep looking,” Justin called.

“Hi,” I said, sheepishly, as I went over to the lounge area in the shoe showcase. Poor Michael — we’d been here for over two hours, and it was well past lunch time. He was sitting slumped on the couch, parcels laid out all around him — the reams of clothing we’d bought for Catherine. There was also a garment bag next to him.

“How’re you holding up?” I asked.

“Fine,” Michael said, looking up and smiling at me pleasantly. “John called while you were trying stuff on. He said to get you the dress that you wanted, especially if it was expensive. I went over and asked that gal over there” — he motioned to a six-foot tall stunner with auburn hair falling in loose waves to her shoulders — “and she said you’d liked this one.” He pulled the garment bag up a bit and I could see the delicate gold fringe peaking out. “So I bought it. She said your friend there, the one with the funny glasses, would get the commission.”

I shook my head at him. “When did you talk to John?” I asked.

“About a half hour ago,” Michael said. “I bought it right after that.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. Michael smiled up at me. “Say, these shoes look like they’d match perfectly.” He pointed to a pair of tall golden wrap stilettos.

“They look perfect,” I agreed. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to walk too far in them, but they matched. “I’ll get Justin. We’ll get the shoes, then we can get out of here and have lunch,” I said.

“I know I’m not done,” I said, when I reached Justin, “but I’m done.”

He laughed. “I know your boyfriend got you the dress. Tabby told me. Congratulations.”

“Shoes,” I said, like a zombie. “Pocketbook. Athletic clothes, jeans…” I stared at him helplessly. “I don’t have the endurance for this sort of shopping,” I said, lamely.

“Let’s get the shoes and the bag, so you’re at least ready for date night,” Justin said, efficiently. He walked over to where Michael was sitting and examined the same gold sandals that he’d pointed out. “These are approved,” Justin said, nodding to Michael. “Good eye. Liberty, I’ll take pictures of things I pull for the rest of your list, including the workout clothes. I’ll text them to you —
with
the price tags showing. And then you can text me back which things you like and which things you don’t. You can send someone in to pick up the things you want, when it’s convenient for you.”

“Really?” I asked. That seemed too easy. I was totally exhausted, but it still seemed too easy.

“Really,” Justin said. “It’s amazing what a fancy credit card can buy you.” He winked at me and bent over, kissing me on both cheeks. “Have fun in your dress.”

“Thank you,” I called, wearily, as he took the shoes over to another sales clerk.

“Can we get drinks at lunch?” I asked Michael.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he said, and beamed at me.

All in all, it had been a successful outing. I had takeout sushi for Catherine, I had all the clothes and makeup on her list (and a slew of items that weren’t, which was just me trying to get in her good graces), a fancy dress for my dinner date with John and a new best friend named Justin, who promised to pick out all the clothes I needed so I never had to shop again. Not ever.

We got back in the early afternoon. I could hear John and some of the guys out in the yard, counting.
They must be working out,
I thought relieved.
I missed it!

Michael and I brought the shopping bags to Catherine. “She’s had some water and crackers since you came out earlier,” Jake said. He looked wistfully towards the yard, where the others were working out. “She’s still a flight risk, though.” He sounded glum. He’d been on guard for about ten hours — he was probably itching to join the others and work out — use those big muscles of his to do something besides pace outside his boss’s daughter’s door.

“You go,” Michael said, motioning towards the yard. “I’ll stay here. I can’t work out after all the Mexican food Liberty and I ate, anyway.”
And the two margaritas apiece we had,
I thought.
Apparently shopping drove us both to drink.

“You sure?” Jake asked, hopping up without hesitating. “Thanks!” And he was gone.

“I wish I had his energy,” I said, looking at Michael.

“If you’re going on the next assignment, you’re going to need it,” Michael said. I felt like I’d made another friend today in Michael; his tone was now fatherly, protective. “South America is no joke. And going undercover there will be very, very intense. You’re going to have to do everything John asks in order to be ready.”

I nodded at him. Hearing this come from Michael, who was more normal than the rest of them — i.e., he liked to skip workouts sometimes, too, and liked to eat lard-laden Mexican food as much as I did — made me take it to heart. “I know,” I said. “I’m pretty much totally dreading it.”

“Forget about it for the weekend,” he said. “Enjoy the time off with John. He was a wreck when you left. He’s so much happier now, even with everything else that’s going on…” His voice trailed off and he motioned towards Catherine’s door.

“Thank you, Michael. You are now officially my shopping buddy. Let’s never go again.”

“Deal,” he said.

“Catherine seemed happy,” I told John later, after we’d had dinner with his father and camped out in the living room. The Red Sox were on. In my brief experience living with both cable and John, it seemed like the Red Sox were
always
on.

“She tried on all the clothes and she even ate some sushi.”
And she didn’t even call me a fuckwad,
I thought.
Imagine that?

“Thank you. You’re perfect,” he said, kissing me lightly on the nose. “Michael said you got some shopping done for yourself, but that you didn’t get everything you needed.” He looked at me sternly. “You know we start Monday. You need proper clothing.”

“My new best friend’s taking care of all that,” I said, leaning back with my hands behind my head.

“The salesman who helped you today? Michael mentioned it was a young guy who was helping you,” John’s voice trailed off and he looked at me expectantly.

“Young? Yes. A guy? Yes. Do you need to be threatened by Justin, my personal shopper?
No
,” I said, and giggled. “Although maybe your credit card should feel threatened. Seriously, though, Justin was great. But he’s not my type.”

“What — young, well-dressed and handsome isn’t your type?”

“No,” I said. “He was sweet, but I don’t like my men in skinny pants.”

He leaned over towards me. His handsome, chiseled face and bright blue eyes were right in front of my face. As was his massive chest, covered by a thin tee-shirt. “What, exactly, is your type?” he growled at me, kissing my face lightly.

“Well, that depends,” I said, pretending he wasn’t making me totally hot. “Sometimes I like my men dressed up, in a nice suit and tie. They look so polished that way. So powerful. So handsome.

“Other times,” I said, tracing my finger over his tee shirt, outlining his enormous pectoral muscles, “I like them sweaty and dirty. In a tee shirt and sweats. Or naked.” I giggled at him like I was kidding but it actually got really hot between my legs when I said it. John must have sensed it, because he brushed his lips down my neck, pressing his chest up against me. I stroked him and laughed — his muscles were all rock hard.

“You’re flexing for me,” I said.

“I’m just trying to fit the bill, babe,” he said, and kept kissing my neck.

“The main thing I like about my men —
all
my men, mind you,” I laughed, “is that they’re older,” he kept kissing me, “handsome,” he cupped my breast with his hand, “sexy,” he squeezed it, almost painfully, “and bossy.” I arched my back so he could press himself against me. I could feel all of him, every inch, and I moaned.

“Then you’ve hit the jackpot, baby,” he said, lowly, moving from my neck to lips, crushing his lips against mine. I moaned again and grabbed his ass, trying to press
all
of him against all of me.

Suddenly there was a very perky beeping noise from his pocket. He pulled back and looked at me with hooded eyes. “Hold that thought.” He looked down at his phone.

“You have a text from your sister,” he said and handed it to me.

“Pretty Wmn is on USA 2 nite 7 EST”
Why was Sasha’s grammar so poor?
I wondered.
It was disturbing. I scowled at it for a second before I understood.

“Oooooh, goody!” I said, finally deciphering her message and no longer caring about the misspellings. I fumbled over John on the couch, forgetting all about grabbing his ass, and grabbed the remote. “
Pretty Woman’s
on!”

“But so are the Red Sox,” John said, looking a little wounded as I turned off the game and Julia Roberts appeared on the enormous screen. “And what about…
you know
?”