Besides, she didn’t put on the underwear from the box this morning, which is sitting in a living room corner at home. As a matter of fact, she didn’t bother to ask if I collected it off the garage floor when I dragged her home.
The return address is a PO box in some small shit town in Michigan nobody’s ever heard of. It’s dilapidated, its population declining like a sandbag with a hole in the bottom.
You can’t give away houses there. But it’s a great place for a thug like him to get his mail. I’d stake my rifle collection the bastard’s residing in another city within a two- to three-hour drive.
He didn’t become the Dealer to live in a pathetic little house in a pathetic little town.
Lizochka is saying something about Angelika needing underwear, and Angelika vanishes inside the dressing room. I scan the output, which is as expected from someone smart enough to run for years. Most of the numbers are spam, marketing or robo-calls from politicians begging for votes. There are two that intrigue me, but they’re inactive now—a dead end.
After about an hour or so of fussing and going back and forth, my little fawn seems to be done selecting all the bras and panties she needs. Monique sends a few evening gowns and cocktail dresses into the dressing room.
The black Armani is classy. Very pretty, too. Makes Angelika look young and fresh.
The yellow Dior is excellent as well. Springlike. Gives a youthful appeal.
The red Versace is… I tap the edge of the tablet. It wraps around her like a flame, but it only makes her appear more radiant. Her skin glows, and I want to press a kiss on it to see if it’s as warm as it looks.
An unexpected impulse. And not an ideal one. I should know better than to fall for bait.
She tries on three more. They all look fantastic on her.
As they should. Monique is an expert. She doesn’t let anybody waste time by trying on a hundred mediocre items with only one decent thing buried inside.
Angelika nibbles on her lower lip as she looks over the dresses. Does she know when she does that, she draws attention to her mouth? Not only that, it makes her lips look slightly moist and swollen, like she’s been just kissed. And it makes me want to kiss her, so her mouth could be wet and swollen for all the right reasons.
My blood heats.
“This, and…this,” Angelika says, pointing at the black Armani and the cream Ralph Lauren.
Good options. She shouldn’t have to limit herself, however.
“All of them,” I say, gesturing at the seven dresses.
“What?” Angelika yelps. “I… I don’t need this many. I can’t even think where or when I’d wear them. I mean… It’d be a huge waste of money.”
Ah, little fawn. It’s sort of sweet how she’s worried about not having enough money, but doesn’t want to admit it. If I tell her how much the black Armani alone costs, is she going to have a heart attack?
Her cheeks are starting to turn pink.
Yes, she’s going to have a heart attack. Since I don’t feel like calling 911 and dealing with the paperwork, I merely smile. “It isn’t a waste. Spending money”—on the right person—“is a beautiful thing.”
“Um…” She blinks, like she’s having trouble processing. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“But—”
My eyes on hers, I pull out my credit card, held between two fingers. One of the assistants takes it.
“You can’t! Oh my gosh, you’re already doing so much for me. I can’t impose on you like this.” Angelika cups her red cheeks with her hands. Her eyes dart back and forth between me and Monique and Lizochka.
The poor thing is embarrassed.
Why is it the person I want to splurge on is embarrassed about it, while people I couldn’t care less about are shameless about demanding my attention, money and time?
I stand. “It’s my treat, little fawn.”
“But—”
“After all, I’m the one forcing you to buy new clothes, so it’s the least I can do.”
Behind Angelika, Lizochka is giving me a wide-eyed look that says, Bullshit.
I ignore her. She can ask her husband to take her shopping and buy her things.
I instruct Monique’s staff to deliver the packages to my address. And during that time, Lizochka is whispering to Angelika, the little fawn nodding, her eyes glazed over, and her mouth opening and closing like she doesn’t know what to say.
When she’s done talking with Lizochka, Angelika comes over. “You really don’t have to do this,” she says. “We can send most of them back.”
“No, we can’t. No refund, no return,” I lie.
“What?”
“It’s true. Unless you can vomit out the mimosa, tarts and parfait in the condition they were served in…?”
Her hands fly to cover her mouth. A mixture of horror and shock crosses her pretty little face.
I tighten my mouth. A smile here would undermine my effort. “This is Los Angeles. Things are different here. So just enjoy the free stuff.”
“Exactly,” Lizochka says, knowing better than to correct me. “Besides, he can afford it with all the money he’s been saving. No girlfriends to spend on.”
I ignore her jab about my lack of romantic relationships. Lizochka thinks that just because she’s happily married, everyone should be. But she wasn’t so hot on dating for a long time herself. Not that I’ll remind her of that, since that was also the most difficult period of her life, personally speaking. “I’ll bring Angelika to the office tomorrow.”
“For what?” Angelika says.
Why is my little fawn acting so stunned? Why did she think I asked her to write the résumé? Just so she can say she has one?
I never do anything without good reason, and having her get a job that will actually pay a living wage is one of them. The barista position isn’t awful, all things considered, but the café can’t possibly pay her enough for putting up with that idiot who won’t shut up about how nobly outraged he is.
And on top of that, he’s ugly. She shouldn’t have to put up with that, either.
“An internship position at the Pryce Family Foundation,” Lizochka says.
“Oh.” Understanding dawns on Angelika’s face. “I haven’t applied—”
“I sent in the résumé already,” I say. “As an employee referral.”
Angelika’s giving me a wide-eyed look. Why is she acting like this is some unbelievable turn of events? I’m always willing to pass a résumé on. It’s just that there’s usually no reason to.
Lizochka nods. “Exactly.”
“I’d love to, but, um… I really need…” Angelika’s face turns redder than a ripe chili pepper. “I sort of need a job that pays me.” She says the words fast.
Did she think I’d refer her to an unpaid position? I like efficiency, not exploitation.
“Oh.” Lizochka tosses me a glance. “I can’t believe Tolyan didn’t tell you, but the position comes with a salary. We don’t do unpaid internships because the people who apply for them generally tend to have greater financial need than most of our employees. Not paying them would be taking advantage of their circumstances…and more than a little hypocritical, given the foundation’s mission.”