Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 43239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 216(@200wpm)___ 173(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 216(@200wpm)___ 173(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
But it swings open before I can touch it.
Harrison steps inside and closes the door behind him, flipping the lock.
“I hate you for making me come here,” I say quietly, not turning around.
“You have far better reasons to hate me than that,” he replies.
“You knew I’d embarrass myself in front of all those snobby-ass people, didn’t you?” My voice cracks. “Didn’t you?”
“Eliza—”
“I hate the way you say my name.”
“How would you like me to say it?” he asks, stepping closer.
“Simple. Pronounce it like: You can go back home. I’ll talk some sense into your brother.”
“Eliza.” His hands settle on my waist. “For the umpteenth time, going home is out of the question. Take a deep breath.”
I do. He tells me to take another. I obey again.
“What happened?” he asks gently.
“I learned that I hate snobby people.”
“Besides that.”
“They love talking about themselves,” I mutter.
He nods. “Good. How did they make their money?”
“I don’t think they did.” I shrug. “They just married well.”
“Exactly,” he says. “You noticed.”
“How the hell does that help me? Their husbands are—”
I stop, the realization hitting mid-sentence.
“Their husbands are in the industry, aren’t they?”
He nods.
“Get an in with them and you’re halfway there.”
“But didn’t I already ruin my chances?”
“No.”
“They’re probably talking crap about me right now.”
“One of the waitresses spilled an entire tray of bellinis, so I doubt anyone even remembers the tag on your dress.”
I try not to smile.
“The next time they see you,” he adds, “you’ll be an entirely different person. And if all else fails, they’ll give you a second chance anyway.”
“What makes you so sure about that?”
He looks at me for a long beat.
“Because, with the exception of myself... everyone loves a good fairytale,” he says. “Especially a Cinderella story.”
NINETEEN
ELIZA
In the morning, Harrison is pacing the balcony, a warm coffee in hand.
“You can’t have me break up with someone and then six months later ask me to help you get her back,” he says. “That’s not how this works.”
I plop down at the breakfast bar and stuff a strawberry into my lips.
“I swear to God, if you show up to her place and beg for forgiveness, I will disown you on behalf of all mankind…” He slams down his coffee and rushes inside.
“Change of plans for today.” He pulls out his wallet and takes out a sleek black credit card. “Tell Harold to drop you off on Billionaire’s Row for shopping and come back with ten new suits and twenty new dresses so we can start planning out your wardrobe for the conference.”
“Is there a price range you want me to stay in per outfit?”
“No.” He looks amused as he pulls on his blazer. “But I’ll get an alert if you get close to three million.”
“I have to go handle a stupid client.” He rushes past me, but then he looks over his shoulder. “Wear whatever you want, but make sure you have on heels.”
I linger on the corner far longer than I should. Still feeling a slight sting from the brunch, I’m not ready to dive into this elite cesspool again, but if Harrison didn’t flinch in the slightest about me heading out alone, maybe I shouldn’t either.
Taking a deep breath, I scan the storefronts across the street.
Balmain. Hermès. Tom Ford. Marc Jacobs.
I have no idea how to properly pronounce the first two, so I take my chances with the third.
Just be confident, just be confident…
I mutter the words under my breath as I walk through the doors.
“Well, hello there, Miss!” A suited man greets me from the counter. “Are you searching for anything in particular today?”
“No, I’m just looking around.” I pause. “Actually, yes. I’m attending a very important event in a few weeks, and I need dress and suit options.”
“Well, I can help you with the suits, but only if you don’t mind coming back via appointment so I can get you properly sized.”
“I can do that.”
“Perfect!” He pulls a business card from his pocket and scribbles on the back. “I’m James, and you are?”
“Eliza Hart.”
“And what is it that you do for a living, Eliza?”
I rattle off the lines I’ve rehearsed with Harrison, and James looks impressed as he hands me the card.
“Email me tonight with the days you want to come in. I’ll respond with times.” He taps his chin. “If you’re looking for dresses, check out The Laccare.”
“Thank you.”
Feeling slightly steadier, I take his advice and walk into the next store.
Rows of bright dresses sparkle from mannequins. I flick the tag on a silver one, and my eyes bulge.
$14,000?
I move toward the purses and pick up a golden clutch bag. The eight-thousand-dollar price tag makes me quietly set it back down.
“Can I help you?” a voice cuts in behind me.
I turn to see a svelte brunette in a sharply tailored black suit. Her smile is all bone and no warmth. She glances down at my shoes before meeting my eyes.