According to the tabloids, the wedding was a month away. You'd think with the impending nuptials that Blake would have stopped trying to call me, but he hadn't. He was still insistent on seeing me or speaking to me. I finally gave in and sent him a text message stating that we're over and that I had already moved on. It wasn't true, but what else was I supposed to do?
Adam had been the perfect gentleman, which was almost surprising considering the group he was with when I'd first met him. Not only was he sweet and funny, but he was thoughtful, too. He didn't send me flowers from afar like Blake did, but he would pop up at my job and take me out to lunch. And if he saw that Vanessa was going to be eating alone, he'd take her out too and pay for all of us. It was refreshing to be with a guy that thought of me first. Everything was great, on paper.
There was no spark, but sparks weren't everything, were they? I could live a perfectly happy life with a man who wasn't exciting and sultry and who knew me inside and out, couldn't I? My heart tightened, and once again I shoved thoughts of Blake out of my mind. You're not welcome here anymore, my brain seethed.
I knew I'd have to have some sort of reaction to him soon. It had already been two weeks and I was still resisting his attempts to kiss me. I felt bad for stringing him along, but I needed the time to figure myself out.
"Chica!" Vanessa greeted me bursting into my office. "One of your clients is driving the whole office crazy."
"Who is it?"
"The president of that fashion boutique. I know that he's an up-and-coming designer and that he's had several celebs wear his stuff, and we should be glad he wants us to market his brand, but do we really need to kiss his ass to do it?"
"Yes," I replied bluntly with a smile. "All we need to do is kiss a little ass now, and then down the line, it'll be smooth sailing because he'll see what we can do with him. Anyway, what does he want?"
"He has this fashion thing coming up, and he wants us to get him a suit."
"He's a designer, why doesn't he just make his own suit?" I asked, frowning as I rummaged through my paperwork.
"Si!" She screamed and then babbled a bunch of other things in Spanish. "I just can't deal. He said it was last minute and that he wanted to wear a suit that nobody has ever seen or some crap like that. Just bullshit after bullshit. Does he think that we are his maids or people to do his bidding?"
"I blame myself. I told him that if he was going to an event that we would help him because how he looked was part of his brand." Vanessa shot me a look before we both started giggling. "I was talking out of my ass, okay? Look, I'll go get him some choices. My friend Marco works at a designer suit place and I'll have him pull some options."
"Make sure to take some pictures and send them to him."
"I'll ask my friend to take some pictures and send them to me and on the ride there I'll send them to our client. And that way by the time I get there, I'll either have found the suit or, at least, I'll be halfway done."
"Teamwork?"
"Teamwork." We exchanged high fives.
***
The whole cab ride over consisted of me saying the following:
"Yes, sir, that is Gucci. Uh huh, Armani. Yes, sir. No, sir." And so on.
Vanessa wasn't lying about this client being finicky and picky. Even though I sent him countless pictures of designer suits, none of them were what he had in mind. But what makes things even worse was he didn't have a clue what he even wanted. He just planned on knowing it when he saw it. God, I could use a cocktail.
I ran right into the store and took a picture of all the options they pulled. Finally, after over thirty pictures, he found the one.
I waited until they got it all in his size with the accessories to match so he'd need minimal tailoring.
As I waited by the register, I saw movement in the corner of my eye. Something about the way they were walking looked very familiar. I squinted to get a better look and immediately gasped as they approached the store. The door swung shut as Blake entered, and I did my best to duck and hide to avoid his line of vision.
"Hello. I'm here for my three o'clock tailoring." His rich voice rumbled through the small boutique as he spoke to the attendant.
Just the sound of his voice had my pulse racing, it felt like my heart was going to burst out of my chest. I had such conflicting feelings of wanting to run up to him and hug him (as inappropriate as it would be) and to run far, far away. Client be damned.