“It probably wouldn’t hurt for you to take Theresa and go on a little shopping spree. You could charge it to the company card, since it is for a case.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think about it, Adrienne. This is a high priority case that could lead to more cases like it. It’s important we treat it that way.”
I nodded, feeling properly chastised. We’d already had this conversation, in some form, after he agreed to take the case without telling me what it was I was going to have to do. It hadn’t been quite as cordial as all this.
My job was to work in the background, find the person who was causing our client problems. Usually it was simple things, like death threats and stalkers. I did research, followed people around as they went about their day, coordinated with the police when we caught someone breaking the law. I occasionally had to hang out in an office, and for those occasions I had a simple business suit. But this… It was completely out of my job description.
“You’ll have to act as his girlfriend for a week.”
“His girlfriend?”
“Dress up. Show up at his office. Watch the people around him.”
“That’s usually the kind of thing you have Mercedes do.”
“Yes, well, Mercedes is busy with another case. And she doesn’t quite fit his type.”
“His type?”
“He wants someone he can take to formal dinner. Someone who won’t cuss the waiter out in Spanish if he looks at her sideways.”
“So send Sara.”
“Sara’s also on a case already, Adrienne. You’re all we have, and this is an important case. I wouldn’t send you if it wasn’t.”
“You’re my pimp now? Is that it?”
He didn’t acknowledge that statement, and I apologized later. But I still didn’t like what he found so easy to make me do. But, again, I wasn’t sure he was fully aware of how enthusiastically the client took the whole girlfriend charade. To my father, dating consisted of nothing more than a few dinners out and some innocent handholding. Maybe a chaste kiss at the door. If he’d seen Lucien’s hand under my skirt last night, it would not have been good for either of them.
I sighed as I watched my father walk out the door. Then I picked up the phone and called down to the reception desk.
“Can you get Robert to watch the desk for you? I need your help.”
I nearly turned and walked back out when Theresa pulled me through the doors of a boutique in River Oaks. This place was so far outside of my comfort zone that I couldn’t even breathe the stale, upscale air. But Theresa had a firm hold on my arm and dragged me farther into the room until a saleslady caught sight of us.
“How can I help you?” the woman asked, her nasal voice matching the way she looked down her patrician nose at us.
“My friend here needs a new wardrobe. ASAP. And she has an unlimited credit line on her credit card.”
The saleslady’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Well, then, follow me.”
She led the way to a back room that was clearly reserved for special customers. There was a long couch and a lovely bar in one corner, and a raised platform where models could come in and show off the latest fashions. I felt like I’d fallen into a bad chick flick. The only thing missing was the appropriately aloof hero with the credit card between his fingers.
“I would guess you’re a size four?”
“Six.”
Her eyebrows rose, but she turned and left the room. A few minutes later, she was back, a handful of garments over her arm and a couple of models moving around the platform.
I wanted to scream.
Theresa was loving it. She made comments about each outfit, stuff about the material and the cut and… I had no idea. They all looked basically the same to me. But she picked out four different dresses, a couple of pantsuits, and two formal dresses that probably cost more than I made in a month. Once the clothes were selected, they made me try them on, but they didn’t just send me to a dressing room. They made me strip right there in front of them so that they could help with zippers and buttons, and so the seamstress could adjust any hemlines that didn’t fall where they was supposed to because of my limited height. I thought the saleslady might faint when she saw my basic cotton bra and belly-hugging granny panties.
“We really ought to take a look at some new lingerie, too,” she said in that nasally voice of hers.
“No one’s going to see my underwear.”
“You never know what might happen.”
So, somehow, I ended up buying three sets of push-up bras, two thongs, and a whole handful of some things called ‘boy short panties’.
But, I had to admit—rather grudgingly—I was impressed with the image in the mirror when I slipped into a black gown that had a heart-shaped bodice and a tight waist, but fell into a silky skirt. It made me look like a whole different person.
The saleslady came up behind me and scooped my hair up into a little twist at the back of my head.