“Of course, ma’am,” the saleswoman says, taking my pathetic answer in stride. She’s polite, but there’s nothing warm about her. “Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”
“Umm… I have a list,” I say, pulling out Artem’s list and looking through it.
I feel one of my guards step forward as I’m busy trying to read the first item on the piece of paper.
“Mr. Kovalyov sends his greetings,” Leo tells the gorgeous blonde.
Instantly, her perfectly arched eyebrows shoot to the top of her Botox’d forehead.
She turns to me with the brightest smile I’ve ever seen. “You’re a friend of Mr. Kovalyov’s? Well, we’re honored that you chose to visit our establishment. Please, ma’am, come this way. I’m Yvonne and I’ll be happy to assist you today.”
Suddenly, she is all warmth and radiance as she leads me through the massive store towards a private dressing room at the back.
My guards retreat back outside while I trail along after Yvonne, still feeling very much out of my element.
The dressing suite is a big circular space, complete with a silver-grey sofa and a coffee table bearing buckets of champagne on ice.
“Would you mind if I looked at the list?” Yvonne asks.
I hand it over with relief. She scans it quickly and nods.
“Wonderful,” she says, passing the note back to me. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable and I’ll be back with some options for you?”
I take a seat next to the champagne and marvel at how quickly things had changed once Artem’s name got dropped.
I’m willing to bet that’s going to happen in every store I visit today.
A few minutes later, Yvonne walks back in, followed by several men pushing garment racks.
I stare at the four separate garment racks in the dressing room with me. One rack holds evening gowns. Another has cocktail dresses. The third has simpler, day-to-day looks along with skirts and blouses.
“Once you’re done selecting your top choices from these options, we can bring in the rest,” Yvonne tells me enthusiastically.
I frown. “There’s more?”
“Oh, there’s so much more, ma’am,” Yvonne says with a grin.
She’s not kidding. I spend the next two hours trying on different clothes.
Most are mind-bogglingly beautiful. All are mind-bogglingly expensive.
I feel like I’m trapped in some perverse Cinderella story.
Except that in this version, Cinderella is being forced to marry the prince, who’s more brutal than charming and she also happens to be pregnant with his child, though she’s keeping that from him, even though they already had sex in a club bathroom months ago and then parted ways without exchanging names, and that would’ve been the end of it but then he came charging back into her life to murder her father and burn down the only home she’s ever known…
So, on second thought, maybe not so Cinderella-y after all.
“Ma’am, may I pour you a glass of champagne?” Yvonne asks, cutting through the dark bend my thoughts were taking.
“Uh… no, thanks.”
She raises her eyebrows as though I’m the first client ever to turn down champagne. I probably am.
“I’m… on a cleanse?” I offer, though it sounds like I’m asking her a question.
She brightens and nods. “Of course, ma’am. Can I get you anything else? A mocktail, perhaps, or fresh juice? Whatever you need, just say the word.”
“I’m not hungry, but thank you,” I reply nervously.
She gives me a strange look but she covers it up with the same false smile she’s been wearing for the past two hours. “Not a problem. Allow me to bring in our next selection of outfits for you.”
I sigh and slump down in the closest chair. I’m exhausted already.
Half an hour later, I finally leave the store with a few items ticked off the list Artem gave me.
But I’m nowhere near complete.
Crew Cut and Blue Eyes—I keep forgetting which one is Vlad and which one is Leo, and they’re not particularly eager to remind me—take me to five more stores down Rodeo Drive.
In each store, it’s the same song and dance. The only thing that changes is that I start dropping Artem’s name before his guards do.
The reaction is consistently amazing. Salespeople transform before my eyes the moment they hear who’s sent me.
Their austere smiles turn warm, they become more talkative, and their only concern is keeping me happy.
They shower me with compliments the entire time we’re together, fawning over everything from my hazel eyes to my hourglass figure.
They’re so effusive that it’s hard for me to believe any of them.
But I don’t deny that, for the first few hours, it is fun.
Each store offers me a selection of food and beverages as I try on their clothes. I always turn down the champagne, but I accept the delicate little finger sandwiches and petit fours.
And yet, when I walk out of the Prada store in the early evening, I’m exhausted, hungry, and most of all, thirsty.
Do people in L.A. drink champagne instead of water, I wonder?
“Is that it?” I ask Crew Cut. “Am I done for the day?”
“There’s one more place that Mr. Kovalyov wants you to visit,” he replies soberly.
Knowing it would be pointless to argue, I get in the car and we’re off to yet another designer store.
When I step out of the car, however, I freeze in front of the store’s elaborate façade.
The mannequins in the store’s display window are wearing the sexiest lingerie I have ever seen. Straps in places I didn’t know straps could go. Sheer fabric over bits that I’d always thought were meant to be covered.
I blush before I manage to get ahold of myself.
It’s just clothing, Esme.
I glare at Blue Eyes, who’s not even looking at me.
“Is this it where I’m meant to be going?” I ask.
“Yes.”
That’s when I start to get mad.
Gritting my teeth in anger, I practically march into the store, indignation coursing through me.
Artem has some nerve, expecting me to whore myself up for his pleasure. He thinks I’m going to come back to his penthouse all dolled up in this shit?
I glance over at a bejeweled thong
