Home > Shopping for a Billionaire's Wife (Shopping for a Billionaire #8)(50)

Shopping for a Billionaire's Wife (Shopping for a Billionaire #8)(50)
Author: Julia Kent

If I pretend she isn’t real, she’ll go away, right?

Hold on.

She’s carrying a coffee.

From my favorite coffee shop next door.

“Where did you get that?” I’m more outraged that she didn’t get me a yummy latte than I am by her comments about anal bleaching, which is not happening. Nope.

“Lüq got it for me, Pammy and Amanda.”

“What about me?”

She lifts one shoulder and imitates his accent. “He said that if you didn’t care to stay, why should he get you the divine nectar?”

“I’m here to get a book! To have something to read while I go through all these treatments.”

“You always have to be different, honey. Lüq has plenty of things to read in the spa.”

“They’re all pictures of hair styles or magazines in French.”

“You took middle-school French. You should be able to read them.”

“The pictures make it clear the magazines are all for high-colonic industry workers.”

Evie gives a low sound of acceptance. “Everyone has a fetish.” Her hand moves in a distinctly French way, the nonchalance so engrained, the lift of one corner of her mouth imperceptible.

Mom looks at her as if finally noticing her and grins nice and wide. She looks like an extra on Steel Magnolias. “Yes. Everyone does. Hello. I am Marie. I’m Mr. McCormick’s mother-in-law.”

“That’s how you’re introducing yourself now, Mom? Not as ‘Shannon’s mother’, but as ‘Declan’s mother-in-law’?”

“I’ve got to use my connections, dear. Declan has more clout here than you.”

“Listen to yourself! That’s so shallow.”

“Oooo, Prada!” Mom says. Clothes are a shiny for her. She’s like a magpie. “What’s this all about?”

“Declan’s forcing me to work with a professional shopper.”

“Stylist,” Evie hisses.

Mom beams. “Will she get you another outfit like the last shopper? The one who dressed you in that gorgeous Hello Kitty outfit?”

Evie nearly faints again.

“No,” I say curtly, offering Evie a glass of sparkling water from her little snack station, which she gulps.

“Mom, I’m coming right back. Promise. Evie’s going to take my measurements and I’ll be right back in the spa.”

“Ooooo!” Mom says, giving Evie an about-face and pouring on the charm. “Can I get measured too? What’s Declan buying us?”

“Me. Declan’s buying me something. Not you.”

“How do you know? There are an awful lot of clothes here in an array of sizes.”

“Because Declan told me he wanted to do something special. For me. And only me.” Territoriality emerges in the strangest way. Evie listens to Mom intently, eyes bright, cheeks pink, as she nods encouragement.

“Your mother is wise,” Evie urges. “Let Mr. McCormick do this for you.”

“Considering most of your non-work wardrobe comes from second-hand stores, this is a quantum leap for you, honey!”

Thump.

We look down.

Evie has finally fainted.

Chapter Fourteen

After experiencing more processing than a Kraft cheese product, I return to our suite with a new hairdo, every pore of my skin exfoliated and moisturized, body hair intact where I want it intact, though the negotiations over that issue rival the Paris Peace Accords and boundary lines.

A note on the bed reads: Business mtgs still. Sorry. See you @7 for dinner w/ parents. <3

I check my phone. Same basic text from Declan.

And, to my surprise, one from my dad, left just a few minutes ago.

Can we talk before dinner, honey?

I text him back and within five minutes, I’m in a giant bear hug with Dad, embraced between slot machines and a baccarat table.

“Look at you!” he says, his voice hitting three different octaves of marvel. “My little tomboy’s all grown up.”

I blush. “The stupid spa. Declan and Mom made me.” I can’t help but be a little pleased, though.

“Declan and your mother joined forces on an issue?” Dad’s eyebrow goes up, his mouth down. “That’s frightening.”

We share a very, very understanding laugh.

“What’s that?” Dad asks, pointing to the “High Limit” sign in front of a private door.

“I think that’s where the really wealthy players go. Baccarat? Declan likes that game.”

“Huh. I played that years ago.”

“You did? Are you sure? Declan says it’s a game for international jet setters.”

“What? I don’t look like a billionaire playboy?” He mugs for me.

I laugh. “Seriously, though—you know how to play?”

“Just the basics. Before you were born, I worked for three months at the first casino in Connecticut, right after they opened. A temp job. Learned most of these games there.” He just nods to himself, his eyes flicking back to the door, then focusing on me.

“Oh, Daddy, thank you for doing this. I need a break.”

“From your mother?”

“From everything.” I look around the casino in marvel. “Isn’t this place amazing? It’s so...”

“Awful.”

“What?” I laugh, giving him a conspirator’s smile. “I know it’s a bit much.” Dad’s not the kind of guy to be negative about pretty much anything. Go with the flow is more his style.

“It’s a ‘bit much’ the same way that I’m ‘a little in debt,’ honey.”

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