Page 18 of Theirs to Treasure
Determinedly Zev shakes his head and sweeps his gaze over me, igniting the same response that his brother does. “This is the correct size.”
“Trust him.” Forrest takes the garment from him.
Is this really happening?I’m in an exclusive shop with multimillionaires who are convinced they know my body better than I do.
A salesclerk hurries over, a big smile on her face and dollar signs in her eyes. “May I start a dressing room for you, sir?” she asks him, ignoring me completely.
“Thank you.” He hands over the potential purchase.
Could he be any more dictatorial?
“If I’m wrong, I will personally fetch you something else,” Zev offers.
The man is an expert at soothing my irritation with Forrest.
“You’ll need something for tomorrow morning,” he adds.
I shake my head, as if to clear it. How could I not have thought about that?
Between the shock and the alcohol, I’m unable to string two coherent thoughts together or consider anything more than five minutes in the future.
Not waiting for a response, Zev chooses a comfortable, lightweight knit shirt and a slim-fitting black skirt.
Though I roll my eyes at the clothing, I don’t waste my breath arguing with them.
I’ll try on their selections and prove them wrong.
“You’ll need shoes for tomorrow.”
Those will add another few hundred dollars or more to the already exorbitant bill. Even though the pair I’m wearing are killing my feet, they’ll have to do until I can find others in the morning.
“What size?” he persists, proving he’s more like his brother than I want to believe.
“You mean you don’t know?” I shoot back, unable to hide my sarcasm.
Forrest about slays me with his frown.
Relenting, I sigh and answer Zev’s question.
Immediately he moves toward the back section of the shop.
In his own way, he’s every bit as assuming as his brother.
The next thing I know, the overenthusiastic salesperson is shepherding me into a luxurious fitting room, complete with a chair, a plush ottoman, three-way mirror, and plenty of places to hang things.
Forrest attempts to follow us inside, but I hold up my hand. “Absolutely not.”
Maybe recognizing my tone, he takes a step back.
“Let me know if you need help.”
“I won’t.”
Promising to be back, the clerk closes the door, leaving me alone.
In under twenty seconds, I realize I’ll never be able to get out of this gown by myself.
I close my eyes in frustration. Then, hoping the clerk is nearby, I open the door and peek my head out.