Chapter 36 - Pretty Woman

Chapter 36: Chapter 36 - Pretty Woman

The Porsche glided through the streets of Astoria, past corner bodegas and laundromats and kids playing basketball on a chain-link court.

Neither of them said a word.

Carrie sat stiffly in the passenger seat with her hands clasped in her lap, staring straight ahead. Every few seconds, her eyes flicked toward Jesse, then darted away again. He drove with one hand on the wheel, relaxed, completely at ease, like this was any other evening.

The silence stretched on for two full minutes.

Carrie couldn’t take it anymore.

"Are you taking me to the police station?"

Jesse glanced at her. Then he chuckled. A low, amused sound, like she’d just said something adorable.

"You’re too curious, Carrie," he said, turning his eyes back to the road. "Just sit back and enjoy the ride."

"Enjoy the ride?" She turned in her seat to face him. "How am I supposed to enjoy the ride when I don’t know what’s happening? Or what’s going to happen? You could be driving me anywhere right now."

Jesse smiled.

He let the silence sit for a moment. Then he looked over at her again, his eyes drifting from her messy bun to her plain white top to her jeans.

"So that’s why you’re dressed like that," he said.

Carrie frowned. "Like what?"

"So casual. White T-shirt. Jeans. Sneakers." He shook his head slowly. "You thought I was taking you to the police station. So you figured, why bother dressing up? No point trying to impress me." His mouth curled. "Or the cops."

Carrie’s face flamed red.

"That’s not... I wasn’t..." She sputtered. "I didn’t dress like this because of the cops! I dressed like this because it’s not a date! You said we were going to talk. People don’t dress up to talk!"

"Some people do."

"Well, I don’t!"

"Clearly."

Carrie opened her mouth to fire back, some sharp retort already forming on her tongue.

Then the Porsche slowed and pulled smoothly over to the curb.

Jesse cut the engine.

"Here we are."

Carrie blinked and turned toward the window.

They’d left Astoria behind somewhere along the way. They were in Manhattan now, on a quiet stretch of Madison Avenue lined with trees strung with tiny white lights. Directly in front of them stood a boutique with a sleek black facade and floor-to-ceiling windows. Gold lettering arched across the glass above the door.

MAISON VALERE.

Carrie stared at it.

She knew this store. Everyone knew this store. She’d walked past it a handful of times on the way to auditions, slowing down just enough to peek in the window at the gowns on the mannequins. Dresses that cost more than a year of her rent. She’d never once stopped. Never once imagined herself walking through that door.

She turned back to Jesse, completely lost.

What was he doing? What game was this?

Part of her hated it. Hated not knowing. Hated the way he kept her off balance, always one step ahead, dangling answers just out of reach.

But another part of her, the part she kept trying to ignore, found it thrilling. The not knowing. The way he just told her what to do and expected her to do it.

Jesse got out of the car. He walked around the front of the Porsche and opened her door.

Carrie stayed in her seat.

"What are we doing at a boutique?"

Jesse held out his hand.

"Follow me," he said, "and find out."

The door chimed softly as they stepped inside.

The boutique was hushed and glowing, like the inside of a jewelry box. White marble floors veined with gold. Soft amber lighting. Racks of gowns and dresses arranged by color, each one spaced perfectly apart. A crystal chandelier hung over a cream velvet seating area in the center of the room, where a single bottle of champagne sat chilling in a silver bucket.

It smelled like roses and money.

Carrie stayed close behind Jesse, suddenly very aware of her sneakers squeaking against the marble.

A sales associate glided toward them almost immediately. He was tall and strikingly handsome, with a chiseled jaw, perfectly styled dark hair and a black suit that fit him like he’d been born in it. His eyes swept over Jesse’s loosened tie, then Carrie’s jeans and sneakers. His smile was polite and practiced and very, very cool.

"Good evening. Welcome to Maison Valère. How may I help you?"

"Evening," Jesse said. "I’m looking for Pierre. I heard he started working here a few weeks ago."

The associate’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. "Pierre? I—"

"Jesse? Jesse Byrne? Is that you?"

The voice rang out from the back of the store, high and bright and laced with a thick French accent.

A slender man came hurrying toward them from behind a rack of evening gowns. He was in his early thirties, with sharp cheekbones, perfectly arched brows and dark hair slicked back into a short ponytail. He wore a fitted lavender shirt tucked into high-waisted black trousers, a silk scarf knotted at his throat, and a silver bracelet that jingled as he waved.

"Mon Dieu! It is you!"

Jesse broke into a genuine smile. "Pierre."

Pierre swept past the handsome associate without even glancing at him and threw his arms around Jesse, kissing him on both cheeks.

"Look at you! Look at this suit! You look like a real man now, not a sad little mouse." He pulled back and held Jesse at arm’s length, inspecting him. "What happened to you? Did you finally get that promotion?"

"Something like that."

The handsome associate cleared his throat, gave a tight nod and drifted away to the other side of the store.

Carrie watched the two men with confusion.

She didn’t know it, but Jesse and Pierre went back almost two years. Pierre used to work at a small, slightly shabby boutique on Steinway Street in Astoria. The kind of place that sold knockoffs of designer dresses at half the price. Jesse had wandered in one afternoon looking for a birthday present for Tatiana, completely lost and out of his depth.

Pierre had taken one look at him and decided to adopt him.

He’d helped Jesse pick out a dress. Then another one, for their anniversary. Then a coat, a pair of boots and a handbag. Every time, Pierre quietly slipped him his employee discount, sometimes thirty percent, sometimes more. Tatiana had loved every single thing Jesse brought home. She’d never once asked where it came from or how he afforded it.

Pierre and Jesse had become friends of a sort. The odd kind of friendship that happens between two people who are both used to being looked down on.

"So," Jesse said. "How are things going here? This place is a big step up from Steinway Street."

Pierre’s smile dimmed. He glanced over his shoulder at the handsome associate, who was now rearranging scarves on a display table with exaggerated care.

"It is... tight," Pierre admitted, lowering his voice. "The commission is very good, when you get it. But the customers here, they like a certain look." He waved a hand vaguely toward the tall, chiseled associate. "Apparently, I am not pretty enough for them. The rich ladies, they come in, they want to be helped by Julien. Or Marco.." He shrugged with forced lightness. "I have made two sales this week. Two."

Jesse frowned. "That’s their loss."

"Of course it is." Pierre sniffed. Then his eyes slid past Jesse and landed on Carrie, who had been standing quietly a few feet behind him the entire time.

His eyebrows rose sky-high.

"And who is this?"

"Pierre, this is Carrie," Jesse said. "Carrie, this is Pierre. An old friend."

"Enchanté." Pierre took Carrie’s hand and air-kissed it with a flourish. His eyes moved over her quickly and expertly, taking in her height, her shape and her coloring in two seconds flat. "Oh, the hair. The hair is magnificent. Natural?"

"Um. Yes," Carrie said. "Thank you."

Pierre smiled sweetly at her.

Then he grabbed Jesse’s arm and pulled him a few steps away, behind a rack of silk blouses. He leaned in close to Jesse’s ear and dropped his voice to a dramatic whisper.

"Is she your side piece?" he hissed. "What about Tatiana?"

Jesse laughed softly.

"That’s a long story for another day," he murmured back. "But the short version is, I broke up with Tatiana."

Pierre’s eyes went wide with delight. He pressed a hand to his chest.

"Finally!" he whispered. "Finally! I never liked her. Never. She came into the old store once by herself and treated me like I was something on her shoe. I didn’t want to tell you." He glanced back over the rack at Carrie. "This one, I like better already."

Jesse smiled and stepped back out from behind the rack.

"Pierre," he said, louder now. "I need a favor."

"Anything, mon ami."

"I’d like you to help me find some beautiful clothes for Carrie."

Carrie’s head snapped up.

She stared at him. Clothes? For her?

Why? Why would he care about getting her clothes? Twenty-four hours ago, she’d lured him into an alley and gotten him beaten half to death. This afternoon, he’d threatened to have her arrested. And now he wanted to take her shopping?

None of it made any sense.

Pierre laughed nervously. He glanced around the boutique, at the gowns, at the price tags discreetly tucked into the sleeves.

"Jesse," he said, lowering his voice again. "Are you serious? You know this is not the old store. Things are very, very expensive here. Let’s be honest." He gave Jesse a sympathetic look. "I cannot get you any discounts. Not here. They watch everything."

Jesse smiled.

"I didn’t come for discounts, Pierre."

He slipped his hands into his pockets and looked around the store, slowly taking it all in. The chandelier. The champagne. The gowns glittering on their racks.

"I came to spend like crazy," he said. "So for the next hour, I want you to bring out your most beautiful clothes for her. Dresses. Shoes. Everything. Whatever looks good on her." He turned back to Pierre. "And don’t worry about the cost. I can handle it."

Pierre stared at him.

He waited for the punchline, for Jesse to burst out laughing and say he was kidding.

It never came.

Jesse just stood there, calm and completely serious, waiting for Pierre to start.

Slowly, Pierre’s mouth fell open.

"You are... serious," he whispered.

"Completely."

Pierre looked at Jesse. Then at Carrie. Then at the handsome associate across the store, who had stopped folding scarves and was now openly staring.

A huge, wicked grin spread across Pierre’s face.

"Oh, mon Dieu," he breathed. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Carrie stood frozen in the middle of the boutique.

She felt like she’d stepped out of her own life and into a movie. Like she was Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, standing in a fancy Beverly Hills boutique while a handsome stranger told the staff to bring out everything.

Except Julia Roberts hadn’t spent last night luring a man into an alley.

None of it felt real.

The man standing in the middle of it all, looking back at her with that calm, knowing smile.

She didn’t understand him at all.

And for some reason, that made her heart beat faster.

[Ding!]

[Harem Member Update: Carrie Morton]

[Affection: 15%]

Jesse kept his face perfectly neutral.

But inside, a slow grin spread across his mind.

Fifteen percent.

At five percent, a twenty-thousand-dollar tip had turned into a million dollars.

He looked around at the gowns, the shoes, the handbags, all of it waiting to be bought.

’Tonight,’ he thought, ’I’m going to make a lot of millions.’