Page 11 of The Assistant
“They should be wrapping up for the night. I’ll call in and let them know we need them to stay.”
“Thank you.” I deliberately avoid looking toward Harper once the call is over. I feel her glaring at me—let her glare.
“Why are you doing this?” she whispers after a few silent minutes on the way to the boutique.
“Do you mean why am I purchasing you clothing that will help you project a professional image? Or maybe you’re asking why I’m treating you to this instead of demanding you pay for it yourself?” Gesturing toward her with one hand, I add, “One thing is for sure. You’re never wearing this slop again.”
In fact, I’m inspired to call the penthouse while my stepsister continues to stew. Maggie picks up. “I’m going to need you to do me a favor,” I explain.
“What can I do?” she asks.
“You’re going to go into Harper’s room and empty her dresser and closet.”
“What?” Harper almost barks.
“Throw it all away,” I continue, ignoring her. “She’s going to start from scratch.”
“I’m going to need underwear and pajamas,” she reminds me, but I ignore that, too. This girl is going to learn what it takes not only to be my assistant, but to be part of this world. There’s more to it than siphoning money away from her mom’s newest victim.
“You can’t just do this. Ordering people around, throwing out their clothes.” The girl will not stop trying to get her way even once we’ve pulled up in front of the discreet boutique. There’s no signage, nothing to advertise it to the average passerby. They don’t need to go to those lengths around here, relying on word-of-mouth and a reputation for excellence to keep their appointment book overflowing with discerning clients. It’s a fucking privilege to step through the door.
Of course, the girl still seated in the back of the limo doesn’t see it that way. “Where are you taking me? This could be any place. I don’t like this.”
“I am so thoroughly surprised,” I tell her with a sigh. “Do us both a favor and shut your mouth, would you? You’re giving me a headache.” Really, I’m amazed at how easy it is to infuriate her over the stupidest shit. “And consider yourself lucky I’m not the kind of man who takes it personally when a generous offer is practically thrown back in my face.”
“I guess nobody ever told you a generous offer is shit if the person you’re making the offer to isn’t interested.”
“And I guess no one ever told you to grow up and learn when a fight isn’t worth waging.” Stepping out of the car, I’m not surprised she doesn’t follow me right away. I lean in, adding, “Trust me. All you’re doing is wasting time. If you want that pricey art school tuition covered, you are going to learn how to project the sort of image that’s expected from a girl in your position. I’m not going to have you out in the world looking like a homeless person. Now get out of this car before I drag you out by your hair, Harper. Fun is fun, but you’ve worn my patience down to a nub.”
She’s stubborn, but she’s not stupid, though she can’t resist the urge to drag her feet, throwing me filthy looks as we cross the sidewalk.
“You’re lucky I don’t burn all the shit Maggie takes out of your room,” I mutter before ringing the bell nailed beside the nondescript door of a brownstone, nestled among similar structures. The door opens immediately, like someone was waiting on the other side, which they very well could have been.
Stepping inside, I’m treated to a rush of relief as the familiar, sumptuous showroom reveals itself. “I thought you said you were taking me to a store,” Harper whispers, reminding me of the vast difference in our upbringings.
“They don’t do it that way here,” I explain before the boutique’s owner greets us warmly, offering champagne. I take him up on the offer before turning to Harper. “We need the full works. A-to-Z, head to toe. Professional, high-end, along with lingerie and loungewear.”
Years of working in this business means he’s good at hiding most of his excitement, but not all of it. I can almost see the dollar signs dancing in his eyes when he ushers me to a plush chair, where a girl brings me my champagne and another pair of women descend on Harper, pulling her away toward a three-way mirror where they jump straight into taking her measurements, discussing quietly how they want to proceed. And all Harper can do is accept it, following orders the women give.
This is not their first rodeo.
But it is hers, and I’ve barely refilled my crystal flute before she shoots a pleading look my way, arms crossed over her chest even though she’s wearing a bra and doesn’t have anything I haven’t already seen more times than I care to remember.
“You’re around a size eight or so?” the older of the two women asks. Harper clears her throat, her cheeks flushing before she nods. Now she won’t look at me, and she won’t look at them, either. Like there’s something to be ashamed of.
“Come to think of it,” I call out when the idea hits me, “she’ll need a bathing suit, too. A bikini.” I can barely hold back a chuckle when her eyes bulge at me in the mirror.
“There’s a pool party tomorrow night. I want you there with me,” I explain, though I had no intention of bringing her along until thirty seconds ago.
Seeing her cringing and blushing the way she is only awakens my determination to make her endure a little more embarrassment for the way she dragged her feet like a stupid, willful little brat. She’s going to learn her place if it kills me, and this is where we start.
The longer I sit back and watch the women work their magic, the more certain I am about bringing her to the party—and not only because there’s something in me that enjoys making her squirm. I knew she had a hell of a body, but seeing her like this, practically naked, having her new clothes fitted, brings to mind the sort of outfits I would like to see her in that have nothing to do with work.
My boxer briefs are a little tight by the time I clear my throat. “Make sure she’s as tailored as possible. Accentuate that small waist of hers.” The sheer loathing in her eyes when they meet mine in the mirror tells me it’s the right move. I don’t know who gave her the idea that having a body like hers is anything to be ashamed of, but I’m ready to correct that misconception.
“You know, most girls would kill for an opportunity like this,” I remind her, raising my champagne in her direction and grinning when she flips me off as soon as no one’s looking.
She looks more like I’m the one she’d rather kill.
