Page 60 of My Ex-Fiance's Best Men
“Phoebe has blonde hair and blue eyes,” I tell Melanie. “I’ve never seen her in red. I think it’s too bold a color for her.”
“With the right man by her side, any woman can look stunning in red. And you strike me as the right man for your Phoebe.”
Little does Melanie know that there are two more like me, just as ready to love Phoebe to the fullest. “You’re too kind,” I say. “So, we’re trying red?”
“Not just any red, though. It needs to be bold but not too bold. Perhaps this shade,” she says, pulling a babydoll from the rack.
The babydoll is made of light tulle and bordered with soft satin. Simple yet remarkably stylish. Vaporous but not vulgar. The thought of Phoebe wearing nothing but this makes my cock twitch with excitement.
As if timed to perfectly ruin the moment, the store’s front door chimes. Melanie and I turn around to see another client being greeted by Melanie’s colleague.
“Well, fuck me sideways,” I mutter under my breath as I recognize Georgina beneath the ridiculously oversized sunglasses she’s wearing.
“I’m sorry?” Melanie sounds understandably confused.
In the meantime, my nervous system is about to go into overdrive. I know Georgina didn’t come here by accident. I can smell her calculating ways from a mile away.
“Forgive me,” I reply, offering an apologetic smile. “I’ll take this red piece, as well. What else can we add to complete the trousseau?”
Melanie walks me over to the next rack while I steal sideways glances at Georgina. She’s chit-chatting with the other sales rep while eyeing me intently at the same time. I can smell trouble coming, so the sooner I complete this extravagant gift for Phoebe, the faster I can get out of here.
I promised myself I’d show restraint and rise above.
“Perhaps a nocturnal blue before we move to the blacks,” Melanie says. “I believe this will be perfect for Phoebe. Every piece I’ve selected so far doesn’t require any additional alterations, based on the measurements you provided.”
She takes out a gorgeous nightgown made of dark blue satin. It feels like butter in my hands. And the V-shaped cleavage puts the most decadent image in my mind.
“This is perfect. I’ll take it.”
“Excellent. One more black piece, and you’ll be good to go, Mr. Forbes.”
I look up to see Georgina walking in my direction. She looks like she just stumbled off a fashion runway—as usual. The determined look in her eyes spells the exact kind of trouble I’d hoped to avoid.
I watch Melanie as she picks out a few black lace and silk sets, murmuring to herself while she occasionally checks the measurements on Phoebe’s card. Reluctantly, I turn around to face the incoming nightmare.
Again, I am reminded of how easily a man is sometimes fooled by apparent chemistry. Looking at Georgina now, I struggle to remember what I found so appealing in the first place.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Nice to see you too,” she replies. To my surprise, her tone doesn’t sound as aggressive as it did at the charity gala. Perhaps it’s because Crystal isn’t around to fuel her nasty side. I often thought they complemented each other as mean girls. “I’m just looking to buy something for myself. I didn’t expect I’d see you at the Perle Noire, of all places.”
“I’m buying a few things for Phoebe,” I reply.
“That’s sweet. This istheplace to buy the most stunning lingerie on the planet, I’ll give them that.” She chuckles softly. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Here we go.”
“No, I don’t mean to… okay.” She pauses, sucks in a breath, and continues. “Theo, just hear me out. I only say this in your best interest, I promise.”
Melanie is tempted to interrupt us, but I think she realizes it’s best if she doesn’t. She holds up a black lingerie set, completewith garter belts, for me to consider. I shake my head. She picks out another model. After everything I’ve seen so far, I believe I’ve developed a certain taste for Phoebe’s intimate style to the point where I’m confidently able to choose perfect items for her.
I give Melanie a nod, and she mouths “I’ll box this up for you” before heading back to the register. On second thought, I wish she had interrupted us.
“Go on, Georgina. Get it off your chest,” I mutter, eager to be done with her. Hopefully, forever.
“First of all, can you forgive me? I’ve been kind of a bitch,” she says with a wry smile.
“Kind of?”
