Page 4 of The Bad Girl
But that’s just the tip of the crazy-train iceberg.
She’ll stay late every day for the next month and be a bug up my ass for the foreseeable future, in an effort to make sure her job is secure.
“Oh, please tell me you’re going charcoal crimson,” Harry says, coming through the stairwell door with nearly a dozen bags hanging off his arms.
“I was thinking blue on blue.”
“No, no, no! It’s too Hamptons. Better to look dangerous than to look like a dad, though, there are a lot of hot dads. Hmmm.”
Harry is right. The blue on blue is too personable, whereas the crimson-charcoal combination has an element of mystery and danger to it.
“Let me guess, Little Miss Mouse recommended the blue on blue.” Harry stands next to me in the mirror, his bright red hair shocking against his pale white face.
“You know she did.”
“Of course, she did!” Harry said with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “I swear, she’d have you going out in a sweater vest if she could.
Harry and Nadine are a chaotic form of yin-yang I worry will eventually result in angry homicide. They will almost always vote opposite of each other in every situation and never intentionally. They are just that different.
Nadine grew up in a nice, middle-class home, graduating with honors and attending college thereafter.
Harry, on the other hand, is the son of an insanely rich shipping heir that was disowned after coming out as homosexual. He thinks Nadine is low-class; Nadine thinks Harry has no class.
And, if I’m being honest, I would have to agree with her to an extent. But I still love him.
“Tell me what you think about these new cowboy boots I’m wearing out tonight!” He pulls a pair of white leather boots from a Neiman Marcus bag.
“They’re nice. I didn’t realize cowboy boots were back in style.”
“Oh, Maxwell, cowboy boots are always in style for a delectable few.” Harry furrows his brow at Nadine’s desk. “I swear, you need to send her to art school so I can tell what I’m looking at. Is that a hippo or a cinderblock?”
“They’re cute, and you’re exaggerating.”
“They aren’t even recognizable.”
I don the charcoal suit, allowing Harry to tie my tie. It’s not that I can’t do it myself, I’ve been tying ties since I was five years old, but Harry has a talent for these things. You can tell a Harry tied tie when you see it.
Once complete, Harry pats my lapel. “All done, now go lay one of those waify bitches.”
He collects his bags and makes his way to the elevator that will take him to his apartment, which is a floor beneath the offices and my penthouse.
“Oh, by the way, Nadine left early today,” I call to him.
Harry’s head snaps from the buttons to me. “Is everything okay? Did one of her mouse-folk get stuck in a trap?”
“No, she was mad, trying to prove a point.”
His eyes light in elation. “Oh, dear sweet Baby Jesus! That means she’s going to come in on Monday with Lady M’s! Hallelujah, I knew God was a gay man! I just knew it.”
Tears well in Harry’s eyes. He really should have gone into theater.
I turn back to my mirror, casting myself a wry smile, which I know could melt a woman.
Still got it.
Harry reaches to press a button, and the elevator doors remain open.
“Did I miss anything during my self-care day?”
I chuckle. Harry, or Prince Harry, as Nadine likes to call him, is all about self-care, spending at least one day a week shopping instead of coming into the office.”
“I have a few things to finish up, then I’m off to see Miss Sayo Nguyen, who seems one part beautiful, one part boring, and is one-hundred-percent forced upon me by her overeager father,” I tell Harry, joining him in the elevator.
Harry has zero interest in my escapades outside of high-end fashion and runway shows I occasionally peruse for talent. “Do yourself a favor,” he says with a sneer, “try not to catch any feels.”
“I never do.”
