Page 72 of Her Guardian
“She needs bras and panties,” I say, motioning to Sarah as I remove a black card from my wallet and offer it to the young woman. “Put everything on this.”
“Oh!” she says, her eyes lighting up as her smile widens. She takes the card gingerly, her fingers shaking a little. She must be new. “Morandi family, understood. Please, right this way. I’ll get you set up with your own private dressing room, all our catalogs, and if we don’t have it in the store, we can have it delivered to you by tomorrow.”
“Got stuff she can try on?” I ask.
“Absolutely, yes. She can try on everything, whether you buy it or not,” the young woman says as she leads us into the back part of the boutique.
“Wait, even underwear and stuff?” Sarah’s eyebrows shoot up and her nose wrinkles. “Does everyone get to try them on?”
“Of course not,” the young woman replies, almost letting a laugh slip out. “We don’t sell anything that has already been tried on.”
“Then what do you do with what we don’t buy?” Sarah looks back at me in confusion.
“Stop asking questions, little girl,” I growl, slapping her ass. “Just try on some damn underwear.”
The young woman blushes more than Sarah, then she hurries ahead and opens the door. It’s not just a dressing room; it’s got a couch, chair, mirrors, and even a bottle of champagne on ice.
“Let me open this for you,” the young woman says, pulling the champagne out of the ice. “Unless you’d rather have wine or something stronger?”
“Got any scotch?” I ask, half-joking, half-serious.
“Of course! I’ll get that for you.” She turns to Sarah, still holding the champagne. “Should I open this for you, or…”
“Um, no,” Sarah says, looking around like she’s a little overwhelmed. “Just a water for me.”
“Right away!” The young woman hurries out the door, and I plop down on the couch.
“Grab a catalog and find some stuff to model for me,” I grin, putting my arms across the back. “Pick out a lot.”
“Two bras, Boyd.” Sarah picks up a catalog and flips through it. “I feel like I’m at one of those places rich people shop at on reality shows.”
“I’m sure plenty have come here,” I grunt. “I’m setting a five bra, five panty minimum. I’m getting a show, damn it.”
“Fine,” she relents, flipping the page. “But you’d find a better one at any stage on the strip. I can barely dance.”
“Oh, I don’t need to see you dance,” I chuckle.
The young woman arrives with a glass of scotch for me. Good scotch. Sarah gets a bottle of water the woman pours over ice, leaving the bottle next to the glass.
I sip my scotch, then grab a catalog and start flipping through it while Sarah does the same. The young woman waits patiently. Sarah takes her time, but there are no prices in the catalogs, so at least she doesn’t have that to distract her. After she has five pairs of panties and five bras written down, she gives the card to the young woman.
“I’ll try these on, if you have them,” Sarah says.
“Let’s see… your size, yes. I think we’ve got everything in stock,” the woman says as she scans the card.
She leaves the dressing room and Sarah flashes me a nervous look. She’s never modeled underwear for anyone before.
“Nervous?” I ask, even though I can see it in her eyes.
“A little,” she admits.
“Would you be nervous if you were giving me a show in your hotel room?” I ask, unable to hide my grin.
“Probably.” Her face turns a little red. “Less nervous, though.”
“Just pretend it’s the two of us,” I say. “It will be, once she brings everything back.”
“Do all of the guys in the Morandi family bring their girlfriends here?” she asks, tilting her head inquisitively. “Make them model underwear?”
