To make matters worse, as far as she could tell, the shopping bags were all glittery and see through--as if to draw more attention to the items within.
No, thanks.
"Actually, I think this one's from last season. I'll look a little later." She set the hanger back without giving it another glance.
"If you insist." He shrugged, and without warning, he pulled the band from her ponytail.
Along with the snap of elastic came the bristling whoosh of her hair cascading around her face. An errant strand poked her in the eye and she teared up.
She moved to swat the lock away, but he caught her wrist and shook his head.
"Don’t touch it. I’m trying to get an assessment. You know, it's not half bad like this."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Her fighting spirit was finally, blissfully reemerging. If only he'd stop touching her, maybe she could rack up enough sense to back out of this deal like she'd intended in the first place.
"Just a fact," he said. Then he wove his fingers between her locks, lightly brushing her scalp before finally parting her brown waves to the right. "Much better."
"I probably look like a newscaster."
"Maybe, but that would require a cheery attitude to go along with the hairdo. I don’t think you’re in much danger of that." He offered her a half smile, and for some reason the flipping in her stomach moved up to her heart. It turned over and over in her chest, and when his fingers brushed her forehead and pushed her ragged bangs to the side, the organ damn near quit beating.
"Now for clothes," he said.
"Right, well, I don't really have the budget for a new wardrobe. With the business starting and—"
"Don't worry about that. My idea, my expense."
She blinked. "I can't let you—"
"Part of the deal. If you don't like it, you can walk away."
There it was. She'd been trying to find an excuse to head out since she'd left her house, and he'd handed her one on a silver platter.
But then…
The picture from the gala flashed in her mind. Logan, tall and rugged and handsome as ever. And her, dowdy and awkward.
If she went on like this—if she left—what would she be heading back to? Living the rest of her days in Shay’s shadow. An entire afternoon without Logan…
“I…I’ll pay you back,” she choked out.
Mercifully, Logan chose to ignore her as he turned and led her deeper into the store, passing under giant crystal chandeliers as they went. As if the upscale clothes weren't bad enough, every wall in the place was mirrored.
"Here we are." Logan gestured toward a platform of mannequins, all dressed in tiny bits of sequined fabric. She thought—no, prayed—that the outfits were supposed to be bikinis, but at this time of year it was none too likely.
“If I showed that much skin, I…” She what? She couldn’t even imagine it. Mostly because the last time she’d been that publically naked, she’d still had an umbilical chord attached.
“Oh, relax. They aren’t all skimpy. Besides, it might do you some good to show a little skin. You might even get a boyfriend out of it.”
She glared at him. “How do you know I don’t already have a boyfriend?”
“Well, if you do, you haven’t told your brother about it.”
“That’s not outside the realm of possibility.” She sailed past the too-thin statues and bee lined for the clearance rack. “I don’t have to tell Matt everything about my life.”
“You don’t have to, but you do.” Logan pulled the pair of beige slacks she’d been examining away from her. "Now, if you’re done trying to make up stories, I'm going to ask you to slowly step away from the clearance rack."
"You can save a fortune if—"