Saltwater Kisses (The Kisses 1)

I stepped back into the dressing room and slid out of the pants and shirt and into a blue satin sheath dress. It felt like luxury. “Why do you like fashion? I guess I’ve never seen the appeal.”

“I like the art of it. At its core, it’s a way to make the world more beautiful. Now, I don’t go for the stick-thin model and I don’t have this or that designer because he’s ‘the designer’ of the month. For me, it’s an art form. The way clothes can bring out a person’s personality and moods. I love finding beauty in the fabrics and styles that fit a person. It’s like painting a walking canvas with a million different kinds of brushes and paints. I can dress you for an occasion, a mood, an emotion, anything, but the fun is finding things that work for the individual and creating something beautiful out of the pieces. It must be tailored to the individual or it won’t work. Something that works for one person, will never work for another.” Her enthusiasm was evident in her voice. It made me smile.

“You make it sound glamorous and interesting. I hate to say it, but I’ve never thought of clothes like that.”

“Most people don’t. Certain aspects of it have been so commercialized that it has become more about the money than the design.” She looked sheepish for a moment. “I’ll admit that having access to a billionaire’s pocketbook does make it easier to afford some of the more unique pieces, but today, part of getting these clothes for you is getting the brand recognition. We want people to associate you with the wealth of that designer. So, in this instance, the money is actually part of the design.”

“Sounds like I’m being encouraged to get the expensive thing then, I guess. That’s a first for me!” I laughed and smoothed the fabric across my hips. It hung nicely across my hips, but was baggy where it was obviously meant to fit someone with a much bigger bust.

“You obviously know a lot about all this. How did you end up a personal assistant? Is fashion a prerequisite course at personal assistant school?” I asked as I opened the door and stepped out. Rachel looked me up and down, murmuring to herself before answering my question.

“I like it, but it will need some tailoring,” Rachel said absentmindedly as she pulled the fabric tight in the back and I could practically hear her smile as she thought about how it would look. She nodded to herself and then raised her eyes to mine. “I majored in fashion and design in college. One of my senior designs caught the eye of Mrs. Saunders. To make a long story short, I ended up entwining myself with the Saunders family. When Jack needed a personal assistant, he hired me. Now try this one,” she said handing me a bright red shirt.

I took the brightly colored shirt and headed back to the dressing room. “So, do you still design clothes then?”

“Sometimes. I’ve made a couple of exclusive garments for the Saunders family, but Mr. Saunders keeps me too busy to devote much time to it,” she answered. A hint of sadness crept into her voice at the end. I wondered how much she missed it and if she felt it was worth it. She continued, as if reading my mind. “I miss it, but I like my job. This though, this is fun. Mr. Saunders lets me control his wardrobe, but the female stuff is so much more fun.”

I stepped out of the dressing room again. I hadn’t had this much fun trying on clothes since I was a kid in my mom’s closet. I felt pretty in these clothes, and I knew Rachel was enjoying dressing me. I opened the door and Rachel made a face.

“Not that one. The color and cut aren’t going to work.”

“I didn’t think it looked too bad,” I said confused. I had liked the shirt in the mirror.

“It doesn’t look bad Emma, but it doesn’t look amazing. I want you to look amazing. See how it bunches in the shoulders? And it brings out too much red in your face. If it were a little darker and cut differently it would work, but not like this,” she said as she pointed out the bunching on my shoulders. I hadn’t even noticed until she showed me. She handed me another shirt and waited for me to change. “See? This one works.”

I looked in the mirror as she pointed out how the shoulders now lay flat, and the slight difference in red against my skin. The new shirt really did look better.

“Thank you,” I said, meeting her eyes in the mirror. She grinned.

“You are most welcome. How do you feel about sweaters?”

“They should be warm.” I grinned at her in the mirror. She laughed.

“I think we’ll get along fine. I have some ideas I want to try,” Rachel said, her eyes going distant as she thought of the possibilities of how she could dress me.

Chapter 13

Rachel had me try on what felt like every piece of clothing in the store. I didn’t mind though. With her artistic eye, it was actually fun to try things on. She made sure to pick things that were always in my size, or at least close enough that I didn’t get the frustration I usually did trying on clothes. She picked out things I would never have thought to wear on my own, but I was constantly amazed at how good they looked in the mirror.

I tried not to look at the price tags. A single shirt cost a month’s salary and some of the dresses made me feel woozy thinking about how many times I could pay rent with a single garment.

Rachel made sure I had everything I could possibly need. We spent the next three days perfecting my look, getting measured for custom clothing, and picking up more clothes than would fit in my closet at home. I even got real French lingerie.

The only thing I insisted on was keeping my current pajamas. Rachel tried her best to convince me that a new pair of embroidered satin pajamas would be far preferable to my very comfy scrub pants and t-shirt.

“But I like my current pajamas! I don’t want new ones. Besides, anyone who sees me in my pajamas shouldn’t be worrying about whether or not I look like I belong with a billionaire,” I told her.

“What about Mr. Saunders?” She asked, raising her eyebrows and clearly expecting me to relent.

“Who says I will be wearing pajamas with Mr. Saunders?”

She let me keep my scrub pants and t-shirt.

I stepped out into the cold, March, New York air and took a deep breath. It smelled different here, the scents of cars, food, and cement all different than the city smells from Des Moines. I still couldn’t get over how big the city was and I had a feeling I never would. I pulled up the collar of my new jacket against the wind and headed towards the waiting car.

Dean smiled and opened the door for me as I stepped into the warm car. He ran around to the passenger seat and slid inside, moving stealthily like a hunting cat. As soon as his door shut, the driver pulled out onto the busy street and merged with a sea of yellow cabs.

“Off to visit Mr. Saunders today?” Dean asked, turning in his seat to look at me. I could feel the blush creeping onto my cheeks as I nodded.