Billionaire's Escort

She froze, then played it off and pulled out a white gown with a sequined bodice. “No, too basic.”

I pushed a strand of her hair aside and gave her a long look. “You could put a red rose in your hair. It’d be like one of those black and white photos that they paint.”

“That’s a nice idea, but white’s not my color.”

We sifted through the rack, then moved onto the next. She didn’t like any of the outfits in that boutique, or the next, but I wasn’t about to let her walk away without getting something amazing. I took out my phone while she looked through a rack and walked out into the hall.

“Hello?” a cheery woman answered.

“Hi, could you tell Dori that Jake Ryan is on the phone.”

“Uh—I believe she’s in a meeting.”

“She’s right behind you,” I said, in no uncertain terms. “Tell her my name.”

There was a sigh. Then the receptionist covered the phone to muffle her voice. “Jake Ryan,” she said with a snotty tone.

“What did you do?” I heard Dori’s voice booming out. “Give me that.” The phone shuffled around. “Jake, I am so sorry. Candy’s still learning the ropes. We just pulled her off coffee duty.”

“That’s fine. Her heart’s in the right place.”

“What can I do for you?”

I turned around to see Maria standing at the store entrance with her hands on her hips. I held my hand over the phone so she couldn’t hear what I was saying. “I need a dress tonight.”

“Tonight?” Dori wasn’t a fast worker.

“Tonight, and I’ll pay you double.”

“You don’t have to pay extra. You know I’ll do it.”

“Thank you so much. I’ll head down there right now.”

“Who was that?” Maria was standing behind me when I hung up.

“It’s a surprise,” I said.

“No, you’re already showering me with lavish gifts. I draw the line at surprises.”

“Have you ever heard of Dori Mason?” I asked.

Her mouth fell open, and her eyes went wide. Then she pursed her lips into a straight line. “Are you going to take me jet shopping first?”

“If you want.” I lifted my eyebrows. “But you can’t get a two-story. I’m on a budget.”

“You are not buying me a custom-designed gown by the most famous designer this side of the Mississippi.”

“You don’t have a choice.” I turned around and swung my hips as I started walking back to the car.

“You can’t do this.” She ran after me.

“But you don’t like any of the clothes here.”

“Numbers matter.”

“No, they don’t. I’m not reaching deep, trust me, and it’s no trouble. Her and I have been friends for years. She’s going to love you.”

“I can’t believe this.” She followed me out to the car, and we drove off. Maria steamed over it the entire way, until we pulled up to the gallery downtown.