You Don't Own Me (The Russian Don 1)

I laugh. I think I’m going to get along just fine with Molly Street. She looks around her. ‘God. Isn’t this house gorgeous?’

‘Yeah. I guess it is.’

There is a knock on the door and the woman I had met coming up the stairs yesterday comes in. She offers us refreshments. I shake my head, but Molly asks for tea. After the woman goes out Molly comes towards me.

‘Right, let’s have a little look at you,’ she says and walks around me quickly casting a professional eye over me. She stops in front of me.

‘Here’s how I normally work. You tell me what you want to achieve: three inches taller, three inches slimmer, impress a new boss, seduce an old boyfriend, seduce a new boyfriend,’ she smiles, ‘then, I’ll run around tomorrow, find the clothes and accessories that I think will suit your needs best, and bring them over to you. You’ll try them on and if you like them you keep them and I’ll bill you, in your case, Noah for the clothes and my time. Is that OK with you?’

‘Yeah, great.’

‘So, what look are we going for today, sophisticated, smart, sexy, casual …?’

‘I’d like to look more …’

She waits expectantly.

‘Glamorous and sexy,’ I finish.

‘With a smoking body like yours, piece of cake,’ she assures confidently.

I blush to the tips of my ears.

‘Believe me, sometimes I have my work cut out for me. Having said that though, I haven’t had a single client who hasn’t been left standing in front of a mirror admiring the change in her appearance.’

‘With that kind of job satisfaction you must really love what you do,’ I say, thinking what a lovely job that must be. So much better, I think, than leaving coffee ring stains on manuscripts and sending out sterile rejection letters all day long.

‘Well,’ Molly says with a sunny smile. ‘I love finding beautiful things, sometimes rare things, and putting them all together with the right accessories. I love making my clients look the way they always dreamed of. I also come across a lot of snooty cows that I want to bitch slap even as I am saying, “And what about this lovely coat Madam? It’s so this season.”’

I laugh.

Her phone rings. She looks at me. ‘Do you mind? It’s my fiancé Mark. He needs some information. I’ll only be a second.’

‘No. It’s fine. Go ahead.’

I walk away from her towards the windows thinking of my Mark. Since I told him that Daisy has been found by Zane, I have not spoken to him again. He’s a nice guy. I wonder how he is now. I should call and thank him for all his support. Then again, perhaps it’s better I leave it alone. I never felt a fraction of what I feel for Zane. It would never have worked.

‘Yeah, OK. See you there tonight,’ Molly says.

I turn back to face her with a smile. ‘Going anywhere nice tonight?’

She crinkles her nose. ‘His mother’s place. She hates me.’

‘I can’t imagine why. Any man would be lucky to have you,’ I say.

‘Oh bless you. What a sweetie you are. No, she thinks her son can do better. Where were we?’

‘She’s dead wrong.’

She smiles gratefully at me, then claps her hands decisively. ‘Now for the most difficult part,’ she says.

I grin. ‘There’s a difficult part?’

She reaches into her back pocket, snaps out a tape measure and says, ‘I’m afraid most women hate this part.’

I scrunch up my face. ‘I’m not too hot on it either.’

‘You have a stunning figure. I know a lot of women who gladly suffer weeks of pain and suffering and bandages to achieve the kind of figure you have.’ She sets about measuring me and recording the information into her phone.

‘What’s your shoe size?’ she asks as she measures the thickest part of my calf, presumably as a guide to shop for boots.

‘UK 6,’ I tell her.

‘Now a quick photograph. This is for my color reference. Smile.’

I smile awkwardly.

‘Looks like we’re all done here for today.’ She looks up. ‘I’ll come around tomorrow with a whole load of things for you to choose from.’

‘What if I need something for tonight?’ I ask.

‘What’s the occasion?’ she asks, flipping her phone closed.

‘Dinner.’

‘Where?’

I bite my lip. ‘I have no idea.’

She flicks her phone open again, scrolls down it and calls a number. ‘Hey Noah,’ she says. ‘Where is Dahlia being taken to tonight?’ She listens then thanks Noah and ends the call.

‘You are going to Uncle Ho,’ she announces and smiles mysteriously. ‘You won’t believe this, but I have just the thing outside. Come on,’ she says, and starts walking towards the door.

‘What’s Uncle Ho like?’ I ask as I hurry after her.

‘Very smart and very in. It has a wonderful Vodka Bar, and some of the tables in the restaurant have this new-fangled Le Petit Chef thing.’