He shook his head. “I’ll have my personal shopper at Saks get in touch with you. She can bring the store to you.”
“Your personal shopper? Saks Fifth Avenue?”
He pointed to his tie. “Do you think I go out and shop for this stuff myself? I’d be clueless. I can tell you how to accessorize for battle and know which body armor is chic this season, but I don’t know jack about—” he flipped over the tie to look at the label “—Calvin Klein.”
Jenna laughed but shook her head. “I think Saks might be out of my price range. I haven’t been paid for six months, remember?”
She had financed her work in Afghanistan by herself, not the hospital, an NGO, or the Afghan government. Yes, she still had money in savings from the sale of her D.C. condo, but she needed that to buy a new place. And after six months in Afghanistan all of this—the luxury of Derek’s condo, the limos, Saks—seemed frivolous, out of touch, even overwhelming.
It’s reverse culture shock. That’s all.
The midwife who’d worked at the hospital prior to Jenna had warned her this would happen.
“The personal shopper is free. Saks is on me.”
She started to object, but he bent down and stopped her with a kiss.
“You might not have noticed, but I have a lot of money. Let me spend some of it on you.” He kissed her again, grabbed his sports jacket, and gingerly slid his left arm into it. “I made coffee. There’s a restaurant on the ground floor that makes incredible eggs Benedict. Just give them a buzz, and they’ll charge it to me and deliver.”
“Like room service.”
“Just like room service. I think there’s a menu by the phone in the kitchen.”
“Have you eaten?”
He shook his head. “I’ll grab something at the office.”
This was what his life was like outside of war zones. He lived as if his home were a hotel. The revelation gave Jenna an idea.
She got out of bed, slipped into her robe, and walked him to the door. “Have a good day.”
He raised a hand to her cheek, gave her a lopsided grin. “You, too.”
She ordered breakfast, catching up on emails with her friends as she ate and sipped her coffee. Yes, she was back in the U.S. It was a long story. She had learned so much in Afghanistan—about herself, about the world. She was looking for a job now but wanted to focus on the Denver area. Yes, she would love to get together with them, too.
By the time she had showered and dressed, there was a message from Derek’s personal shopper, Carolyn, on her phone. She returned the call, answering all of Carolyn’s questions as best she could about her measurements, height, weight, and coloring. “I want a dress that will bring Derek to his knees.”
Carolyn arrived in the early afternoon with a rack—a rack!—of dresses. Dresses with sequins. Velvet dresses. Silk dresses. Illusion dresses.
“You won the boyfriend lottery.” Carolyn searched through the dresses for the ones she thought might suit Jenna.
Jenna stopped herself from telling Carolyn that she wasn’t Derek’s girlfriend. She could enjoy the fantasy for a while, couldn’t she?
As long as you don’t lose yourself in it, go ahead.
“But with that figure, those eyes, your hair… Let’s just say that if I were your age, I would have tried to snap him up, too.”
Jenna wasn’t sure how to respond to this, so she let it go, trying on dress after dress until she came to a short, off-the-shoulder dress in dark blue velvet. “Oh!”
It fit her perfectly, making the most of her bustline, waist, and hips.
“He won’t be able to take his eyes off of you.”
Jenna studied her reflection, lifted her hair on top of her head. “I hope not.”
“You’ll need the right lingerie, of course—a bra that accentuates your bust and maybe some matching panties. I took the liberty of bringing some.”
Carolyn was right, but Jenna insisted on paying for the lingerie herself.