Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
“Nicky,” she greets. “So wonderful to have you drop by. My associates told me you’d be coming today, and we have some of that sparkling water from France that you like so much. And this is?” she asks, smiling at me.
“This is Ella Moore,” Nick introduces. “Ella, meet Khrisomo herself, the genius behind this boutique. You’ve in business how long now, Khris?”
The older woman smiles.
“Thirty years,” she purrs. “I opened my first shop at seventeen down in the Lower East Side when the neighborhood was a slum. Of course, I wasn’t Khrisomo then. I was plain old Christine Lighthouse, and my store was called the Lightning House. But I learned a lot about myself, and the experience planted the seeds for what I have today. Of course, I’m no longer Christine, and I don’t sell shit like Vintage Guess jeans nor mesh bralets anymore. I sell Vintage Valentino, and our mesh bralets are now imported from a tribe in the Amazon which specializes in working with hemp. So the DNA of the Lightning House lives on!” she says with a wink at me.
“But Ms. Khrisomo—” I begin in a hesitant voice.
“Oh, just Khrisomo,” the older woman sings while leading us to the back of the shop. We pass a small seating area, but instead of stopping there, we continue on further to a narrow hallway with closed doors along both sides. Khrisomo opens one with a flourish, before ushering us into a comfortable seating space equipped with a three-way mirror, a pedestal, as well as a private dressing area in the corner. Our queenly proprietor smiles at me.
“Please, call me Khrisomo. Just one word without any titles. The word ‘Ms.’ has always made me sound so old, and it’s unnecessary because style has no age. I have no last name now,” she says with a wink at me. “I legally changed my name to a mononym.”
I blink while seating myself gratefully on a luxurious couch.
“Wow, I didn’t know that was possible,” I murmur. “I thought everyone had to have a last name.”
Nick lowers his massive form next to be before crossing his long legs. Meanwhile, an attendant comes forward with a silver tray, offering him a glass of sparkling water, which he takes in a bronzed hand.
“Mononyms can happen when your father is the Chief Judge of the State Supreme Court,” he says in a dry tone. “How is Randy anyways?”
“Ready to retire,” Khrisomo replies without missing a beat while gesturing to another attendant. “Laney, can you bring in the items we pulled together for this appointment? I think we’re ready now.”
A young woman with a smooth blonde bun nods before stepping away.
“Of course,” she murmurs. “I’ll be right back.”
Then, within moments, the assistant reappears pushing a rack of colorful clothes before her. I start because is that all for me? The rack must have at least twenty garments on it, and they appear to be various items of evening attire. Long, short, chiffon, silk, glittery, sequined, and embroidered. You name it, and it’s on the rack.
“I thought we’d start with the fun stuff,” Khrisomo purrs. “This one is in the style you were looking for,” she says with a nod at Nick before plucking a slinky pink dress from the silver bar. “You said glamorous, yet also sexy, right? Something to make the other ladies fall over.”
I gasp because the dress is beautiful, but it’s also way too revealing. The bodice has a deep vee which goes almost all the way to the navel, and there’s a slit up the leg that reaches up far too high.
“Oh no,” I say. “I’m pregnant right now, and I couldn’t possibly wear something like that. My belly won’t allow it.”
Khrisomo eyes my figure but then shoots me an unreadable smile.
“Yes, Nick told us you were expecting his child, and so we’ve planned ahead. This material is stretchy, you see?” she asks, taking a piece of the fabric between her hands and gently tugging. It does pull out an astonishing amount, and my eyes go round seeing it. “All of the clothes we’ve selected will flatter a pregnant woman, and Mr. Bannister even okayed some of the items last night when we sent him our preliminary selection.”
I gasp while staring at the CEO because did he really? Did Nick actually vet my wardrobe before we arrived today? Yet the billionaire doesn’t look perturbed at all.
“You’ll look beautiful in these clothes, Ella, and yes, I think dressing to enhance your pregnant figure is important. I want people to know that you’re expecting my child.”
A hot flame begins to burn in my belly because the look he’s casting me is positively possessive. It seems that the billionaire can’t wait to take me out and show me off for the world to see. He wants people to know that we conceived a baby together, and that he’s the one who put the child in my belly. Another hot flush of awareness runs through me as I look at him from below my lashes. Perhaps Khrisomo can sense the electricity arcing between us because she stands abruptly before gesturing to her shop assistants.