CHAPTER SEVEN

"Girl, you would not believe this place," I drawled into the hotel phone, sprawled across the art deco couch that probably cost more than my entire apartment. "It's like I walked straight into an episode of Dynasty, but better."

Lora's laugh crackled through the line. "Okay, but seriously – why would some millionaire want you for a whole week? No offense."

I twirled Dante's American Express card between my fingers, the gold catching the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. "Because I'm the best money can buy, obviously." I paused, then added, "Plus, I think he might be trying to get back at his girlfriend. You should've heard the fight they had this morning."

"Three grand though? You could've gotten way more."

I thought about Dante's plans for Morse Industries, about the game of corporate espionage I was about to play. "Trust me, it'll be worth every penny – for both of us."

"Just be careful," Lora warned. "And bring me back something nice. Maybe one of those tiny hotel shampoos?"

I glanced at the gold card again. "How about we go on a real vacation after this? Somewhere with beaches and those drinks with the little umbrellas."

"Yeah, right after we score some premium rock and retire to Beverly Hills?"

"Speaking of which," I said, sitting up straighter, "I've got some socializing to do in Beverly Hills right now. Dante wants me to look 'presentable' for his fancy events."

"Don't forget where you came from when you're all fancy," Lora teased.

"As if I could," I replied, but as I hung up the phone, a flutter of nervousness rippled through my stomach. I was about to step into a world I'd only ever watched through store windows.

The elevator operator's face when I stepped in was the first indication that this wouldn't be as easy as I'd thought. His smile was cold, professional, but his eyes swept over my clothes – the same ones from last night, slightly rumpled from sleep – with barely concealed judgment.

"Ground floor?" he asked, though where else would I be going dressed like this?

"Yes, please," I said, trying to channel the confidence I'd felt in Dante's suite. The operator's only response was a slight tightening of his lips.

The lobby was worse. Every head seemed to turn as I walked through, heels clicking against the marble floor. Women in designer suits clutched their pearls, men in expensive watches suddenly found the ceiling fascinating. I quickened my pace, feeling my face flush.

Outside was no better. The doorman's "Have a nice day, miss" might as well have been "Don't come back" for all the warmth it contained.

Rodeo Drive stretched before me, a glittering parade of names I'd only seen in magazines: Gucci, Prada, Chanel. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and headed for the first boutique that caught my eye.

The bell above the door chimed as I entered, a delicate sound that seemed to echo in the hushed atmosphere. A saleswoman looked up from behind the counter, her smile freezing in place as she took in my appearance.

"Can I... help you?" she asked, her tone suggesting she'd rather help herself to a root canal.

"Just looking," I said, moving toward a rack of dresses. The prices didn't have tags – never a good sign.

The saleswoman materialized at my elbow. "These are all designer pieces," she said, as if explaining to a child. "Very expensive."

I thought of Dante's credit card in my purse. "That's fine. How much is this one?" I pointed to a black cocktail dress, simple but elegant.

She looked me up and down, her lips pursing. "I don't think we have anything in your... size."

My cheeks burned. "I didn't ask about the size. I asked about the price."

"I really don't think—"

"Listen," I cut her off, anger suddenly replacing embarrassment. "I have an American Express gold card that says I belong here. So why don't you tell me the price of the damn dress?"

Her smile turned arctic. "I think it would be best if you left."

"You know what?" I pulled out Dante's card, waving it in her face. "You just lost a sale. And trust me, honey, it would've been a big one."

As I stormed out, I couldn't resist flipping her off through the window. Childish? Maybe. Satisfying? Definitely.

But as I stood on the sidewalk, the California sun suddenly feeling too bright, too exposing, reality crashed down around me. How was I supposed to stop Dante's takeover of Morse Industries when I couldn't even buy a dress without being thrown out?

A woman passed by, designer handbag swinging, giving me a wide berth as if poverty might be contagious. And suddenly, I knew what I had to do.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Lora again.

"Miss me already?" she answered on the first ring.

"I need your help," I said, watching another boutique owner flip their sign to 'Closed' as I approached. "Remember that time we convinced those Japanese businessmen we were heiresses?"

"Rosy, that was different. We were working, and they were drunk."

"Well, now we're working on a bigger scale." I started walking back toward the Beverly Wilshire, a plan forming. "How fast can you get to the hotel? And bring that black dress you wore to your cousin's wedding."

"The one that makes me look like I have money?"

"Exactly." I smiled, feeling my confidence return. "We're going shopping, but first, we're going to become the kind of women these stores are dying to serve."

As I hung up, I caught my reflection in a store window. Still in last night's clothes, but standing straighter now, a gleam in my eye that hadn't been there before.

Dante wanted me to look presentable for his events? Fine. But he was about to learn that when you give a woman like me a gold card and a mission, you'd better be prepared for what she might become.

The only question was: would I be able to pull off this transformation before it was too late for Morse Industries? And more importantly, what would Dante do when he realized his pretty little escort was turning into something far more dangerous than arm candy?

As I waited for Lora, I couldn't help but smile. One way or another, this was going to be one hell of a shopping trip.