Who Wants to Marry A Billionaire?(10)
He clinked his glass to Nina’s, and begrudgingly, she took a sip of the champagne. The bubbles tickled her nose, and there was the faintest hint of a coffee smell. She took a second sip; it was the most delicious drink she thought she’d ever tasted. If this was the everyday, what was the good stuff like?
Daniel gestured to the couch. “We need to make some lists. Now that you’re my girlfriend, there’s a lot to do before you can become Mrs. DeVere. Among other things, you’re going to have to meet Daddy Dearest.”
Daniel grabbed a moleskin notebook from his desk, and took out his Mont Blanc pen. Nina wanted to slow things down, tell him her brother was in the hospital, and her mom was arriving in a few hours. But the more she tried to talk, the worse her voice got, and nothing would come out but fragmented squawks. Patting her knee patronizingly, Daniel sat down next to her and started jotting things down, “Wardrobe shopping, stylist, hair, nails, club membership, car…”
She widened her eyes in alarm at the mention of a car. Oblivious, Daniel glanced up, “What’s your style, like a Lamborghini, or are you more of Mercedes McLaren? Or we could just get you a Maybach with a driver, it’s up to you.”
It was a few months out of her life, Nina thought, a few months to pretend she was someone else, a few months to know what it felt like to be sickeningly rich. Nina took another sip of her champagne, took the pen from Daniel’s hand, and scrawled on his notebook, “Porsche Carrera.”
Chapter Eight
“Mon Dieu! Slow down!” Rita was white knuckling the dashboard of Nina’s new car, a candy red convertible. “This thing is like some kind of crazy Batmobile!”
Nina let her foot off the accelerator, “I can’t help it—it just wants to go a hundred miles an hour!” They screeched to a halt at a stoplight. The distinctive sound of the V10 engine revving caught the attention of every suit on Boylston Street. Men seemed surprised that a rather feminine looking woman was behind the wheel of a Carrera GT. Grinning at Rita, Nina added, “It sounds just like an F1 racecar, just like something Papa would have driven.”
Rita, usually the first one up for an adventure, found herself reversing roles with the normally cautious Nina, “Hey, remember that Papa died in race car. I’d like to live to be your fake bridesmaid.”
Rita was the only person that Nina had confided in about the situation with Daniel. She had to tell someone so her head wouldn’t explode. She left out the part about the big financial incentive, and just told Rita that she was taking one for the DeVere team in order to help pull off a big deal. Rita thought that if it came with a new wardrobe and the loan of a Porsche, it couldn’t be too bad—especially since she wore the same size clothes as Nina.
Motoring slowly over to Newbury Street, Nina realized she had no idea what to do with the Porsche. Daniel had just sent her off to the dealer on her own to pick out the color she wanted, and Rita begged to go along. Now she was driving through Back Bay Boston in a car worth half a million dollars. Just shoving it in a pay parking lot somewhere seemed stupid, and she couldn’t imagine handing the keys over to a valet.
“Rita…” Nina’s voice still sounded froggy and her sudden bout of nerves over the car constricted her voice, “Where the hell do I park it?”
Pointing at a rather ordinary sedan pulling out from a metered space on the street, Rita said, “Look! There! Can you believe we found a spot on Newbury Street?”
“Are you insane? I can’t park this on the street! What if someone scratches it?”
Rita rolled her eyes at Nina, “If the DeVeres want you to drive this beast, they can afford the insurance.”
Rita had a point, Nina thought, as she expertly parallel parked. The sisters got out, and Nina jabbed a finger in the air in the direction of an exclusive boutique. “My instructions are to start there.”
The two saleswomen regarded Nina and Rita condescendingly as they entered the shop. Running appraising eyes over their cheap jeans and discount store blouses, the saleswomen immediately dismissed the possibility of a commission coming their way.
“May we…help you?” One of the saleswomen asked in a frosty voice. “Are you sure you’re in the right place?” the other added with a sneer.
Nina could feel her temper start to flare. Nothing annoyed her more than snobbishness, especially from someone who was a sales clerk! They were supposed to help you, not judge you. She glanced around. It was the kind of store that only had a very few things hanging on the display racks, and everything looked like it was a size 0 or 2. She opened her very ordinary purse and took out Daniel’s black American Express and waved it in the air.
“Oh, I might have been able to find what I was looking for, but…I don’t know….” She looked at Rita with a feigned expression of confusion, “I seem to have lost interest…you know, who wants to do business with…bitches?” She smiled politely at the two clerks as she fanned herself with the no limit credit card.
The clerks molded their faces into obsequious smiles and the one that had asked if they were in the right place tittered a laugh like Nina was being funny. “Come dear, let me show you our latest arrivals from Milan and Paris.”
Nina looked at Rita, and jingled the car key fob in her hand so they could see the Porsche logo. “I don’t know, I’m just not feeling it. Let’s go down the street to La Bella, Rita, I’m sure we can find most of what we need there.” She turned back to the clerks. “Ta ta ladies. Hope you enjoyed not making a big fat commission. It pays to be nice.”