Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(5)

She tried to blot out the worst of the mess, but gave up and stripped off her sweater. She handed it to the mother. “If you can get the stain out, you’re welcome to it.”

“Cashmere?” The woman was dumbfounded.

Margo shrugged. It was all she wore. “Yes.”

“I couldn’t. I—”

“It’s fine. You deserve it as combat pay, ma’am.”

The woman laughed. She slumped back into her seat and laughed in a way that made Margo cringe. Taking care of another person was a level of responsibility she’d never had.

Independence, yes. That she understood. It had been instilled in her from the moment they’d laid a rosined bow into her hands. Being someone’s everything?

That was too much.

The mother turned her face to Margo’s. “Tell me at least one of us will have a good time tonight?”

“I’m going to try.”

“Do me a favor?”

Hesitant, Margo nodded.

“Kiss a hot guy tonight and remind yourself that you are an unencumbered woman in New York City. I had that once upon a time.”

Instantly, Simon’s face registered as clear as if he was standing in front of her.

“That guy—whoever gave you that look.”

Margo veiled her eyes with lashes and her bangs. She didn’t have a look.

“You’re young and beautiful. And cripes, I wish I had your body.”

She fussed with the thin strap of her camisole. She wasn’t used to showing so much skin. The orchestra had a uniform. Her whole life had been a uniform. She hid her curves under skirts and sweaters. She always felt too lush compared to the slim and perfect women in the string section. They were dainty and elegant.

She had to consciously work to keep up the same appearances. All too often her parents had pushed her into diets and monochrome colors to make her belong.

“I hope your little girl will feel better.”

The man that kept them squashed in like sardines stood and the line started moving.

“Thanks,” the mother said and stood, gathering her things. She tucked the sweater into the bag and slipped out into the aisle.

Margo sat there for a moment longer. A man moved down the aisle. He was attractive, in the suited-up businessman-like way that she usually was interested in.

His eyes widened and he stopped. “Can I help you with a bag or anything?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

His gaze skittered down her neck and shoulders, stalling at her breasts before bouncing back to her face. “Are you sure?”

She suddenly missed her sweater very much. “Positive.”

He moved on, with a backward glance then a shake of his head.

She slung her purse over her shoulder and hefted her case. With her head held high, she walked down the aisle and into the terminal. Instead of going right for JFK’s departure gate, she ducked into the shopping area.

This was not in her budget but she couldn’t walk around the huge airport like this. No matter how much bravado she thought she had.

She drifted toward the classic styles of a designer store. Cashmere twin sets were her stock in trade. Maybe she’d get a color—that was different. Not the grays and blacks she was used to. Maybe a navy?

“That’s not you.”

“I beg your pardon?” Margo turned to the voice. What was it today? Everyone knew what she should be doing except her.

The tall, well-dressed man came over with a short cranberry jacket. “This.”

She shook her head. “Too small.”

He held it up in front of her. “Indulge me.”

With one eyebrow raised, she stared him down.

“That’s impressive, doll. Save it for a man that it would work on. I’m not hitting on you. I just want to dress you.”

“Oh.”

“Well, not that I wouldn’t hit on you. You’re as hot as a Maxim shoot in August, but my wife would have my nuts in a vise. And while that’s fun on occasion, I’m not in the mood today.”

Margo blinked. Not at all sure what to say to that, she turned around and let him slip the jacket over her arms and drape it over her shoulders.

He spun her around. “See?”

She went still as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Surely that wasn’t her. The black pencil skirt and camisole hugged her and gave her an hourglass shape. The short jacket hit her right at the midriff. Instead of making her look boxy as she’d expected, it accentuated her curves and took off five years from her face.

She jumped when he held up a pair of four-inch raspberry-colored ankle breakers. She only paused for a moment before kicking off her sensible pumps.

“That a girl.”

Her arches screamed and her calves tightened, but it was exactly what she needed. She didn’t recognize this woman in the mirror. She matched the Margo she wanted to be.

A little bolder.

A little surer.

She pulled out her credit card and held it up. “Don’t even tell me what it costs. I don’t want to change my mind.”

“I knew it.”

“Hope you work on commission.”

“I do.”

At least he got compensated for his genius. He came back with the slip and she signed it. He clipped off the tags and dropped them into a bag.