“It’s far more than that. Far more.” I spread my arms in an emphatic gesture. “It’s about helping people. It’s about being creative. It’s about—”
A knock at the door interrupts me, and Erin pops her head in.
“Sorry to bother you, Becky. Just to let you know, I’ve put aside those Donna Karan mules you wanted. In the taupe and the black, right?”
“Erm… yes,” I say hurriedly. “Yes, that’s fine.”
“Oh, and Accounts called, to say that takes you up to your discount limit for this month.”
“Right,” I say, avoiding Luke’s amused gaze. “Right. Thanks. I’ll… I’ll deal with that later.” And I wait for Erin to leave, but she’s gazing with frank curiosity at Luke.
“So, how are you doing?” she says to him brightly. “Have you had a chance to look around the store?”
“I don’t need to look,” says Luke in a deadpan voice. “I know what I want.”
My stomach gives a little flip, and I stare straight down at my notebook, pretending to make more notes. Scribbling any old rubbish.
“Oh right!” says Erin. “And what’s that?”
There’s a long silence, and eventually I can’t bear it anymore, I have to look up. As I see Luke’s expression, my heart starts to thud.
“I’ve been reading your literature,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a leaflet entitled The Personal Shopping Service: For busy people who need some help and can’t afford to make mistakes.
He pauses, and my hand tightens around my pen.
“I’ve made mistakes,” he says, frowning slightly. “I want to right those mistakes and not make them again. I want to listen to someone who knows me.”
“Why come to Barneys?” I say in a trembling voice.
“There’s only one person whose advice I trust.” His gaze meets mine and I feel a small tremor. “If she doesn’t want to give it, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“We have Frank Walsh over in menswear,” says Erin helpfully. “I’m sure he’d—”
“Shut up, Erin,” I say, without moving my head.
“What do you think, Becky?” he says, moving toward me. “Would you be interested?”
For a few moments I don’t answer. I’m trying to gather all the thoughts I’ve had over the last couple of months. To organize my words into exactly what I want to say.
“I think…” I say at last, “I think the relationship between a shopper and a client is a very close one.”
“That’s what I was hoping,” says Luke.
“There has to be respect.” I swallow. “There can’t be canceled appointments. There can’t be sudden business meetings that take priority.”
“I understand,” says Luke. “If you were to take me on, I can assure you that you would always come first.”
“The client has to realize that sometimes the shopper knows best. And… and never just dismiss her opinion. Even when he thinks it’s just gossip, or… or mindless tittle-tattle.”
I catch a glimpse of Erin’s confused face, and suddenly want to giggle.
“The client has already realized that,” says Luke. “The client is humbly prepared to listen and be put right. On most matters.”
“All matters,” I retort at once.
“Don’t push your luck,” says Luke, his eyes flashing with amusement, and I feel an unwilling grin spread across my face. I catch Erin’s eye and with a sudden blush of comprehension, she hurries out, leaving us alone.
As the door closes, Luke and I stare at each other. My throat is suddenly tight with emotion.
“Well, Mr. Brandon…” I say at last. I clear my throat and doodle consideringly on my notepad. “I suppose ‘most’ would be acceptable. In the circumstances.”
“So.” His eyes are warm and tender. “Is that a yes, Becky? Will you be my… personal shopper?”
He takes a step forward, and I’m almost touching him. I can smell his familiar scent. Oh God, I’ve missed him.
“Yes,” I say happily. “Yes, I will.”
FROM: Gildenstein, Lalla [L.
[email protected]
/* */
TO: Bloomwood, Becky [
[email protected]
/* */
DATE: Wednesday, January 28, 2001, 8:22 a.m.
SUBJECT: HELP! URGENT!
Becky:
Help! Help! I lost your list. I have a big formal dinner tonight with some new Japanese clients. My Armani is at the cleaners. What should I wear? Please e-mail back soonest.