Shopping spree part 1
1654 Words
Aria’s POV
I stood there for another second, the black corporate card still resting in my hand.
Lucien had already returned to answering emails, as though he hadn’t just turned my entire day upside down.
It was obvious the conversation was over.
“…Thank you, Mr. Sinclair.”
He gave a single nod without looking up.
“Six o’clock, Miss. Monroe.”
“I’ll be here.”
I slipped the card back into its envelope, tucked it carefully into my portfolio, and quietly left his office.
The door clicked shut behind me.
I made my way toward the elevators, the sharp click of my heels echoing against the polished marble floors.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime.
I stepped inside and pressed the button for the lobby.
As the doors slid closed, I caught my reflection in the mirrored walls.
Professional.
At least on the outside.
The ride down felt much shorter than the one up had that morning.
When the doors opened again, the elegant lobby buzzed with quiet conversation.
Employees crossed the marble floor with purpose while guests checked in at the concierge desk.
I walked through the revolving doors and out onto the front drive.
Waiting at the curb was a sleek black Rolls-Royce Phantom.
Its paint gleamed beneath the afternoon sun.
The moment I stepped outside, a man in a tailored black suit moved around from the driver’s side.
He opened the rear passenger door before I could even reach it.
“Miss Monroe?”
“Yes.”
He smiled politely.
“I’m James.”
His accent carried the polished professionalism of someone who had done this for years.
“Mr. Sinclair asked me to look after you this afternoon.”
I couldn’t help smiling.
“Of course.”
“If you’ll allow me.”
He gestured toward the open door.
I slid into the buttery-soft leather seat.
James closed the door gently before taking his place behind the wheel.
Everything smelled faintly of new leather and cedar.
A chilled bottle of water rested in the center console beside a neatly folded itinerary.
James pulled smoothly away from the curb.
“As requested by Mr. Sinclair,” he began, glancing briefly at me through the rearview mirror, “our first stop will be Maison Élise.”
I frowned slightly.
“I’m sorry… where?”
“A private boutique Mr. Sinclair frequently uses for members of the executive team.”
Before I could process that, he continued.
“After that, we’ll stop at Bellamore Atelier.”
Another boutique.
“Between the two, you should find everything you’ll require for your stay in Italy.”
I looked down at the black envelope resting on my lap.
This was actually happening.
“Once we’ve finished shopping,” James said, “I’ll drive you home so you can pack any personal items you’d like to bring.”
He paused before adding,
“Mr. Sinclair requested that I have you back at headquarters by six o’clock sharp.”
I nodded slowly.
“And then?”
“From here, we’ll proceed directly to Sinclair Aviation.”
“Like… what? A private jet is waiting or something?” I joked.
“Yes, Miss Monroe.”
He smiled faintly.
“The company jet will already be prepared for departure.”
I leaned back against the seat, staring out the tinted window as the city rolled past.
This morning, I’d been worried about making a good first impression.
Now I was apparently flying to Italy on a private jet with my billionaire boss.
Twenty minutes ago, I’d been sitting in a boardroom taking notes.
Now…
I was on my way to a luxury boutique with a corporate card that apparently had no spending limit.
I still wasn’t sure which part sounded more ridiculous.
“We’re almost there, Miss Monroe,” James said.
I looked up just as the car slowed beneath an elegant stone canopy.
The boutique came into view.
Its cream-colored façade was understated, almost deceptively so. There were no flashy window displays or oversized signs. Just floor-to-ceiling glass, polished brass accents, and a discreet gold plaque beside the entrance.
Luxury didn’t need to announce itself.
It expected you to recognize it.
James brought the car to a smooth stop.
“I’ll be waiting just outside,” he said as he climbed out.
A moment later, my door opened.
He offered me his hand.
“Take your time, Miss Monroe.”
“Thank you.”
I stepped onto the sidewalk, smoothing the front of my blazer before looking up at the boutique.
Taking a quiet breath, I walked inside.
The interior was breathtaking.
Warm lighting spilled across polished oak floors, while elegant chandeliers cast a gentle glow over carefully curated displays.
Everything smelled faintly of fresh linen, vanilla, and white orchids.
Before I could take another step, a beautifully dressed woman approached with an effortless smile.
“Miss Monroe.”
I blinked.
“…Yes?”
“Welcome to Maison Élise.”
She accepted my portfolio before I could protest.
“We’ve been expecting you.”
Of course they had.
Another woman appeared carrying a crystal flute.
“Champagne?”
I hesitated.
“It’s complimentary,” she assured me warmly.
I accepted it with a small smile.
“Thank you.”
“Mr. Sinclair asked that we prepare everything before your arrival.”
I nearly choked on the champagne.
“He… did?”
She nodded as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
“If you’ll follow me.”
She led me farther into the boutique.
An entire section had been reserved.
Rolling racks stretched across the room, each one overflowing with impeccably tailored clothing.
There were crisp cotton button-downs in every imaginable shade.
Silk blouses that shimmered beneath the lights.
Perfectly tailored trousers.
Pencil skirts.
Structured blazers.
Elegant knit dresses.
Soft satin blouses.
Flowing silk dresses suitable for evening dinners.
Even a selection of tasteful animal-print blouses and scarves, balanced with timeless neutrals, rich jewel tones, and classic monochrome pieces.
Rows of leather heels stood neatly displayed nearby beside matching handbags and accessories.
I slowly turned in a circle.
“This is…”
The stylist smiled knowingly.
“Everything has been selected according to the preferences Mr. Sinclair provided for an executive wardrobe.”
I stared.
“He… has preferences?”
She laughed softly.
“Mr. Sinclair has standards.”
Another stylist stepped forward with a tablet.
“We’ll begin with your measurements, Miss Monroe.”
She smiled reassuringly.
“Then we’ll tailor everything that needs adjusting. Anything that isn’t ready immediately will be delivered to your residence before you leave for the airport.”
I looked around the boutique once more, completely overwhelmed.
I had a feeling working for Lucien Sinclair was going to keep surprising me.
“Shall we begin?” the stylist asked.
I looked around the boutique one more time before letting out a small laugh.
“I don’t even know where to start.”
“That’s what we’re here for.”
Within minutes, a measuring tape was wrapped around my shoulders, waist, hips, and inseam as another stylist entered every measurement into a tablet.
Once they finished, the women began pulling pieces from the racks with practiced precision.
“I think we’ll start with your everyday executive wardrobe.”
The first outfit waiting for me inside the fitting suite was a cream silk blouse paired with high-waisted charcoal trousers and a fitted black blazer.
The dressing room itself was larger than my apartment bedroom, complete with velvet seating, full-length mirrors, and soft lighting that somehow made everything look expensive.
I changed quickly.
When I stepped out, three stylists looked up almost at once.
“Oh…”
One of them smiled.
“This silhouette is beautiful on you.”
Another circled me slowly, gently adjusting the collar.
“The trousers are nearly perfect. We’ll take the waist in just half an inch.”
I turned toward the mirror.
It didn’t even look like me.
The blouse skimmed perfectly over my frame while the tailored trousers somehow made my legs look longer than they actually were.
“I’ve never worn anything that fits like this,” I admitted.
The next outfit was completely different.
A forest green wrap dress in soft silk with subtle gold buttons at the cuff.
The fabric felt impossibly smooth against my skin.
When I stepped back into the fitting area, one stylist clasped her hands together.
“Oh, Mr. Sinclair was absolutely right.”
I frowned.
“…About what?”
“Jewel tones.”
I blinked.
“He… specifically mentioned colors?”
The stylist nodded while smoothing the sleeve.
“He said to avoid anything that washed you out.”
For some reason…
That surprised me.
He’d barely looked at me outside of work.
At least…
I thought he hadn’t.
The third outfit made me smile the moment I saw it.
A soft ivory blouse tucked into a chocolate pencil skirt with a matching tailored jacket.
Elegant.
Professional.
“I could actually see myself wearing this every day,” I said.
“We thought so too.”
The stylist handed me a pair of nude leather pumps.
“And these.”
I slipped them on before walking toward the mirror.
“They’re comfortable.”
“They should be.”
I glanced down.
“They’re handmade.”
About an hour later, I was finally finished.
After trying on what felt like half the boutique, I’d narrowed everything down to ten outfits I genuinely loved.
The stylists carefully noted the final selections before assuring me that every piece would be tailored where needed, pressed, and delivered to my house later that afternoon.
“Everything will be waiting for you before you leave for the airport, Miss Monroe.”
I smiled.
“Thank you.”
How they knew my address, I had absolutely no idea.
At this point, though, I wasn’t even going to ask.
- Writer
