Page 48 of The Girl He Loves
“Or maybe you’d prefer those.” She points to the other red soled heels on the top shelf — black with scary spikes at the toes. “Those are Louboutins Asteroids… 120 mm.”
“No.” I laugh. “I’m not woman enough for those.”
“Or is your man not man enough?” she jokes. “Who knows… he might like you in those. They’re size seven too.”
I shake my head. “No, I definitely prefer these.”
“Would you like to try them on?”
I nod. “Sure. They probably won’t fit, but I’d like to see.”
“Come with me,” she says as she exits the confines of the front counter. I follow her eagerly to the pretty bench by the change rooms.
I peel off my booties and my feet are shaking as I slip the right one into the shoe. I’m pleasantly surprised by the perfect fit. I eagerly slip on the other pump.
“Walk around,” she urges. “See if you like them.”
I do, pacing slowly back and forth across the store as she and Grant watch me. The customer at the counter watches me too. “Those look amazing on you,” she says.
I smile at her. “Thanks.” I feel like a million bucks, and I’m surprised by how comfortable the shoes are and how I can so easily walk in them.
I want them. But a thought suddenly occurs to me. I don’t have enough cash. I’d have to pay with my Visa card and then she’d see my real name. Would she know the name? Would she remember the fake name I gave her last time? I could always run to a nearby ATM, and get the money.
She takes a seat next to me on the bench. “Can I ask you a question?”
I turn to her, curious. “Of course.”
“When you came in last time, you gave me your name for our mailing list.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“You gave me a false name,” she deadpans.
My breath hitches, settles in my throat, robbing my words. How could she possibly know that?
“Why?” she asks.
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“How… how do you know it’s not my real name?”
She turns away from me. “I just know, Mischa.”
I go into full-on panic mode; breathlessness, shakes, and an absolute inability to vocalize. I have an excuse all made up, but I can’t share it. She knows who I am.
“It’s okay, Mischa.”
How does she know who I am? Well, of course she does. I’m her baby daddy’s wife. Why wouldn’t I have thought of that?
“It bothered me for days,” she says. “I knew that I knew you, but couldn’t place you. Your hair was up and you had glasses on… maybe that’s what threw me off. You look more like yourself today.”
“How…” I finally manage to say. “How do you know me?”
She pauses and hesitates before saying, “We met a long time ago at a party. I’m sure you don’t even remember.”
I do.
“I just… I just didn’t want to be bothered with sales calls,” I lie. “I get so many telemarketers already. I don’t like to give out my real information. That’s all.”
