you’re the best darned perfume sprayer in the state.”
Jess Carruthers, the perfume sprayer in question, wiped off the surface of a stool in the corner of Chloe’s office and gingerly sat down on it.
“Office” was probably too generous a word. Actually, Chloe worked in an old stockroom in the darkest recesses of Langtree’s. The twelve-by-twenty room still occasionally doubled as a holding area for shipments during the holiday season. It housed boxes, crates, old sales circulars, racks of clothes Chloe planned to use for the displays, even ancient, musty plans for the two renovation jobs the store had undergone in the past few decades. Not to mention limbs, heads and other plastic mannequin body parts splayed about like evidence of a mass murderer’s rampage.
“How you can stand being locked away in here all evening is beyond me.” Jess wrinkled her nose and coughed into her fist.
“I like it. Besides, I’d rather deal with dust motes than go home every night smelling of thirty designer perfumes.”
Jess rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. My poor dog doesn’t know who’s going to walk in the door every night under all those Estée Lauder and Tommy Hilfiger smells. Still, don’t you get lonely tucked away back here?”
“Nope,” Chloe replied. “It’s a great place to work. Few interruptions. No distractions.” No hunky, nearly naked guys standing right outside the window keeping me from getting my display done until 3:00 a.m.
Truthfully, Chloe felt right at home in her office. She liked cubbyholes. Liked little places she could call her own and in which she could hide away—to draw, to create, to plan. Sam Brighton, the marketing director of the store, who was also Chloe’s supervisor, had seemed almost sheepish when showing her to her workspace the first day on the job two months before. But Chloe had immediately loved the dark, cluttered room. It had a lot of history to soak up, a lot of silence in which to work. And blessed, delightful privacy—something Chloe had often found to be in short supply in her life.
“If I knew you’d get to go to conventions at places like the Dolphin Island Resort and Country Club I’d stay in the store all night putting clothes on plastic people,” Jess said with a heartfelt sigh.
“There’s more to it than that.” Chloe thought of the hours and hours she spent scouring the store, looking for the perfect dress, the ideal string of beads, the just-right accessory. Not to mention the time at home, thinking, planning, mentally searching for the never-before-attempted display that would pack the store and get her noticed. “The actual window dressing is the cake part of the job.”
“I know,” Jess said sheepishly. “I wasn’t putting you down. I think you do an amazing job.”
“I guess all those years of working in retail have finally paid off,” Chloe admitted with a grin. “Not to mention dressing my Barbie dolls!”
“I was always more into the great big Barbie head with the phony wipe-off makeup and the hair that never curled so I usually cut it off a week after getting her,” Jess said with a shrug.
Chloe snorted a laugh. “Looks like we wound up with our dream jobs.”
“Not exactly. I’m not doing hair and makeup at Universal Studios in Hollywood.”
“And I’m sure not dressing in designer gowns for my big modeling career in Paris.”
“A five-foot-three supermodel. There’s something you don’t see every day.”
Chloe shrugged. “Who said a six-year-old’s dreams had to be realistic? Anyway, I am not complaining. This is a pretty good job. It beats slinging hamburgers at some fast-food chain.”
Jess nodded. “Absolutely. And I’m glad you get to go to this conference, even if it has the gossipers working overtime.”
Chloe shrugged, knowing more than a few eyebrows had probably shot up in the executive offices when it was announced that she, a new and lowly window and display dresser, was getting an all-expense paid trip to the south Florida retailers and merchandisers meeting at a pricey Fort Lauderdale-area resort. “I think Sam pulled some strings to get me the travel expense money because he knows it’ll help me at school. I mean, it was turned down at first. I was as surprised as anyone when I heard Troy had changed his mind and told Sam to send me!”
“I guess the newspaper photo didn’t hurt,” Jess said, grinning. “I was there, remember? I saw the crowds five people deep coming to see your window when it showed up in the Boca Gazette—including old lady Langtree, right? Hey, maybe she’s the fairy godmother who got the expense approved.”
Chloe smiled, remembering the delight and surprise she’d felt when she’d spotted a photograph of one of her display windows gracing the “What’s Happening This Weekend” section of the local paper. The caption had read, “Langtree’s front windows provide a fun and sassy glimpse at the summer ahead!”
That was the window she’d been working on when she’d seen Troy Langtree changing his tire. Somehow, after he’d pulled away that night, never even coming into the store, all her creative juices had really started flowing. She’d abandoned her original design. Raiding the sportswear, housewares, men’s, ladies’ and electronics departments, she’d created a window display with a cutely dressed, intrigued female peeking at a hunky, bare-chested male mannequin dancing in a streamer-and-fan-created rainstorm.
Some of the older crowd imagined she’d been inspired by Gene Kelly tap dancing in the rain. Truthfully, the only inspiration she’d needed was Troy Langtree, shirtless, wet and dazzling.
Troy hadn’t even commented on the content of the window. She didn’t think he’d ever made the connection, never suspected she’d seen him that night. But he’d certainly noticed the publicity, not to mention the crowds. As had his grandmother, who’d requested a private meeting with Chloe the day the picture came out. Troy had approved her travel expenditure to the conference two days later.
She hadn’t heard yet what Troy thought of her latest display, the one still in the front windows. Somehow, after searching in vain for the man who existed beneath the conservative suits and bored expression, she had again gotten a little carried away the previous Friday night. Using the same male and female mannequins from the rainstorm scene, she’d managed to create a woman’s daydream. The female stood face-to-face with the boring but smartly dressed male while fantasizing about his half-undressed body double, who stood draped in dreamy folds of gauze in a back corner of the window.
One of her better efforts, she believed.
“Maybe you’re right,” Chloe finally said. “Mrs. Langtree was awfully friendly when we met, especially for someone I’d heard was a white-haired piranha.”
Jess shivered. “Better you than me. She scares me. I’d rather fly beneath the radar.”
“And I window-decorated myself right into the line of fire.”
“Just don’t tick her off.”
Chloe shrugged, still unsure why the elderly matriarch of the Langtree family had been so interested in meeting Chloe after the picture was in the paper. Or why she’d stared at her so intently and asked questions about her personal life. Then again, maybe all rich people were weird, nosy and thought themselves entitled to ask their junior staff members if they were single, if they smoked, and if they wanted children. She’d seemed pleased with Chloe’s answers: Yes. No. And someday.
