Page 12 of Killer Body

This situation was especially embarrassing. Gabriella was grateful for her brown-tinted sunglasses—rimless and Ralph Lauren andtrès chic.But more important, right along with the UV protection came eye-contact protection, which she needed—at this moment, very much.

She had the damned dress in her hands, and it was perfect. How could the Killer Body people ignore her in patchwork and lace, so retro it made her want to break into tears for a past she’d never visited, except through clothes, of course?

Not to mention the bandanna. Damn, if she were a shoplifter, as many in her strata were, she’d stuff that two-hundred-plus-bucks baby right into her bra. But that wasn’t the way she was raised.

That the shop girl was a fan made it worse. The girl had gushed through the sale of the marvelous dress, the bandanna, the cute little flip-flops with their silver buckles and stacked wood heels. Now her sunny face was a wall between the two of them. The princess knew there was a problem. She stood on the other side of the counter, head dipped slightly down to avoid eye contact, but in an aggressive stance in her crochet cardigan, camisole and jeans. She might be on the verge of upchucking, but this one would never know it.

“There seems to be a problem with your credit card.”

Oh, no. This was what she’d feared most, and now here it was, delivered to her on a tiny, black, rectangular platter. But the princess always took the high road.

“I can’t imagine what the problem would be.”

“It was declined.”

Declined,such a polite word for what she was suffering. She’d made a payment, maybe not the full amount, but everything she had.

“I made some purchases earlier today. Perhaps I exceeded my limit. Can’t you just add it to my hotel room bill.”

The girl gave her an embarrassed smile; her slender fingers edged toward the wonderful dress, reclaiming it for someone with better credit. “I’m sorry. If it’s declined here, it will be declined at the front desk, too.”

“It will be fine by tomorrow. As I said, I probably just exceeded my limit.”

“That’s probably what happened.” She drew the dress closer.

“I have other credit cards.”

“I’d be happy to try one of them for you.”

Try?Notprocess.More fear invaded, each rush more threatening than the last. She’d been honest about her life on national television. Had talked to Larry King and Edd Forrester, damn it. Why was this stopping her?

The answer came to her in the private part of her brain that she reserved for herself and maybe two other people.Because you haven’t beaten the food thing yet. Because you were a bad wife. Because you don’t have enough money to buy this dress that could make you the next Killer Body. Because you can’t even afford a freaking olive-green bandanna.

The shop girl, who of course, couldn’t hear the voices, gave her the professional version of a droopy look, holding the bad plastic between two manicured fingers.

Gabriella yanked it back, shoved it in her bag.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s obviously a foul-up with my husband. Would you give me a moment to get my driver?”

“Of course.”

Gabriella went out to the lobby to get Christopher and dragged him back in before any of the greedy shoppers could as much as spot her dress. The dress would be hers now. It would transform her, maybe even make her look as if she had boobs. Bobby Warren was supposed to be a boob man. She hoped he discriminated between real and fake ones. If he did, Rochelle McArthur wouldn’t be in the running.

Christopher was at his Banana Republic best, his body reflecting his hours obsessing at the gym. His tan was baked on, and his exposed flesh, from his arms to his shaved head, simply glowed.

“My credit card isn’t working,” she said. “That’s all I need.”

“Don’t worry.”

The shop girl let the dress she was in the process of removing slip back onto the counter when she saw him. Christopher had that effect on people.

“I’ll take Princess Gabby’s parcels,” he said.

“But—”

Parcels! Gabriella hid a smile. He’d learned the term when he’d been her real driver back when she could afford to pay him. He whipped out his wallet and shuffled through his own credit cards like a magician. “You can use mine for now.” He glanced at the dress. “Very nice. You’re taking the bandanna, too, of course.”

Gabriella nodded. Poor guy. He’d just spent more than he earned in two weeks.