Strut the Mall (Love at Westbrook Mall #4)

24. The Right Fit

24

The Right Fit

After a few seconds, Zack rubbed my shoulder. “So, where exactly are we headed?”

I blinked at him. This was a fake relationship. It wasn’t headed anywhere. Right?

He knitted his brows, glancing from me to the upcoming divergence in the walkway.

Ohhhh. Where in the mall were we heading? “I was planning to hit whatever caught my interest.” Not sexually hit, I almost clarified, but he had to know that. “I need new clothes if I want to rebrand.”

He glanced at my jacket and form-fitting slacks. “Why? Your clothes seem fine. Nice, even.” He scratched his ear, so had to be lying.

“You must be thinking of my sparkly New Year’s Eve romper, because this—” I peeled open my coat to reveal my tee. “—is repulsive.”

He chuckled. “What’s so bad about your uniform?”

“Everything. It’s bright green, high neck, and is generally unflattering.” It didn’t matter what body type it adorned, this thing was a monstrosity.

Zack narrowed his gaze. “It’s a work shirt. It’s not meant to be sexy.”

“Looking nice is key to sales. That’s not just a confidence thing. It’s branding.” I closed my coat flaps and sighed at a monochrome-themed professional womenswear store as we passed it. “We used to wear business casual, anything we wanted, with a silver name tag on top. We were actually fancy at Fancee’s.”

“Imagine that.” His lip ticked up, his eyes bright enough to unlock my rant.

“When we looked nice, people would say please and thank you, they’d ask our opinions, you know, generally respect our expertise. But now, because of ‘rebranding,’ I’m the bright green scourge of the sales floor. All people say is ‘gimme’ and ‘I need’ just because Fancee’s thought we needed to be more accessible or something.”

His guiding arm fell to my mid-back, most likely because I’d been gesturing so enthusiastically. “Isn’t that what you’re doing, slumming it with me?” he asked.

I pressed my elbow into his side. “What slumming? You could eat guys like Theo for breakfast.”

He snorted and shook his head. “You wanted a new audience. More casual.”

“Oh, I guess.” Guys like Zack and our customers weren’t exactly who I pictured liking my content. We never connected in-person. Or at least we hadn’t until my New Year’s social media flip.

I tugged his jacket and marched toward a store with cute, accessory-laden outfits in the window. “Let’s go here.”

He held his hands up and dragged his feet. “Hey, I’m not shopping. I’m escorting.”

“Escort me inside, then.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and fully braced himself from moving. “You asked me to walk you past Theo’s store. That didn’t include errands.”

“You knew I was shopping.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned on one leg. “Not aimlessly. If you want me to walk you back, we have to be quick. I’m on my lunch break. When am I gonna eat?”

He had a good point. Dressing rooms often had a seat, but I wasn’t going to change in front of him or risk other people side-eyeing him as some creep munching on food and watching me strip like it was some kind of kink.

“Fine, sit here. I’ll text if I need you,” I said.

“Why on earth would you need me?” he asked.

Exactly. I waved him off and hurried into the store, shaking off the loss of his warmth at my side. An absurd amount of hand-crafted jewelry littered a table by the register–lots of heart-themed stuff for Valentine’s and discounted sparkly bangles from New Year’s Eve. Feminine, almost bohemian clothes crowded the racks on one side whereas the other focused more on contemporary solids with flair.

A red bodycon dress with semi sheer sleeves on the contemporary side caught my eye, but that was probably too ‘sexy’ for my new brand. I reluctantly grabbed a few white and pink pieces from feminine chic. They were sweet, easily digestible daywear. In the dressing room, none of it fully worked on me. But maybe my mood was off. I took pictures so I could objectively judge the looks later. On a whim, I texted a picture of the best contender to Zack: a striped peasant neckline dress.

Me: Do you think this will work?

Zack: For what? Herding sheep?

I snorted a laugh and tugged at the shoulder puffs. It wasn’t that bad. The high waistline made my boobs look bigger and the flowing skirt disguised any stomach pooch.

Me: I was going for flirty, sweet, and casual-classy.

Zack: Unless you’re rebranding as Bo Peep, it’s a no from me

Me: Thanks for your input. [frowning side-eye emoji]

Maybe this store was too kitschy for me. Or for him, at least. I sighed and re-hung the discarded clothes.

Zack: I mean, you’re still pretty no matter what you’re wearing. But it doesn’t seem very *you*

Oh, I wasn’t sweet and flirty? He wanted ‘authentic’ Nicole?

I stormed out of the dressing room and turned to the cashier. “Can I re-hang these or do you need to?”

“Y-you can do it if you want to,” she said.

Whatever. I could make her day easier. I returned the clothes where I got them on the racks and snatched up the red dress with the sheer long sleeves. I locked myself in the dressing room, then peeled off my clothes and wriggled into the dress. Mesh hung over the solid base by about an inch, providing enough skirt coverage so I didn’t flash anyone unless I fully bent over.

Just as I was flipping my hair and getting my phone ready to take a picture, I heard the clomp of a heavy gait. Was I taking so long my fake boyfriend had come looking for me?

I opened the door, my thighs chafing as I posed in the doorframe. “Zack?”

His brows climbed to his hairline as he took me in. Satisfaction pooled in my gut and the balls of my feet as his wide-eyed gaze trailed across my body. His lips parted in silent awe. The soft buzz of overhead lights tingled under my skin. Had I rendered the so-called gentleman speechless?

“What do you think?” I smirked and twisted my hips for a more flattering angle.

“Good. Yeah.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he knitted his brows together, dragging his gaze to my face. “I thought you said a high neck wasn’t flattering.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, is it?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “But you have to put some pants on or you’ll freeze.”

“Tights.” I slunk past him to the full-length mirror with a barefoot strut. “You don’t wear pants with dresses.”

“That’s a dress?” he balked.

I giggled and bent slightly more than necessary to pick up my stuff from the bench. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“I’m sure you have a few ideas,” he said, his voice gruff enough to rub my insides raw.

My gaze slipped past my reflection to catch him standing guard in the doorway, his ears and the back of his neck flushed from the effort to presumably prevent the cashier from seeing my upper legs and ass.

It'd been a long time since anyone had looked out for me.

Plus, he liked what he saw. Honestly, so did I.