Thomas & January (Sleepless #2)

Thomas & January (Sleepless #2) Page 26

“Pic ops. I doubt we’ll be put in any of the press, but Jason said we have to dress up anyway.”

“What! I didn’t bring anything!”

“Jason took care of that.”

January

We reached our rooms at ten in the morning and I was only slightly freaking out that I could or could not be photographed and might or might not be put into print, immortalized forever as the slob who obviously dressed from a duffel bag for the largest music festival in Europe, but Tom assured me that Jason had that all figured out so I decided not to freak out...too much.

“Ready?” Tom asked me as I opened my door to him.

Tom had been acting very strangely, resorting to wearing his hood over his head again and I was slightly concerned at how ice-cold he’d been acting toward me, but I wasn’t going to let this get to me. He would come to me and talk when he was ready.

“Yeah, where are we going?” I asked.

“Here,” he said, handing me a note and a handful of cash before walking off.

I peered down at my hands. “Wait!” I said laughing. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got some business to attend to.”

“Some business to tend to,” I mocked his deep voice. “Sorry little missus, this big man has things to do I wouldn’t tax your tiny lady mind with. I got this.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. Condescending jerk. “It’s nothing to do with the label, January. It’s personal.”

“Oh,” I said. “All right, can I just come with you then?” I asked, grabbing his hand.

“No,” he said, pulling away, wounding me. “Uh,” he said, clearing his throat. “Listen, Jason’s waiting for you.”

“And I take it you don’t need new threads then?”

“No, well, yes, but Jason’s got my measurements. I trust him. I’ve gotta go. Have fun,” he told me before taking off down the corridor.

I just stared after him, wondering what in the hell crawled up his butt. Then I ogled his rude butt and thought, "nice ass" but shook myself and remembered that he needed a swift kick there not an appreciative stare.

I went back inside, grabbed my purse and hailed a cab.

“Où aller?” the cabbie asked me.

I looked down at the paper in my hand and almost keeled over in happiness, recognizing the name of one of Paris’ most elite and most gorgeous department stores, Galeries Lafayette.

Ten stories high, the store can be found on Boulevard Haussmann, and oh my Lord it is just unbelievably decadent. I couldn’t wait to go there. Sometimes working for the label really paid off, but sometimes...

Le sigh. Oh well.

Jason was outside the front doors smoking a cigarette when I pulled up. He reminded me of home. Seeing him, coupled with Tom’s cold demeanor and missing my family like crazy, I unexpectedly burst into tears. I don’t know why I did it. I just needed a friend in that moment it seemed, and it had been weeks since I’d seen a friendly face from home. I was overwhelmed, I suppose. That and I didn’t know what was going on with Tom.

When Jason saw me he smiled but saw my tear-soaked face and threw down his cigarette. I ran to his arms and threw them around his neck.

“Oh, Jason,” I wailed pathetically in his ear.

His chest shook with laughter. “Oh, January!” He teased.

“Shut up!” I said, pulling away while laughing and wiping away my tears.

Jason pulled me back to him and hugged me harder, making me sigh. “What’s up with you, January MacLochlainn? Hmm? Why the sour face?” He ran his thumbs underneath my eyes.

“Oh, I’m just so happy to see you,” I semi-lied.

“Oh, just happy to see me, is it? Could it be you're sick of Tom as well?”

“A little,” I admitted not realizing how true that really was. I loved Tom so much, but I wasn’t an imbecile. The way he’d been treating me these past two days was alarming to say the least.

“Come on,” he said, wrapping his arm around my neck and swinging me toward the doors of the fanciest store I’d ever laid eyes on.

“We are going to stick out here like a sore thumb, Jason.”

“Yeah, we might have one of those ‘Pretty Woman’ moments.”

This made me laugh.

“Yeah,” he said, spreading his free arm before us, “imagine it. They’ll look down at you in disdain, perk their noses in the air and say with their haughty French accents, ‘You are not Lafayette material, miss!’ Then I’ll step in and save the day by flashing my black card. They’ll cower and bow at your feet, kissing your shoes and begging your forgiveness.”

“You have quite an imagination, Jason.”

“I know, I should have been a writer instead, but I’ve heard there’s no money in it.”

We stopped and took in the magnificence of the store. It felt like I was standing within a giant Fabergé egg. The word opulent came to mind, plenty of times.

“The world is your oyster,” Jason said, kissing my temple, making me want to cry again, “and it seems you need it.”

I wanted to call Tom and run to him, but I also wanted to ignore Tom or find him and slap him in the face. I was a dichotomy of feelings, but one thing was for sure, I needed to talk to him, to get it out there. If he was regretting being with me or telling me he loved me, then I needed to know, so I could get over it and move on. I had more respect for myself than to endure disrespect. I was a MacLochlainn, damn it!

 We went to a few stores but nothing really stuck out at me. It was either too formal or too casual. Jason explained that the festival was usually a light affair, but the first night, if you’re lucky enough to be invited, the labels throw a party at one club hosting several up-and-coming bands and it’s usually a dressy night.

“I don’t know about these stores, Jason. I’m not seeing anything.”

“There’s plenty to choose from. You’re just obsessed with price tags. Stop. Just find something you’ll look good in and put it on.”

“How eloquently said.”

“Well, I don’t know shit about this kind of stuff. Listen, I’m gonna go find some digs for Tom. Find something then I’ll come find you.”

“All right,” I sighed.

Perusing the stores was a lot of fun but Jason was right, I was afraid of the price tags.

“If Seven doesn’t care, neither do I,” I bolstered myself.

I called the attention of a woman in a store full of couture, but she didn’t shy away from me. In fact, she was extraordinarily kind and seemed excited to help me. She told me I was the perfect model for the clothes in her store, but somehow I doubted that. I told her to work her magic and an hour later, Jason found me with a few new things in hand, including a few essentials that I believe I would have rather died than buy in front of Jason but I had no choice.

 “What is this, La Femme Nikita?” he asked, picking the lacy object up with one finger.

I shoved it all down back on the counter and knew the blush that burned my face would take days to calm down.

“Jason, I swear. Don’t embarrass me.”

“I’m sorry, kitten,” he smiled. “Mwar!”

“Oh my God, you’re never going to let me live this down.”

“No, I’m not. In fact, I might just rub it in Tom’s face.”

“Why would that affect Tom?” I asked, prying. Does Jason know?

“Oh nothing,” he dodged.

The woman wrapped my things and we walked out of there with one dress that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. My mother would kill me if she knew.

Jason dropped me off at the hotel and when I reached my room, I dropped my things inside before knocking on Tom’s door.

“Tom?” I asked the door as I rapped lightly with my knuckles but there was no answer.

I sighed in frustration, and thought it was probably a good idea to take a nice long bath in my room’s huge tub before I got ready for the evening.

I showered and shaved first, then soaked for at least an hour and almost fell asleep the water was so warm and the tub so deep. When I got out, I’d never been so clean. I rubbed the condensation away from the mirror and took a good long look.

“Right, you’re a mess, January.” That’s when I realized. I had absolutely no curling iron or straightener or even a blow dryer to my name. I started to panic before remembering a salon downstairs. I rang Jason to ask him if I could charge a mani and pedi as well as a styling and he approved without thinking. I’m sure he had no idea how much it all would cost. I was positive I’d be fired over the whole thing but Jason was so blasé, I decided I could be as well.

I threw on a pair of yoga pants and a button-down and headed downstairs. In French, I told the lady I needed "the works" and she understood the American idiom. Maybe it was universal. I decided I didn’t need to do anything too crazy with my hair and opted to leave it down and in large, loose curls. I have to admit I allowed them to go a bit insane with my makeup, especially on the eyes, but it was a night out and I didn’t want to feel like my dreary usual self.

My dress was black, super short, and insanely sexy and the last thing I needed was for someone to whisper "it’s too much." I thought the dress was still a bit over the top, in fact, but the sales girl assured me I looked great in it and it was just understated enough so I trusted her. I was doing that a lot, giving everyone carte blanche, but lately the check was proving bad. Hopefully, the girl hadn’t steered me wrong.

 When all was said and done, I had to admit I looked pretty damn hot. I walked away from the salon feeling like a brand-new woman, heading straight for an empty room probably down the hall from yet another presumably empty room belonging to the elusive Thomas Eriksson. I was tripping myself out. I felt bipolar. One minute I was high as a kite, the next, I was down in the dumps. Don’t let a guy make you feel like that, January, especially one who claims he loves you. Rise up, girl! I decided I was going to have fun that night even if I had to beg Jason to be my date.

At nine o’clock that night I was ready, dress on, makeup, hair, and nails done. I stood in front of the mirror and did a double take at the reflection. I was staring at one sexy mama and I felt really damn good about that. I smiled at myself.

Knock! Knock!

I jumped at the sound at the door. Time to pay the piper, Tom. He was going to eat his actions if I had to stuff them down his throat with the painfully gorgeous heels strapped around my feet.

I flung the door open but my carefully constructed smile fell at my knees when I saw who it was.

“Jesus, January,” Jonah told me, eyeing me up and down.

“What do you want, Jonah?”

“I’m here to escort you. Jason sent me.”

“Jason sent you?” I asked, shocked.

“Yeah, apparently Tom is too busy to take you.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. Here,” he said, offering me his cell phone. It was already ringing Jason.

“Yo!” I heard.