Secrets of a Shoe Addict Read Online Free PDF Page B

she didn’t get away from him quickly, his price was going to rise to include her firstborn, and knowing Damon, he’d find a way to exact it, one way or the other. “Tell me where to find you and I’ll see what I can come up with.” Her voice was hard with anger. “But it should interest you to know, though I doubt it will, that the necklace was valued at five thousand, not eight thousand, and the proceeds went to help HIV-positive children in a foster home in Bethesda.”
    “Charity begins at home.” He shook his head, keeping his gaze leveled on her like a shotgun. “And that ain’t my home.”
    “Five thousand,” she said, her voice hard. Somewhere deep in her subconscious she must have known this day was coming. The only way to buy herself enough time to figure out how to deal with it was to pretend to play his game, and to play it hard. “Just tell me where to send a cashier’s check.”
    “Tell you where the police can find me again, maybe on some trumped-up charge you come up with?” He gave a bark of laughter. “I’ll contact you. Soon. Just get the money together—
ten grand
—and be ready for me.”

Chapter

         3    
     
     
     
     
    T iffany Vanderslice Dreyer had spent enough sleepless nights watching infomercials to know that there were a lot of people out here who spent a
ton
of money on stupid things, particularly expensive clothes, shoes, and beauty products.
    She just never thought she’d be one of them.
    Her sister, Sandra, was a different story. Sandra spent hundreds of dollars on a single pair of shoes—shoes!—at a time, but on the rare occasion Tiffany would get herself something new, it would be from TJ Maxx or Payless, and even then only when her shoes were totally worn out or she needed a pair for a special occasion.
    So the idea that Tiffany might spend her way into trouble was ridiculous.
    But, then again, Tiffany had never been much of a drinker either, and tonight, in Vegas, with free drinks and open-all-night shops, bets were off on both counts.
    Everything had been just fine until she spotted a clothing shop in the lower level of the hotel, called Finola Pims, named for the British designer. Finola, as Tiffany came to think of her, had classic sensibilities, but with vivid, beautiful fabrics, and a modest-yet-sexy style that spoke to Tiffany.
    Everything Tiffany tried on looked amazing on her, even a couple of funky dresses she’d trotted out as a sort of private joke because they were so outrageous, she was sure they’d look silly. But no, they hugged her figure in all the right places while miraculously giving her room to move and bend without showing her privates to everyone within fifty yards. She was tall and blond, with light blue eyes, so she’d gotten her share of attention back when she was dating, but since that time she’d begun to feel like she was in a rut.
    Finola Pims lifted her out of that rut.
    Within forty-five minutes of walking into the shop, she was sitting in the dressing room with an empty margarita glass and fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of once-in-a-lifetime clothes she had to put back.
    The pile wasn’t so big as one might expect.
    But quality cost a lot. And before she put the clothes back, she decided to try on a few shoes. She’d never been a shoe person—that was her sister. In fact, she’d always sort of been an
anti
-shoe person
because
of her sister’s weird penchant for them. She couldn’t understand how a person could put four-hundred-dollar shoes on their feet and then walk around in them, ruining them with every step. The cost-to-loss analysis on that sucked.
    So Tiffany went to Finola’s shoe collection, hoping to get herself out of spending mode and back under control.
    Now, seriously, Tiffany was
not
planning to love the shoes. In fact, with her long history of shoe disdain, she honestly thought it wouldshake her out of her shopping spree. If there had been a John Deere dealer in the hotel, it could