Oh, I had sampled some of his talent already. Night had completely taken over, and we walked together another block or two.

“Serendipity. It was nice to meet you, Bailey. See you Tuesday, and maybe we can work on the name.”

I had completely forgotten my original task of looking for Elle’s vintage dress. I might have landed my first account since leaving Julian. I was feeling more at home in my own skin and in New York. One chapter in my life was ending and a new one was just beginning.

Chapter Eleven

I rose bright and early the next morning, my purse brimming with a wad of cash and my only assignment to find Elle’s dress. I also had a secret hope that in my quest to find something perfect for Elle, I would also stumble upon the perfect vision for Elliott’s new restaurant.

Bringing cash to a deal also brought “flexibility” or, in Elle’s line of work, a willingness to negotiate. And I loved to negotiate the price.

I found it in the third shop. It was crammed in the middle of the rack. It was an honest to God Pucci dress. It had flared sleeves and everything. It was the grooviest dress I’d ever seen. It was fifty-five dollars, and I quickly bargained my way down to thirty-five. Elle would look like a throwback to Goldie Hawn circa 1970. As I was leaving, I saw a vintage yellow quilted Chanel handbag with the gold-link strap. It would be perfect with the dress. The only problem was it was a hundred and twenty-five dollars. Too pricey for me, but not for my attorney friend Elizabeth.

On my way home, it began coming to me, the vision for Elliott’s restaurant. I did not get the vibe from him that he was a vintage sort of guy, which would make buying things for him a little more challenging. I saw him as a modern art kind of guy. Very sleek. Very abstract. And because I did not know much about modern art—like, nothing—I took the subway up to the Guggenheim to further my education. Ideas for Elliott’s restaurant ricocheted through my brain. I discovered I enjoyed looking at paintings. They were just another form of beauty.

The next morning, I heard muted laughter from the next room—Elle and an unfamiliar male voice. I smiled. Operation Pucci must’ve been a success. The next day, when she freely handed me a hundred-dollar bill and told me to do as I wanted, I was sure of it.

“I am going to marry that guy,” Elle remarked over the cappuccino we were sharing. With our ragtag furniture, it seemed odd for us to have a high-end espresso machine. But this was just one benefit of being in the restaurant business. I always got my brother’s and Griffin’s castoffs.

“You seem pretty sure of yourself,” I said, constantly amazed by the female species that I was technically a part of.

“I am, Bailey. Robbie is definitely going to come back for more of this.”