There was another rap on the door. “How are you, madame?” called Jeanette.

Sinclair opened the door.

Jeanette cocked her head to one side. “Not bad,” she said of the outfit. “You’ll need some shoes with a little jazz to compete. And maybe a little more support in your bra.”

Was Sinclair offended by that last remark? No way. She was starting to like her new image.

“One moment,” said Jeanette.

She returned promptly with a bra, matching panties, a pair of stockings, and some spike-heeled, precarious-looking, rhinestone-studded sandals.

When Sinclair walked out of the change room, she nearly took Hunter’s breath away. The dress was a dream. Well, mostly her body beneath it was a dream. She looked glamorous and stylish, and it only added to her innate class.

“Can you hang on a minute?” he asked Richard Franklin, one of the Osland International lawyers.

“Sure,” Richard responded.

Hunter covered the phone. “Perfect,” he stated to Sinclair.

She smiled and, as usual, it lifted his mood. He found himself thinking about the evening ahead, and tomorrow, and the next few days. What could he show her in Paris? How could he keep her smiling?

He forced himself to switch his attention to Jeanette. “Can you do two or three more like that? And a couple of ball gowns, and some daywear?”

“Absolument.”

“You look fantastic,” he said to Sinclair.

It was a rocky start. But then she reflexively glanced in the mirror beside her, and he could tell by the shine in her eyes that she liked the outfit, too.

“Try to have fun,” he told her.

“I’m getting there.”

He gave her a thumbs-up.

They’d need some jewelry to go with it, of course. But that could be tomorrow’s mission.

It occurred to Hunter that he was probably having a little too much fun at this himself. But he shrugged it off. Dressing a beautiful woman ought to be fun. And if a man couldn’t have fun spending his money, what was the point in making any of it?