Mysterious Personal Shopper Novels & Stories

"I saved you a trip. If I left the clothes to burn, you would have to go shopping for him again." A pleasant little shiver runs down my spine. The image of the lethal, brooding assassin wandering through a high-end boutique, picking out soft fabrics and fitted jeans for me, is incredibly appealing. It feeds a weird, twisted fantasy I refuse to analyze right now. A dark, mottled flush creeps up Kirill’s thick neck, visible even under his beard. His hazel eyes flare with a mixture of anger and something distinctly panicked. "I am not a personal fucking shopper," he mutters, turning his head away to hide the color rushing to his skin.

Primary suspect in the Pier 17 "accident." "Valencia Knox," I tasted the name. It felt like cold silk. I scrolled through the data. This woman was a shadow, a phantom who had appeared out of nowhere with enough capital to move my markets and enough precision to blow my shipping lanes. She was a Ghost. But it was the next file that made the air freeze in my lungs. A grainy, long-range photo from a high-end boutique in the city. It showed a woman from the back, her dark hair pinned up, the curve of her shoulder exposed.

Misty strutted out of the boutique with the personal shopper trailing behind, arms loaded with glossy bags. Her heels clicked against the marble floor like a victory march. At her side, Trent’s best friend carried more bags, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. Misty didn’t care if he looked out of place. That wasn’t the point. The point was the bags. The glances from other shoppers. The way the salesgirl’s smile had stretched just a little tighter when Misty demanded the most expensive dress in the store.

Was he the type to freak out if a towel was folded wrong? As she talked, my brain kept drifting. Who was this man? Why was he invisible online? Why did he need a personal maid in the first place? Was he old? A retired businessman with a strict routine? Or young? Maybe one of those reclusive rich men who avoided cameras like the plague? The mystery tugged at me in a way that made me more curious than I wanted to admit.

This is a gift. By 4:00pm, my personal Assistant returned with a confused look. “Sir… the report is strange.” I looked up. “Talk to me.” “Well, the vendor uses a registered business name. No face. No owner photo. No social media presence. No promotional materials. The packaging is always professional…, no logo with a human image, just plain and neat. She delivers early, always on time. But nobody knows who she is.” I raised my brow. “No pictures at all?”

Or if i even wanted to… I stood from the bed and crossed to the massive closet on the other side of the room. It was packed full of designer clothing, all chosen by a personal shopper without me present, since the paparazzi had made shopping an impossibility. Every last article was beautiful, and a lot more revealing than anything i would have chosen for myself.

She glanced at her phone again, noting the text message from Diluc Ragnvindr Neuvillette: “Meet me at 10:00 AM at the office. I have something to discuss.” The previous night had been a whirlwind of emotions. After settling her father’s debt with the help of the mysterious and handsome Diluc, she felt a mix of relief and trepidation. The funds had arrived just in time, but the identity of the benefactor, and the strange circumstances surrounding his help, left her uneasy. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something complicated.

I decided, to drive my car, since this was my personal errand, I did not want to disturb someone. "Good morning, Ma'am." I smiled at the young lady with a slender body, I think, she was my height. I was not used to seeing her here, maybe she was one of the few newly hired. She welcomed me as I went in from the transparent glass door of our boutique in one of the biggest malls here in the city. It could easily notice since the design of this large boutique was completely unique compare to the other boutique in this mall. All the high-end designs and those limited editions that had been sold out online, since many of our customers preferred to buy their fashion clothes and accessories on our o

I despised them almost as much as I despised being woken up from my sleep, I rolled my eyes before looking over at Justin, Justin was a tall lanky guy, three years my junior and completely obsessed with murders. “Rush, it is an extremely high profile case and there’s a lot of second guessing going around, let’s face it the Hudson’s are not short of enemies. They’ve been crawling out from the shadows for some time now.” there was a brief pause where Justin and I gave each other a knowing look, only a person with our experience would know that a person who is missing, is a person of interest. “If a person has nothing to hide, why would they run?” I said to Justin while raising an arched eyebro

I replied smirking at them. "Aaron Malhotra open your fucking mouth right now before I punch you so hard," I nudged glaring at him which made him come out of his dream land. "Everyone meet my mysterious wife, who is mysterious to world. Mrs. Shraddha Aaron Malhotra. The love of my life," he replied grinning. Monkey monster. Jerk. Idiot. Moron. "For how long you both married? How long is your baby?" The same reporter asked who smirked at me.