Full Summary: Sakura has what every twenty-two-year old only dreams of; a penthouse flat in the centre of NYC (but she wishes she lives in a mansion), a wardrobe filled with designer clothes (but she wishes she had more), and a good job. But she wishes she had a better job. And she also wishes she hadn't spilt cappuccino all over that hot guy she met a few minutes ago…
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Disclaimer: This plot is loosely based on the "Shopaholic" series. I don't own CCS or the Shopaholic series.
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Hello everyone! I'm back! lol.. I hope you enjoy this fic…
Please leave some reviews, and feel free to leave any constructive criticisms or suggestions! Thanks!
Update: The sequel, Shopaholic Walks Down the Aisle, has been updated!
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Update 2 (June 15th, 2007): I'm going to edit all of this story's chapters. I started a few minutes ago, but logged me out and I lost my edited chapter... so here I go again... I'm not going to start revising right now, because I'm pretty sure I'll write out the entire story over again if I start. So, just the editing for now, since I found so many hilarious yet not hilarious typos...
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In the Shoes of a Shopaholic
-Chapter 1– Shopaholic… OUT!
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OK. DON'T PANIC. Don't panic. It's going to be alright. Act cool. Be myself… whatever. Just don't flip out. It's only a mere coincidence…
So I take a deep breath and hastily reach inside my French Connection carrier bag to take out a neat piece of paper. My eyes scan through it determinedly.
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Black trendy miniskirt - $109.99
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I glance back at the huge, colourful sign in front of me – All FCUK, Guess and DKNY clothing and merchandise 20 percent off. Quick – what's 20 percent of 109.99? I try to calculate inside my head...Oh well, it's obviously cheaper! I quickly read my receipt one more time – at the bottom, there is a huge, bold phrase – NO REFUNDS.
Not cool. Damn. Great. Shit.
I bought this skirt at Holt Renfrew, but I just found out that another boutique is having this fab sale!
I totally got ripped off.
Wait – even if I got ripped off on this very cute, sexy, attractive, trendy skirt, I could find something to match it in this sale! A total bargain! I mean, it's not everyday these brand names are on sale. I'll just save money by spending more! Brilliant.
Wait… No… Tomoyo would kill me. Murder me with her sewing machine then bury it with me under her own pile of designer clothes. There's enough, I tell you… But then again… I could always say that I got it as a gift… Or… Oh! Say that I've always has it in my closet! I mean, she doesn't keep track of every single thing I buy!
Probably.
Maybe.
Possibly...
Hopefully not…
Oh well, I shrug. And thirty minutes later I step out of the boutique with a huge smile and three more bags – each with a stylish design that makes me feel like a star. But these are all investments. I would have spent at least $5000 if I just bought it. And I feel… as if I've just woken up after the perfect sex with the hottest guy.
Oh... I don't know! It's just pure pleasure. Anyways, I've only spent $769 – and it's not even the end of my lunch break.
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I'm now behind my circular desk at the centre of the lobby in the building of Fashion Daily magazines. I hide my shopping bags under my oaken (and untidy) computer desk and sit down to powder my nose. Looking at my reflection on my mirror, I smile. My new Chanel earrings flatter my auburn hair perfectly. I've just had them cut by my Tomoyo's personal hair stylist, and now it's up to my shoulders. I put my mirror away, cross my legs and look around in boredom.
I honestly love being in the centre of the lobby; I see everyone, they see me. My desk is circular, and has a counter that has my name board on it. So it's like I'm on the stage of beige tiles.
Oh, I'm Sakura, by the way. Sakura Kinomoto. I'm the twenty-two year old secretary for Fashion Daily, a magazine branch that's honestly not the most popular, but isn't that bad. Well – I only took the job because they practically begged me to.
…Well, they sent me a mail that read: We would appreciate your position as our secretary for as long as possible. That's basically begging, isn't it?
I stop my trail of thoughts, smile and wave at my security guard friend, Tom, who's just gotten back from his own lunch break. His white uniform, topped with a matching hat that reads security, suits him well, I admit. I adore him; he's such a good friend!
"Here's your cappuccino," he says with a grin, handing me a Starbucks cup. See what I mean?
"You're the best!" I giggle, taking the warm cup gratefully. And I stop, seeing someone who catches my eye.
I start from the shoes; always the shoes. Oh shit. They're those Prada ones I was dying to get! The classy, black, high-heeled ones! Damn. My emerald eyes flicker in annoyance as I see two long, tanned legs and a expensive-looking skirt and jacket. Oh shit. She's pretty. She has huge Chanel sunglasses holding her perfect blond hair back, her blue eyes glittering. Literally.
Oh man. I think I'll name her… Blond Bitch Longlegs. Oh. This is what I do everyday… judge people's outfits and give an appropriate nickname. I'm doing them a favour, really. Hey – I should start my own show, where-
"KINOMOTO!" a loud, impatient voice roars behind me, causing me to flinch. Tom scurries off towards the entrance, flashing me a look of sarcastic fear. I grin weakly at him before turning to my boss, putting on my attractive smile, finished with a cherry Dior lipstick.
"Yes, Mr. Stewart?" I ask sweetly. Shit. He looks mad.
"You're supposed be up in the conference room… You're already ten minutes late," he growls.
I gulp to stop myself from retorting, "But I had to stop and shop!" Instead, I just mumble, "Oh… yeah, I know. I was just… collecting my papers." Which is entirely true... until I decided to have an early lunch break to cool off before the meeting. I click and type away at my computer professionally, and print a few pages. Then I hastily gather my folders and pens, my cappuccino and my purse, of course. I scurry towards the elevator before he says anything else.
I fix myself up in the mirrors around me, posing a model-like pose for fun. I stop abruptly as the lift comes to a halt, reaching the fifth floor. As I step out, I'm totally covered in my papers – folders flapping in my face, my cappuccino nearly slipping out of my hands, a pen in between my teeth and my Gucci purse safely on my arm.
I blindly sprint across the tiled floor as fast as my high heels can take me. But suddenly I hear a loud noise, feel a pang of pain, and begin to see stars. Hmm… stars?
Before I know it, everything's flying out of my hands – except my purse. And a tall man in front of me has caught my arm, preventing me from falling. I realize he's covered in my papers, and to my horror – my cappuccino.
There is silence as I stare blankly up at him, my mouth slightly open. Okay – really open. But he is the hottest… sexiest guy I have ever seen… even if he's drenched in coffee. It actually matches with his hair a bit. Oh God, his hair. Messy, chestnut-coloured hair. And his handsome facial features, striking amber eyes, an expensive-looking suit over his visibly well-built body… And I've spilt coffee on him. All over his fucking suit and hair.
Shit.
For a moment, it seems as though he'll give me a big smile and say, "No big deal! It's just coffee, nothing poisonous!" and start laughing heartily, and maybe even give me a big hug of reassurance. But instead, his handsome face scrunches into a fierce scowl. "What the hell… it's just not my fucking day…" he mutters furiously. Totally ruins the picture. He roughly lets go of my arm, causing me to stumble for balance.
Suddenly, a tall, muscular man with a striking resemblance to Tommy Lee Jones in Men in Black appears with a hankie… I mean handkerchief. Before he can choke and murder me with it, I quickly apologize and run into the conference room, sheltering myself behind the maple doors.
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I should have run home.
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A few minutes later, the hot, coffee-covered guy reappears with a new suit, and is introduced by my boss. As he does so, I feel like knocking my head with my clipboard and snapping the whole table in half. But of course I don't. Instead, I gape at the guy.
Apparently "Mr. Syaoran Li" is the head of the number one company that manufactures, publishes and distributes almost all of the magazines in the States! He's also is in charge of most photo shoots for most magazines in the country! And if that wasn't enough, lately he's been getting into other industries because he's gained so much money and fame. I hear whispers around the room, saying that he's only twenty-four and all. Only two years older than me? Wait. And I spilt coffee on him.
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Oh damn.
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He's rich enough to hire a whole mafia crew to kill me and bury… no, drown me in Niagara Falls, isn't he! Then my corpse will be found in Canada, where there will be investigations for my murder, and he'll be contently sipping some rich posh shit in his mansion. Okay. I've got to stop watching those exorcism movies… and the Minority Report. But Tom Cruise is just so… Ugh! I'm getting off topic! I scream inwardly.
I realize that a presentation has already begun as I was thinking to myself, and I try to focus on the paper in front of me. But before I put my pen to my paper, a voice suddenly calls out to the room.
"Excuse me, the girl with the Gucci handbag – What's her name?" There is silence. I look at my purse. Oh shit. To my horror, I find myself staring at Mr. Syaoran, along with everyone else in the room. (Including the Tommy Lee Jones wannabe.)
"Oh- This is Sakura Kinomoto, our secretary!" beams Mr. Stewart in a tone that suggests that I'm a product, he's the seller and Mr. Li is the highest bidder.
"Right. Sakura, do get me a cup of coffee – double milk, one sugar," he says smugly, smirking at me. My eyes grow wide – he's ordering me for room service? I open my mouth to retort, but catch Mr. Stewart's stare in time. I reluctantly agree, cursing inwardly.
I quietly slip in minutes later, give Mr. Li his coffee and turn to head back to my seat. But he turns to me. "Hey, Sakura, change of mind. I want some tea. Jasmine," he smiles innocently at me, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement.
"We don't have any jasmine tea, sorry," I whisper through a forced smile.
"Well, I know for a fact that Starbucks across the street sells the tea bags," he shrugs.
I bite my lips in fury. "Listen, I am not your maid-"
"That suit cost me only about five grand. I was doing you a favour, letting you do some favours for me to make it even… but if you'd rather pay for my suit…" he smiles.
Damn. He's got me. So I give him a very forced smile and storm out of the room.
Hey – with five grand, I'd be shopping at some trendy boutique, not giving it to some smug, arrogant, fucked up, rich bastard. And throughout the entire meeting, he makes me sit behind him, frequently asking me to fetch some crackers, cakes for his bodyguard, a pen, a piece of paper to make a fucking airplane, and all sorts of shit! What kind of businessman makes an airplane during a meeting?
By the end I'm panting, my Gucci bag dangling from my hand and my hair windswept. I see Mr. Syaoran shaking hands with all the people in the room before coming to me. He smiles and pats my head, as if I'm some child, and says, to my uttermost horror, "Thanks for your hospitality, Sakura. I will visit more often, just for you." I manage to grin stupidly before finding the courage to storm towards the elevator before he can catch me.
I hastily goto my desk, pick up all my bags and exit the building as quickly as I can. At the stairs, Tom looks up from the ground he was examining and beams at me. "Hey, Sakura, want a ride? I'm going in about ten minutes." I look up at his bright face and grin. His dark hair's hidden under his security hat, making him look as if he's a little boy playing police.
"I'd really appreciate it, Tom!" I say brightly. At least this guy isn't like that…person. But before I can say more, someone behind me pats my head. Tom looks up at the person, frowning.
Oh shit. It's Syaoran Li. And he's going to murder me… "Hey, Sakura," he gives a overly cheery grin that's almost like Tom's. "I've decided to give you a ride home!"
"Huh? But… I… Wha-? But Tom is…" I stammer, confused as I stare at him then at Tom, and then back again.
Syaoran smiles again and he stuffs a wad of bills into Tom's hand. "Here you go, Tom; keep up the good work." I can't think straight.
"Tom! Quick! Do your job! He's gonna kidnap me, then hire some mafia to slice me up, then drown me in Niagara-"
"Don't be such a drama queen," laughs Syaoran heartily as he catches people staring at us with odd expressions. He pushes me rather roughly towards his awaiting black car. I start walking very awkwardly. The Tommy Lee Jones wannabe takes my bags and puts them in the trunk before opening the door for me. So he's a chauffeur, too. I wave nervously at Tom before stepping into the car. Tom still has that puzzled look on his face, his mouth slightly open. And as the car takes off, my stomach ties into a tight knot.
"So, where do you live, Sakura?" asks Syaoran, still in his overly-cheery tone. Oh my God. He's really going to murder me. He's trying to find out where I live so he can send a message of grief to Tomoyo, my flatmate, or something after I'm dead, so people won't suspect him or anything! I don't want to dieee...
My phone begins to ring, causing me to jump slightly. I answer in a flash. "Hello? Oh, speak of the devil… hey!" I grin as Tomoyo, my best friend greets me. Tomoyo is really pretty and rich, and she doesn't have a job, since she doesn't need it. Lucky b… Wait, that's too harsh. Lucky bird.
"Guess what! Remember that dinner we talked about having tonight?" comes her songlike voice.
"Yeah?" "Eriol's invited his best friend over! So it'll be best friends all around!" she exclaims.
"Oh… cool," I manage, my stomach still knotted as I feel Syaoran's gaze on me.
"It'll be so romantic… me and Eriol and you and his best friend! Ahh…" she sighs happily.
"Sure… I mean, if he's sexy, hot and rich," I grin.
"Talking about me?" smirks Syaoran. I ignore him.
"Listen, Tomoyo… I gotta go… I… I'm with…" I'm about to say murderer, but change my words just in time, "…someone. See ya." I hang up before she can ask me anything.
"A friend of yours?" Syaoran asks, still smirking. I stare at him. Oh my God. Is he planning on killing Tomoyo, too? But she didn't spill coffee on him! I mustn't say anything. Just in case.
"Just an… acquaintance," I manage. He looks at me, that smug amusement still present in his eyes. "Make a right here, then keep going straight until you see a building," I say to the Man in Black. Syaoran smirks once more.
"So, Sakura, I realized that you had quite a number of bags. Fun shopping?" I'm about to say gleefully, "Yes!" but I mustn't. Instead, I nod. This is my killer.
Oh, sod it. I've got to stop overreacting. May be he's just interested in me. What? That's not right. It's the Syaoran Li. Wait, then why is he here? Oh shit. May be instead of killing me first, he wants to… Surely he doesn't… Want to fuck me? Rape me?
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Oh damn.
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The car comes to a stop. "Is this it?" asks Syaoran amusedly as he watches my expression change with my thoughts. "Yes, it is," I reluctantly reply before stepping out of the open door, thanking the Guy in Black as he hands me my bags.
Syaoran steps up behind me, his hands in his pockets. "So… lead the way," he says.
"What?" I stare him, dumbfounded. "Are you serious!" I exclaim.
Oh shit. He really wants to fuck me. He looks at me for a moment before smirking maliciously. "You know – the only girls I sleep with are the ones who can respect me and not spill coffee all over me. You, unfortunately, don't fall into any of those requirements."
At this I snort ungracefully before shakily rushing towards entrance to my building.
Man, it's a long ride up. Why did I ever choose a penthouse? Well, I really didn't choose… Tomoyo did. As the elevator stops, I quickly walk towards my door, stopping at it. I turn to him and he looks down at me. Oh God, those eyes… No! Sakura, you must focus!
"You're not coming in," I manage to say defiantly.
His amber eyes flicker wickedly. "Oh, I definitely am," he replies huskily.
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Wait. Huskily? Huskily? Wickedly? I'll pass out.
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He reaches behind me, drawing closer to me and his hand resting against the door. His smirking face nears mine, and I can't help but squeeze my eyes shut... But the door behind me opens unexpectedly, causing me to fall right back and land on my backside, facing Syaoran. And to my horror, he starts to laugh.
Wait. He's not even looking at me. But he's looking straight ahead. Getting up from the tiled foyer, I look in his direction, and as my worries and thoughts are cast aside, I can't help but giggle too. Tomoyo and Eriol are making out on the black couch, Tomoyo's apron being the only thing covering her up. They both blush furiously before disappearing to change. In split seconds, they've changed and recovered, and are right in front of us.
Tomoyo giggles and hugs me in greeting, and from the corner of my eyes, to my surprise, I can see Eriol grinning at Syaoran, who hugs him like an old friend. Syaoran Li? Friendly?
"I've heard you've been quite busy, Syaoran?" Eriol slaps his shoulder.
"Yep, going here and there," replies Syaoran in a very warm tone.
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Wait. No. Shit. No. Fuck.
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The best friend… The best friend I'm supposed to hook up with… is… HIM?
Oh, hell no.
"Sakura?" Tomoyo's voice comes from far away, fading out as I become dizzy. I see Syaoran's amused face just as I black out.
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I think that… just may be… I may have passed out…
Just may be.
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