Amanda and I went to fifteen stores that evening and the next morning. At one point, my car service dropped us off and drove back to my building to unload - there was no more room in the sedan. In the afternoon, Amanda and I went apartment hunting, and found her a three-month rental, furnished, in a building two blocks north of mine. Instead of dealing with credit checks, we pre-paid the entire three months in cash. We put all of her new purchases away in the closet, and sat down to relax.
In the last week, we had created a new Amanda - she had an apartment, credit cards, a wardrobe, and a biography. I called in a discreet favor with our club's membership director and Amanda became a member of our social club - and the official record had a recently deceased member nominating her. Everything in her apartment was tasteful and exquisite.
The doorbell rang and a deliveryman brought in a rack with about twenty garment bags and a few large boxes. Amanda tipped him well and began to unpack the clothes. The first few garment bags were full of dresses - shiny, tight, slutty dresses. The next few bags had outfits that I had seen Amanda wearing to the office in the last few months. I was surprised to see that the last couple of bags contained conservative business suits. While somewhat cheap looking, they were much more appropriate than anything Amanda had ever worn to the office. She unpacked the boxes, which were mainly shoes. Clear-platform stilettos, strappy sandals, and thigh high boots. But again, the last box contained what appeared to be cheap, but appropriate office heels.
Amanda slid the closet closed, and with her former life behind the door, her polished image was restored. We came back to the office just as the building workers were putting her name on her new office door - my former conference room. She called a temporary service and arranged for a secretary to start in the morning. Amanda had truly become a junior partner, and started to draw up her plans for WTI's acquisition.
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