The Personal Shopper's Package
"Renata shops for people who can afford not to. When a wealthy widower hires her to refresh his wardrobe, she discovers some clients need more than clothes."
Style By Renata serves Atlanta's elite.
I shop so they don't have to—finding pieces that transform closets and confidence. I'm Renata, fifty-seven, curator of first impressions.
"I need everything."
The client is distinctive. Marcus Webb—widowed a year ago, apparently wearing the same five suits since.
"Everything?"
"My wife used to..." He pauses. "I don't know how to dress myself."
His closet confirms it.
Expensive but dated. Things his wife chose, frozen in time.
"We're starting fresh," I decide.
"Is that necessary?"
"You're wearing grief." I touch a ten-year-old tie. "Let me dress you in something else."
The process takes weeks.
Measurements, consultations, careful building of a new wardrobe. He's a good client—attentive, trusting.
"Why do you do this?" he asks during a fitting.
"Because clothes change how people feel." I adjust a lapel. "And everyone deserves to feel good."
"Even people who forgot how?"
"Especially them."
The transformation is remarkable.
New suits, casual wear, everything updated. But something remains unchanged.
"You look incredible," I say at the final fitting.
"I feel..." He studies himself in the mirror. "Like I'm pretending."
"Pretending what?"
"That I'm ready to live again." His eyes meet mine in the reflection. "When all I really want is someone to tell me it's okay."
"It's okay, Marcus."
I move behind him, hands on his shoulders.
"Your wife would want you to live. To feel good. To—"
"To what?"
"To find someone." The words escape before I can stop them. "Someone who sees the man underneath the suit."
"Do you?"
He turns from the mirror. "See the man?"
"I see everything." My voice is barely a whisper. "It's what I do."
"And what do you see?"
"Someone worth dressing. Worth knowing." I pause. "Worth more than I should admit."
The kiss happens in the fitting room.
Between the suit racks, surrounded by his new wardrobe.
"This is unprofessional," I manage.
"Fire me as a client." He pulls me closer. "Hire me as something else."
His penthouse is new, decorated by someone else.
But the bedroom feels like him—the him I've been uncovering.
"Undress me," he says.
"That's usually my job with clothes—"
"Make it your job with me."
I undress him slowly.
Each piece I selected, now removed by my hands. His body is well-maintained, waiting to be appreciated.
"Your turn," he says.
His hands on me are careful.
Learning my curves, my shape—the body I dress others to hide.
"Beautiful," he breathes.
"I usually—"
"You usually help others." He kisses my shoulder. "Let me help you."
His mouth explores thoroughly.
Down my body, between my thighs. When I come, I'm gripping the sheets I didn't select.
"Now," I gasp.
He enters me, and we fit perfectly.
Afterward, in his bed, he holds me.
"I need a new personal shopper."
"Why?"
"Because I'm dating mine." He pulls me close. "And that seems like a conflict of interest."
"Or a perfect match."
"Both." He kisses my forehead. "Definitely both."
Style By Renata gains a partner.
Marcus handles the business. I handle the style. Together we expand—dressing couples, building confidence.
"Conflict resolved?" he asks.
"Perfectly styled."
The wedding outfit is my best work.
He wears a custom suit. I wear a dress that shows everything I usually hide.
"To the woman who dressed my soul," Marcus toasts.
"To the man who let me," I counter.
We kiss while Atlanta applauds.
Some clients need clothes.
Some need more.
And some personal shoppers find that the best package deal includes a lifetime of love.
Custom fit.
Always.