"Nine o'clock means nine o'clock," Jenna declared, standing in Luka's doorway the next morning, two takeaway coffees in hand. She looked impossibly fresh for someone who'd been up late at a promotional event—black jeans, an oversized cream sweater, and sunglasses perched atop her head.
Luka, still blinking sleep from his eyes, took the offered coffee with a grateful nod. "I thought you might have been joking about the shopping."
"I told you," she replied, brushing past him into the apartment, "I don't make promises I can't keep."
Klaus materialized in the hallway behind her, his expression as impassive as ever. "The car is ready, sir."
"Give me five minutes," Luka said, hurrying toward his bedroom. He paused, turning back to Jenna who was now examining his sparse living space with open curiosity. "Are you really sure about this?"
Jenna took a deliberate sip of her coffee, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Luka Zorić, by the end of today, you're going to be trending on every fashion platform in Europe. Trust me."
Fifteen minutes later, they were cruising through downtown Dortmund, Jenna directing Klaus toward the city's high-end shopping district with the confidence of someone who'd memorized a map. From the backseat, Luka watched the exchange with amusement.
"I've been researching," she explained, showing him her screen. "You're more of a streetwear-meets-high-fashion type. Less hypebeast, more elevated casual with moments of dramatic flair."
Luka blinked. "I have no idea what any of that means."
"You will," Jenna promised, her eyes glinting with determination. "By the end of today, you'll be fluent in the language of style."
"Have you been planning this?" he asked, noting the way she rattled off street names.
"Maybe I researched a bit last night," she admitted. "Can't go in unprepared."
The first store was a minimalist boutique with concrete floors and clothing displayed like museum artifacts. The moment they walked in, recognition rippled through the staff—though whether for him or Jenna, Luka couldn't tell. But the next interaction told him who—
"Herr Zorić," the manager greeted, practically vibrating with excitement. "What an honor!"
"We're going to need privacy," Jenna interjected smoothly.
"Of course, of course," the manager nodded eagerly. "We can close the store for—"
"No need," Jenna cut in. "Just a private fitting area."
Klaus positioned himself near the entrance, his imposing presence deterring the small crowd already gathering outside the windows.
"We'll start here," Jenna announced, already pulling jackets from racks with professional efficiency.
What followed was unlike anything Luka had experienced. Jenna moved through the store like a tactical commander, assembling outfits with precision while Klaus occasionally shot Luka sympathetic glances.
"Try these," she said, shoving a stack of clothes into his arms and steering him toward a fitting room. "And no peeking at the price tags."
Luka emerged in slim-cut black trousers and a cashmere sweater that felt impossibly soft against his skin.
Jenna circled him, assessing. "Hmm."
"No good?"
"No, it's..." she tilted her head, "almost. But not quite you."
Back he went, emerging next in dark jeans and a structured jacket that sat perfectly across his shoulders.
"Better," she nodded approvingly. "But we need more... edge."
The third outfit—distressed jeans paired with a simple white t-shirt and an unstructured blazer—earned a decisive, "Yes. That's the one."
"Really?" Luka examined himself in the mirror. "It's so... simple."
"That's the point," Jenna explained, adjusting the collar of his blazer. "It looks effortless, even though it's perfectly calculated. The clothes should enhance you, not overshadow you."
By the third store, they had established a rhythm. Jenna would select pieces, Luka would try them on, and together they'd build a pile of "yes," "maybe," and "absolutely not." The "yes" pile grew steadily larger.
"Your credit card is going to hate me," Jenna laughed as they exited a high-end streetwear store, Klaus trailing behind with multiple shopping bags.
"I don't mind, I should invest in my image," Luka replied with a shrug.
As they moved from store to store, a curious thing began to happen. The initial awkwardness of the changing room runway faded, replaced by a playful camaraderie. Jenna started sneaking in ridiculous pieces—a sailor's cap, a lime green tracksuit, a shirt covered in flamingos—just to see Luka's reaction.
"No way," he protested when she handed him a pair of leather pants.
"Just try them!" she insisted, her laughter infectious.
He emerged from the dressing room walking like a cowboy who'd spent too long in the saddle, and Jenna nearly collapsed with laughter, quickly snapping a photo on her phone before he could protest.
"Delete that!" he demanded, lunging for her phone.
"Never!" she declared, dancing away from him. "This is blackmail material for life!"
In a vintage boutique, they discovered a collection of oversized sunglasses. Jenna placed a particularly outrageous pair with star-shaped frames on Luka's face.
"Perfect," she declared. "You look like Elton John's athletic nephew."
Luka retaliated by finding the largest hat in the store—a wide-brimmed monstrosity that swallowed half her face—and placing it solemnly on her head.
"And you," he announced, "look like you're hiding from the fashion police."
Their laughter drew attention, and soon they noticed phones surreptitiously raised in their direction. Klaus stepped closer, his presence a subtle reminder of the public nature of their outing.
"Maybe we should move on," Luka suggested, suddenly aware of the growing interest.
Jenna nodded, but not before buying both the ridiculous glasses and the enormous hat. "For disguises," she explained with a wink.
By midday, they had accumulated enough bags to fill the trunk of the Cadillac. Klaus dutifully stored each new purchase, his expression stoic despite the growing collection of designer shopping bags.
"Hungry?" Luka asked as they exited a shoe store, Jenna having insisted he needed at least three new pairs.
"Starving," she admitted. "But let's avoid anywhere too public. Your fans are recognizing you."
"There's a place on the top floor of that department store," Luka suggested, pointing to a towering glass building. "They have private dining areas for VIPs."
Over lunch—grilled salmon for him, pasta for her—they scrolled through the morning's purchases on Jenna's phone, planning outfits and combinations.
"We need to document all of this," she insisted, popping the last bite of pasta into her mouth. "Your Instagram needs a serious overhaul."
"You've made that know, multiple times at that." Luka reminded, feigning offense.
"Yep, It screams 'my agent runs this account,'" Jenna replied bluntly. "No personality."
After lunch, they continued their mission with renewed vigor. In a high-end department store, Jenna led him to the formal wear section.
"Every man needs at least one perfect suit," she declared, already eyeing the options.
"I already have a Tom Ford suit."
"Well now you'll have two." She dismissed, burling through the store.
The sales assistant, recognizing them both, ushered them into a private fitting area where champagne and water awaited. Luka declined the champagne with a laugh.
"Strict diet." He explained to Jenna.
"Such a responsible superstar," she teased.
The suit fitting became an unexpected highlight. As Luka stood on the tailor's platform, Jenna directed adjustments with surprising authority.
"Sleeve length needs to be shorter," she instructed. "And let's bring in the waist just a touch."
Watching her in the mirror, Luka was struck by how natural this felt—her confident directions, his willing compliance. They worked together with an ease that belied their short acquaintance.
"You're good at this," he observed.
"Years of styling for photoshoots teaches you a few things," she replied, studying the suit's drape with critical eyes. "Plus, I've dressed plenty of clueless male co-stars."
"Is that what I am? Clueless?" he asked, catching her gaze in the mirror.
"You were," she corrected with a smile. "We're fixing that today."
As afternoon stretched into evening, their energy showed no signs of waning. In a boutique specializing in avant-garde fashion, they discovered matching outfits that sparked an impromptu photoshoot.
"Put these on," Jenna insisted, handing Luka burgundy suspenders to go with crisp black trousers and a tailored white shirt.
She emerged from her dressing room in high-waisted green palazzo pants and a structured white blouse, round sunglasses perched on her nose.
"Bonnie and Clyde vibes," she explained, positioning him beside a display pedestal.
Luka surprised her by producing a toothpick from who-knows-where, placing it between his teeth with exaggerated suavity. "Like this?"
"Exactly like that," she laughed, setting up her phone on a nearby shelf. "Klaus, would you mind?"
The security guard stepped forward with surprising willingness, taking Jenna's phone and following her detailed instructions for the perfect shot. Luka found himself standing on the pedestal, one foot propped higher than the other, a shopping bag slung casually over his shoulder, while Jenna posed dramatically beside him.
"Perfect!" she declared when Klaus showed her the results. "This is going on your Instagram right now."
Before Luka could protest, she had edited the photo, added a simple caption—"Chaos in Dortmund!"—and forced him to post it to his account. Within minutes, likes were pouring in by the thousands.
"See?" she said triumphantly, showing him the rapidly climbing numbers. "This is how you do social media."
By the time they called it a day, the Cadillac was filled to capacity with bags and boxes. Klaus had long since given up any pretense of neutrality, openly smirking as he loaded what must have been the thirtieth shopping bag into the vehicle.
"Where to now?" he asked, closing the trunk with some difficulty.
Luka looked at Jenna, suddenly aware that their day together was drawing to a close. "I should probably get all this back to my place and sort through it."
"I'll help," she offered immediately. "After all, I'm responsible for this chaos."
Back at Luka's apartment, they spread their haul across the living room floor, creating mountains of designer clothing, shoes, and accessories. Klaus bid them farewell with a knowing smile, reminding Luka to call if he needed anything.
"This is insane," Luka said, surveying the sea of bags. "I don't think I've ever owned this many clothes in my life."
"That's the problem with you athletes," Jenna teased, carefully removing a cashmere sweater from its packaging. "All that money and no style sense to go with it."
They spent the next hour organizing, Jenna insisting on creating complete outfits and photographing each one so Luka would remember how to pair pieces correctly.
"Wait," Luka said suddenly, looking up from a shoebox. "What about your stuff?"
Jenna bit her lip. "Mixed in with yours, I think. We got a little carried away."
This triggered another round of sorting, this time separating her purchases from his. The task was complicated by the fact that several items—a vintage leather jacket, a pair of luxury sneakers—could conceivably belong to either of them.
"We should get this to your hotel," Luka suggested, gathering Jenna's items into a more manageable pile. "It's getting late."
"Are you offering to drive me?" she asked, a hint of challenge in her voice.
Luka hesitated only briefly. "Yes. Without Klaus."
Her eyebrow quirked upward. "Rebellious."
"I'm a fully qualified driver," he protested. "Just not technically licensed in Germany yet. Fully"
"Such a rule-breaker," she laughed. "I'm in."
The drive to her hotel was quiet, a comfortable silence settling between them after the chaos of the day. Luka kept his eyes firmly on the road, acutely aware of Jenna beside him, her profile illuminated by passing streetlights.
At the Mandarin Oriental, they managed to transport all of Jenna's purchases to her room in just two trips, the hotel staff discreetly pretending not to recognize either of them.
Her suite was elegant but impersonal, the generic luxury of high-end hotels that Jenna had mentioned the day before. The bags from their shopping spree added a chaotic element to the pristine space, spilling across the plush carpet in a manner reminiscent of Luka's apartment.
"Well," Luka said, setting down the last bag, "I should probably get going..."
He trailed off, unsure of the appropriate goodbye after such an intimate day.
Jenna stepped closer, her expression softening. "I had a really good time today."
"Me too," Luka replied, suddenly aware of how close they were standing. "Thanks for the style intervention."
"Anytime," she smiled. "Your Instagram followers should thank me."
Luka checked his phone and laughed. "A hundred thousand likes already. You were right."
"I usually am," she said with mock seriousness.
A moment of silence stretched between them, charged with possibility.
"I'll see you after the game?" Luka asked. "Or before, when you're back from Berlin?"
"Definitely," Jenna nodded. "I wouldn't miss it."
Luka turned toward the door, ready to make his exit, when he felt Jenna's hand on his arm. The touch was light but deliberate.
"Luka," she said softly.
He turned back to find her closer than before, her eyes meeting his with unmistakable intention. Without a word, she reached past him to push the door closed, the soft click of the latch echoing in the sudden silence of the room.