I glance around the store and realize that this isn’t really an off-the-rack situation.
Eileen senses my discomfort and swoops in. “Oh, he justlovedwhat you have in the window. Can we see that on him?”
“Of course,” the woman says, and she steps towards the back.
“Don’t I need to tell her my size?” I whisper to Eileen.
“I think she’s got it covered,” she whispers back.
A few minutes later, the woman calls that my dressing room is ready. I awkwardly try to hand my champagne to Eileen, but she motions that I can take it with me, so I do.
The dressing room is larger than my bedroom was during undergrad. There’s a multi-angle mirror on one side, and the walls are done in gorgeous blond wood paneling. My suit hangs neatly on one wall, and there’s a little table to set things and a chair in the corner.
I set my champagne down and then change. The suit isn’t nearly as restrictive as I expected—there’s room cut into all the key places, and the fabric actually has some stretch to it.
I get all the pieces in-place, then brace myself before I look in the mirror.
I’m happy to humor Eileen, and a little excited to play dress-up, but I think I only like how suits look on other people. People like Morgan. Every time I see myself in one, it just looks…wrong.
So, I take another drink of champagne, then spin towards the mirror.
And… I like it. There’s a casual, breezy quality. It’s sort of artfully loose in places without being fully oversized. There’s no extra bulk at the shoulders, so my silhouette still looks like…mine. I slip a hand in a pocket, and I feel… comfortable. This isn’t a disaster, somehow.
I walk out to show Eileen, and she gasps as I step out.
“Oh mygod, Jamie, that isfantastic. Spin, spin.” She twirls her finger.
I laugh, and shift my weight on my feet to do a little spin without taking a full step—something I picked up in dance class as a teen.
Eileen whistles. “Let me just see something…” She rummages in her bag and produces a small claw clip.
She’s a few inches shorter than me, but she’s also in heels, so I don’t need to bend down for her to step around behind me and pull the sides of my hair back into the clip. Eileen frees a strand to hang by my face, then nods in approval.
It’s the slightest hint of formality, still made breezy by the length and wave of my hair, but it brings the whole outfit together.
“Damn, Jamie.” Eileen folds her arms and nods approvingly. “You lookhot.”
“Really?”
“Really.Pleasetell me you love it.”
“I… yeah. It’s… it’s pretty perfect.” I turn towards the store employee. “How much is it?”
“How much time is it to get tailored, he means,” Eileen cuts in. Then she leans and whispers to me, “Company card, remember?”
The woman glances at the gold watch on her wrist. “We can have it ready by this evening.”
“Fabulous,” Eileen says, and she hands over the credit card.
I lean in beside her. “Isn’t this, like, fraud or something?”
“Jamie,darling,” Eileen says with faux posh accent. “Lookingamazingis a business expense.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “How much of your shopping goes on the company card?”
Eileen puts on an air of offense. “Please, I’m plenty able to buy my own indulgences. But, y’know, if I’ve forgotten a purse or a jacket on a trip here or there…” She shrugs.
She was kind of joking, but I also think she was kind of serious about the business expense thing. I’d have absolutely no reason to need a suit if not for this job. And there’s no way I could afford a suit nice enough to not look stupid around the people Morgan spends time with. Maybe that’s why Morgan’s been permitting my sweaters and jeans—I can actually afford a nice, trendy sweater. I look dressed down, for sure, but not…accidental. This suit definitely doesn’t look accidental.
