I am not letting him ruin this.
Not the resort. Not the mountains. Not the first real weekend I’ve had in what feels like forever that doesn’t revolve around deadlines or school pickup or trying not to have an emotional collapse in a bathroom stall somewhere.
I do my makeup at the bathroom counter slowly, giving myself something precise to focus on. Foundation, concealer, brows, mascara. A soft wash of brown at my lids. Blush, because the mountain air already has me halfway there anyway. Lip gloss.
Then I do my hair half up, half down, curling a few pieces just enough to look like I didn’t try all that hard even though I very much did.
And then I stare at the dress on the bed like it'll will me to gain confidence.
Last season’s black tennis dress.Technically athletic wear, functionally sinful.
I designed it last year for the women’s winter line, and I know exactly what it does. The fitted bodice. The low scoop at the front. The way the skirt skims out just enough over my hips and thighs to make the whole thing flirtier than any piece of performance fabric has a right to be. The sleeves hug all the way down my arms, thumb loops hidden unless I want them.
It is not the sort of thing a woman should wear to a quiet dinner with her boss after fighting about a shared bed, which is part of the appeal.
I put it on.
Then sheer black tights, boots, small gold hoops, and my brown wool jacket over the top so I’m not striding into the dining room looking like I’ve lost my mind completely.
When I look in the mirror, I know exactly what I look like.
I look good.A little unfair, even.And petty. Definitely, unmistakably petty.
But if Grayson Sparkks is going to spend the next forty-eight hours acting like I’m the only difficult person in this room, then he can suffer a little.
I grab my clutch, check my phone, then slip out into the hallway and pull the door shut behind me.
Mandy and Dana are already there.
Mandy is leaning against the opposite wall in a pale blue dress that somehow manages to look slinky and effortless at the same time, while Dana stands beside her in dark green, polished and gorgeous. For a second, I feel underdressed in glorified athleisure, but that's not the point.
The second Mandy sees me, she straightens. “Hell yeah. You trying to kill Grayson?”
Dana smiles warmly. “You look amazing.”
Heat creeps into my face. “Thanks. And yeah, a little.”
“Thank god,” Mandy says. “I was worried tonight might be boring.”
Dana rolls her eyes. “I'm happy you were here regardless of whether you're trying to stress out Gray or not.”
“Me too,” Mandy says. “We needed another woman with taste.”
I laugh, but it comes out thin, the exhaustion and irritation still there under everything else from the argument with Grayson, buzzing just under my skin.
Mandy’s eyes sharpen immediately. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Just—new place, long drive, you know.”
Mandy stares at me for one long second, studying me, and it feels like she can see every little thing I'm not saying without it even coming out of my mouth.Then, without a word, she reaches into her little purse and pulls out a silver flask.
“Oh my god,” I rasp, the words half breathy chuckle.
Dana starts laughing immediately. “Whatisthat?”
“I bring solutions where I can.” Mandy unscrews the cap and holds it out to me. “Hallway shot. Doctor’s orders.”
“I'm ninety percent sure Jackson said you did interior design, not medicine,” I laugh.
