Page 272 of Manhattan Bossholes

“It’s for a new production,” Stacy said.

“The steampunk thing?”

“No. It’s some jazzy Hollywood club whatever.” She waved off the explanation. “It’s got this big glamorous nightlife scene. Thought you could take it on a test drive for me.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “See what Trent thinks of it.”

Trent was picking me up at seven. That left me about an hour to get ready. I’d already spent far too long standing in my own closet lamenting the fact that I had nothing to wear, before Stacy had come to my rescue, insisting that she had just what I needed. And damn if she hadn’t been dead on the money.

“Well?” Stacy said, shoving the dress into my hands. “What are you waiting for? Go try it on!”

“Okay, I’m going,” I said, laughing as she ushered me down the hall and into the bathroom. I shimmied out of my clothes, a little worried I wouldn’t be able to get the dress on. A lot of the wannabe actresses she designed for were waifish to the extreme. If that was the case with whoever this dress was for, I was going to have some trouble getting my boobs in the dress. Never mind my hips and ass.

But as I slid into the dress, the fabric shifted against me like a glove, just stretchy enough to accommodate my curves. I popped the bathroom door open before Stacy could bash it down. She twisted me around, tugging the zipper up, then looked over my shoulder. We both stared at my reflection in the mirror as I turned back and forth, the light catching the sparkles in the fabric.

“That is so your color,” Stacy said proudly. “I knew it. Trent’s eyes are gonna bug out of his head.”

“Stacy,” I muttered, a little self-conscious even as I acknowledged how good the dress looked on me.

“What? Your boobs look amazing.” She took a step back. “So does your ass, for that matter. God, I’m good.”

I turned around. “It’s almost like you should get paid to do this,” I teased.

She placed her hands on my shoulders. “Now the most important question of all. What are you doing with your make-up?”

“Oh…” I hadn’t thought about it. I usually just swiped some mascara across my eyelashes in the mornings. “Something simple I guess.”

“In this dress?” She cackled, hooked her arm through mine, and led me back to her bedroom where she had a large make-up vanity. She gestured with her hand. “Sit.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Don’t look so concerned,” she said, pulling open a drawer. She had more eyeshadow palettes than I had power tools. “How do you feel about a smokey eye?”

“Holy shit,” Stacy said a half hour later, holding my face in her hands and inspecting her handiwork. “I’ve even impressed myself.”

I twisted around on the stool, taking a long look in the mirror. Wow. She’d definitely embraced the smokey eye, adding a dark lip to match.

“What do you think?” Stacy asked, dancing at my side like an older sister sending me off to prom.

I tilted my head back and forth. My curls were behaving for once in their life, and the make-up played off the dress perfectly. I had to admit I looked damn good. Hopefully, Trent would think so too. “If costume designing doesn’t work out, maybe you can become a make-up artist.”

My phone started buzzing on Stacy’s bed.

“Is that him?” she asked.

I jumped to my feet, snatching it up. “He’s downstairs.”

“Okay, go, go!” She ushered me down the hall, handing me my purse. I’d brought my own heels and slid them on at the front door. “Don’t keep him waiting.”

I straightened up, smoothing my hands down the front of the dress. “Sure I look okay?”

“You look hot as hell. Now go have a good time. Everything’s going to be perfect.”

“Perfect,” I repeated as she swung the door open and stepped out into the brisk evening. For once, I was actually in the mood to embrace her endless positivity.

“Have fun,” Stacy called after me.

I staggered to a stop on the steps, looking down at Trent standing on the sidewalk outside the brownstone. Sometimes the mere sight of him took my breath away. Oh, the fun I wanted to have with Trent Saunders.

I got a hold of myself, walking down the stairs to greet him, careful not to trip over my own feet as I took in all six-foot-whatever of his perfectly chiseled frame. His dark hair was swept back out of his eyes, tousled in a way that made me want to run my fingers through it.