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“What’s wrong with my style?” I ask, looking down.
“Nothing!” she trills immediately. “But we can do so much better. So, we get to do formal looks?”
“Not too formal,” I say immediately. “Except, I guess, tonight? The wedding’s at the Met. That means fancy, right?”
“Trèsfancy.” Maya agrees. “And don’t you worry about a thing… I’ve got plans for you…”
“Isn’t that what a serial killer would say?” I quip, nerves rising as she leads
me into the luxurious private shopping suite. I look around, taking it all in. Mere mortals like myself areneverinvited back here. It’s a blush-pink room complete with comfortable couches and big mirrors.
“So! What kind of styles do you like?”
In recent years, I’ve stuck to a kind of uniform: jeans and a cute tee on the weekend, black pants and button-down for PA work. “Low-key. I like to blend in.”
“Blending is for foundation and smoothies.” Maya smiles, daring me to disagree.
Well. That’s clear enough. “Then… I like to be comfortable?”
“Okay,” she says gamely. “What makes you comfortable?”
“… Blending?”
Maya laughs. “Okay. But you’re not playing wallflower with me,” she says, winking. “I’ve got big ideas and a man’s credit card on file.”
Famous last words.
An hour later,Maya has dressed me up in a rainbow of fabrics. Several pairs of stunning heels in my size appeared from the shoe department. She even phoned the lingerie department for a quick consultation. Apparently, I’ve been wearing the wrong bra size half my life. I’m going to have to reassess everything I thought I knew about myself now that I’m a C-cup.
“Okay.” Maya flips through our ‘Yes’ rack. “Lots of great options here.”
“You know, I should really check the price tags,” I try for the tenth time today.
“Nope!” Maya grins. “Not your concern. Now, the last thing with need is your black-tie dress for the event tonight.”
I select a simple black number from the options Maya has pulled. “I’ll cross my fingers on this one.”
I disappear into the fitting room and strip down. I’m stepping into the dress when I hear a familiar voice.
“Hi, there,” he says.
I yelp, covering myself with the dress even though he’s on the other side of a solid door. “Charlie? What are you doing here?”
“I thought I’d pick you up and head straight to the wedding from here. Maya says you have a great selection.”
Of course she does.
I try to yank the dress on, but this damn gown won’t zip over my chest. Clearly, it’s not C-cup material.
I peek out of the door just enough to see them. Charlie’s already in a tux, looking like James Bond’s American cousin. God help me.
“This one is… A no,” I say tactfully.
“How about that one?” Charlie asks, pointing to the nearby rack. He’s looking at the sequined rose gold number. A showstopper of a gown, I would never pick in a million years.
And he doesn’t seem to be kidding.
“I’ve never really been a sparkles person,” I say, and Maya laughs like I’ve made a joke.
