Riley groaned as Jasmine yanked her in for a hug. “Fine. Get in here.”
“Wilhelm! Take a picture of us!”
* * *
Riley letherself be talked into a pair of jeans that really did make her butt look like it belonged on the cover ofNice Butt Magazine, dress pants that, when paired with heels, made her legs look like they were a million miles long, and not one but two crop tops.
She drew the line at the denim jumpsuit.
“I’m not going to panic about my credit card balance,” Riley chanted in the back seat of the limo as she twisted open the ice-cold fancy water Wilhelm had left in the cup holder. Smart man going with a clear liquid this time.
“Lunch is on me, ladies,” Sesame announced. “Where should we go?”
While Sesame and Jasmine discussed lunch options, Riley checked her texts.
Nick: How are you feeling? Are you resting?
Riley checked the tracking app on her phone and made sure he wasn’t texting her at home just to catch her in the lie.
Riley: Feeling better, thanks.
She paused and bit her lip. Then fired off a second text.
Riley: We should talk tonight.
“There’s a sushi place in Mechanicsburg that has thebestseaweed salad,” Jasmine said.
Sesame bounced on her seat and clapped her hands. “Ooooh! I love seaweed! But you know, we can’t go for sushi looking like we just left yoga class.”
“Fashion show! Fashion show!” Jasmine chanted.
While Wilhelm raised the privacy divider and headed in the direction of sushi, the three women in the back seat pawed through shopping bags and wriggled into new outfits.
None of them noticed the black SUV that followed them.
* * *
Riley feltlike one of the cool kids walking through a high school in slow motion when Wilhelm pulled up in front of the restaurant.
“Your boobs look hot,” Jasmine told her.
“Really?” Riley skimmed her hand over her new low-cut sweater and high-waisted jeans. On the way, Jasmine and Sesame had whipped out their purse inventory of dry shampoo and makeup and worked their magic on her. “You’re the one who looks like you just got off your own private plane.”
Jasmine was wearing leather leggings and a sapphire-blue funnel-neck sweater. Her hair hung in a glossy waterfall from her high ponytail.
Not to be outdone, Sesame was in a new blush-pink business suit with a lacy, high-necked bra instead of a shirt.
Kanagawa was a tiny sushi joint in a nondescript storefront on the main street. But inside, a sushi-making genius created works of art on plates.
Every head in the restaurant swiveled in their direction.
“We’re so overdressed,” Riley whispered in mortification.
“There’s no such thing. You dress to suit your mood and personality. If your outfit is better than everyone else’s, then that’s their problem, not yours.”
Riley watched her strut up to the gawking teenage server and point to a corner booth.
“I feel like everything she says is just a tiny bit bullshit mixed with a pinch of bizarre motivational poster,” Riley whispered to Jasmine.
