“Your date is taking you to his ex-wife’s wedding. Wow. That means he’s showing you off.”
Neve pressed a hand to her chest. “Me?”
Her confusion was met with a sage nod. “You’re a statement. The evidence he’s got a chance at his own happy ending. And you need a dress that’s going to make a splash.”
“Yeah, about that.” Neve’s shoulders curled in as she took in the assistant’s tiger-print heels. “I’m not really a statement kind of a gal.”
“Let’s see.” The woman gave her a critical appraisal. “I know just the thing. Follow me.”
Neve trailed after, too flustered to argue. Tor wasn’t bringing her to show her off or out of interest. He probably wanted to make a fool out of her.
“Yes, this. This is perfect.” The assistant pulled out a short, intricate scalloped-lace dress in a rich greenish-blue hue.
“But... it’s so feminine.” Neve was scared to even touch it. The colorwasbeautiful, vibrant and lush but classy. If she wore a dress like that she’d be noticed, not as a tough-as-nails reporter but as a sexy woman.
And that thought terrified her.
But another powerful thought took root. She’d like to see Tor try not be tempted by her in this dress.
“With your dark hair and those eyes, and that mouth. Dear lord, your poor date. It’s just not fair. He won’t be able to take his eyes off you.” The assistant swung the dress beneath Neve’s chin and tittered.
Neve stared at herself in the mirror, taking in the unforced compliments and imagining herself wearing it. Misgivings waged a final last stand. “This isn’t my usual style.”
“It should be,” the assistant responded firmly. “You have such bold, classic features. You can pull it off.”
There was no doubt the color suited her. Neve would never have thought in a million years to pick something so bright.
“And remember, you want to keep the makeup simple. With your complexion, that shouldn’t be a problem. You have lashes to die for... Are they natural? And can we talk about your eyebrows? Because yes. So much yes.”
“You mean bushy.” She hated to give voice to her deeply private insecurities. It was so much easier to march around life pretending to be ultra-confident. But what the hell, sometimes honesty was the best policy.
“Those brows are fierce. We’re talkingVogueeyebrows; people pay good money trying to get them. I’m not kidding. There are Facebook ads for eyebrow wigs on my timeline at least once a week. Wear the dress, let your hair down and do loose finger curls, and then treat yourself to a really killer shade of lipstick.”
“Lipstick?”
“Oh, honey.” The assistant’s wince didn’t hurt as much when she rolled her head to one side and gave a kind smile. “I’m going to hit you with some real talk. You’re getting this dress aaaand a few lacey things in our undergarment area. Then I want you to head across the street to that shop over there.” She pointed out the window at a makeup boutique. “Ask for Sally. She’s a friend of mine Tell her that Kendall sent you and she’s to hook you up with Inner Diva.”
“Inner what?”
“Trust me, it’s a lipstick that is bright red with a blue undertone. Perfect for your alabaster skin.”
“I think you meanpasty.”
“Hun, no, no, no. Stop this all right now. This is a No Negative Self-Talk Zone. You’ve got to be unapologetically your own gorgeous self,” she chided.
What a unique idea.
“Remember that you are perfect in every imperfection. Now come take a look at these garter belts.”
The muscles in her throat constricted. “Garter belts?” Well, then. It looked as if she was well and truly crawling out of her rut. If she took away her limits, there was no telling how far she could go.
At least one thing was certain: She’d go into this weekend guns blazing.
Tor Gunnar better hang on to his hat.
Chapter Nine
Life could be one fickle bitch. For months Tor had dreaded attending Maddy’s wedding, but ever since Neve agreed to be his plus-one, the days had crept by at the pace of a narcoleptic snail. No cure existed for this level of restless agitation, except work. With the lockout showing no signs of letting up, he resorted to taking long, punishing runs along the High Line Canal, but even that lung-busting exercise brought limited relief. Same went for the trips to the racquetball court. His sanity—and body—were taking one hell of a beating.
