“Date night.”
“I’m aware,” I replied,“but why do I need to leave work early?”
I didn’t tell him it had taken me all week to catch up. Anji hadn’t just kept my business afloat—she’d mitigated some of the damage caused by Blaidd’s sabotage.
“There’s a gala event tonight,” he said.“It could help you network. You’ll need time to get ready and review the guest list.”
I stared at the guard’s phone for a moment.
Since when did he care?
There was more to this invitation than met the eye.
“Fine,” I said, and hung up.
When I turned to hand the phone back, the guard was standing exactly where I’d left him—now wearing a glossy cherry-red sheen on his lips.
“He didn’t protest,” Anji said in her defence, tossing the lip gloss into her top drawer.
I didn't say it because it would only encourage her, but the colour brightened him up.
???
I was assaulted by a team of women the moment I stepped inside the house. Blaidd did nothing to help—his satisfied smirk said it all. The ringleader was a stylist named Natasha, who barked orders at everyone. She reminded me of a crazy-eyed wedding planner. All she needed was a headset to complete the look.
I was bathed, steamed, pressed, and lubricated with body lotion. When I finally lifted my head from the massage table, Natasha rolled in a rail full of dresses.
“I have a favourite, but apparently I have to give you a choice,” she muttered.“You’re the best thing I’ve had to work on all year.”
No pressure then.
She’s a little tense, but I like her, Bouda piped up.
Natasha stepped back as I stood.
“You won’t need much to enhance your eyes,” she said, scrutinising me.“Mm. Those lips and cheekbones are to die for.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off her green ones until she clapped her hands together.
“Get ready for the colour choice, ladies,” she announced, excitement reaching a crescendo.
I sighed as she ushered me toward the dresses.
There were so many colours, but only one glittered under the bedroom lighting. I touched the soft fabric, my fingertips grazing the tiny crystals stitched across the bodice and waist. The lower section was more sparsely embellished, designed to rest gently over my bump.
“I knew you wouldn’t let me down,” she said, plucking the dress from the rail.
“How did you know my size?” I asked as she draped it over her arm so I could inspect it properly.
“Mr Prothero provided me with your measurements, and I made sure there was allowance for your baby bump.”
After that, I did as I was told—and took her business card when she handed it to me.
???
“Wow,” I whispered, glancing at Natasha.
She didn’t look like the same woman. A soft, tranquil expression had replaced her earlier intensity. This woman loved her vocation.
