CHAPTER 7
INA
Istared at my reflection in the mirror and didn’t recognize the person staring back.
“Is that really me?” I whispered.
“There’s no filters or special effects on that mirror, kiddo.” The makeup artist, a woman named Gloria who’d been doing this for twenty years and had stories about every celebrity who’d ever set foot in New York, grinned at me. “That wasalwaysyou. I just enhanced what was already there.”
Enhancedfelt like an understatement.
My hair, normally a simple dark brown that I either wore down or in a ponytail, had been transformed into a cascading masterpiece of waves and volume. The blowout was so full and perfectly styled, I was pretty sure it could be seen from space. Maybe from Mars. Every strand fell exactly where it was supposed to, catching the light in a way that made it look like I was selling shampoo instead of a dating app. My luscious locks had never looked so lovely.
And my face was looking fierce as well. Gloria had done something with contouring that made my cheekbones look sharp enough to cut glass. My eyes looked twice their normal size, lined and shadowed in a way that was dramatic withoutbeing overdone. My lips were painted a deep red that I’d never in a million years have chosen for myself but somehow looked right with the total package.
I had sat in the chair for over an hour and knew exactly how much makeup was on my face, but it didn’t look like I was gearing up to be a rodeo clown.
It was classy. Elegant. AndIlooked pretty.
“Alright, gorgeous, time to get you into wardrobe,” Gloria said, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You call Gloria if you need a touch-up.”
The wardrobe room was down the hall, and when I walked in, I found a dress hanging on a rack with my name on it. Not just any dress—thedress. The one that had been made specifically for me after they’d taken my measurements earlier in the week.
I had never had anything made for me.
It was form-fitting in a way that made me immediately self-conscious, a red dress meant to evoke thoughts of hearts and Valentine’s. The neckline was a little daring but not inappropriate. The hem would hit about two inches above my knees. Again, not risqué, but it was still nothing like I would typically pick out.
“I can’t wear this,” I said to the wardrobe assistant, a young woman named Abby who was already pulling out accessories.
“You absolutely can,” she said cheerfully. “Trust me, you’re going to look incredible. Now arms up.”
Ten minutes later, I was standing in front of a full-length mirror, wearing the dress and a pair of heels that were so tall I felt like I needed a safety harness.
I looked like the best version of me.
“Perfect,” Abby declared. “I knew it. You ready, super star?”
“No,” I said honestly.
She laughed. “No one ever is.”
I wobbled out of the wardrobe room in my ridiculous heels. I made it about ten feet before Lucas appeared, took one look at me, and pressed his hand to his chest like he was having heart palpitations.
“Oh my God,” he breathed. “Oh myGod, Ina. You look like a whole movie star. You look like you should be on a red carpet somewhere making everyone else feel inadequate.”
My cheeks heated under all the makeup. “This is way too much. I look like I’m going to the Oscars, not filming a thirty-second commercial.”
“It’sshowbiz,” Lucas teased. “Everything is supposed to be too much. That’s the whole point. We’re selling a fantasy here.”
“But what if people think this is real?” I gestured at myself. “Dane is literally NYC’s Most Eligible Bachelor. What if people actually think we’re dating?”
Lucas laughed so hard he had to lean against the wall. “Oh, honey. No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean no one is going to think you’re actually dating because Dane Kavanagh datinganyonewould require hell to freeze over, pigs to fly, and the fundamental laws of physics to be rewritten. The man is famously, publicly, aggressively single. It’s part of his whole mysterious billionaire thing.”
I frowned. “But he runs a dating company.”
