“But yes,” Calla adds, surprising me with her bluntness. We usually try to be circumspect around clients. “He is.”
Pamela smiles and looks at the mirror again. “I am, too, most of the time. But not everyone agrees, and I don’t want to give anyone attending my daughter’s wedding too much gossip fodder. They need to talk about how stunning my dress is, not that I look like mutton dressed as lamb.”
Heidi coughs to cover a laugh and gets to her feet, picking up the container of pins she’s been using. “Nobody could ever truthfully say that.”
“I like you,” Pamela tells her, then turns to Calla. “Do you make a habit of only hiring intelligent people?”
“Company policy,” my partner replies placidly. “Phil and I need to be surrounded by people we can actually talk to. It’s a moral failing.”
That makes us all laugh, and then Calla goes to get the fabric we’ll be using. When she comes back, a fold of the rich, gorgeous silk hanging loose from the bolt, Pamela’s face changes to smugly satisfied.
“Oh, yes.”
We’ve shown her several swatches of similar fabric, but this is the first time she’s seen our final choice—she’s one of those delightful couture clients who left it in our hands. She does get final approval, which is why we have some backup options, but I knew we wouldn’t need them. Pamela’s got excellent taste.
Calla and I unfurl a few yards of the silk, and with Heidi’s help, we drape it over Pamela’s shoulder to mimic how it will fall when the dress has been constructed. The deep rose-pink brings out the warmth in her skin tone, but the brightness of the oversize aquamarine floral print keeps it from being staid.
I fold a few inches into pleats so she can see how the bodice will sit. “Have you chosen your jewelry yet? The neckline gives you plenty of space for most pieces, but if you have somethingthat will need it to be deeper, we can try.” I’m hesitant to make promises about that—I could lower it maybe another half inch, but more than that would change the fit of the bodice. If she wants to show cleavage—which she said she didn’t—I’d rather redesign than alter.
Thankfully, she shakes her head. “No, this is perfect. I was planning on diamonds, but now… Roger’s grandmother had a lovely pearl-and-aquamarine parure. I’ve never worn any of the pieces, but this dress seems to have been made for it.” She purses her lips. “I’d like another opinion on that. May I send you photos so you can tell me what you think?”
“Of course,” Calla and I say at the same time.
“But pearls sound perfect,” I add. “They almost always look good with this romantic kind of style.”
She studies herself for a moment longer, that same satisfied look on her face, and the thrill of success curls in my stomach.
This is going to lead to good things.
I’m still riding highon the wave of achievement later that evening as I sit on the living room floor, painstakingly arranging sequined appliques on the jeans I’m giving Xera for Christmas. She might be a suit-wearing corporate baddie by day, but she still loves to bling things up when she’s not working. Calla’s got a date with someone she wouldn’t tell me about, so it’s just me, the jeans, and the fashion disasters on TV.
“Whyyyyyy,” I whine, staring at the screen in appalled shock. Desperate for someone to commiserate with, I impulsively grab my phone and text Griff.
Why would anyone put fringe on a sheepskin jacket?
It only takes seconds for him to reply.
CRIMINAL. I want to gouge out my eyes after seeing that.
At least I don’t need to explain.
I guess we have the same taste in TV hahaha. But yeah, it’s so awful. OMG what is that?!
Vomit yellow and fuchsia should never be paired together.
My eyeeeesssss.
We keep that up for a few minutes, trading opinions—both good and bad—until something catches my eye.
See the sleeve flounces on that green top? I don’t hate that, but I would have done it different.
How?
I stare at my phone, bite my lip, then reply
It’d take too long to type it out. Can I call you?
I wait on tenterhooks for him to answer.
