“Don’t get me wrong, you’re fucking hot. But the red has a slit, making things more accessible.” She, of course, is referring to a knife that I will strap to my right thigh.
We’ve adopted the six P’s.Proper planning and preparation prevents piss poor performance.Which means, even at gala dinners when wearing a tight dress, I’ll be carrying a weapon. It just makes it slightly harder to conceal said weapons.
But I love a challenge.
I look at my reflection. My black hair is tied in a messy bun, but even without a full face of makeup, the dress looks stunning.The black material hugs my figure perfectly, the velvet fabric a long, full sleeve on one side while sleeveless on the other.
“Andrews says I need to make an impression.”
“Well, that’s settled.” She goes to the clothes hanger that is housing all the different dresses that we had picked. She pulls back out the red number. “It’s understated elegance.”
“But it’s red.”
“Which will leave the impression you need and want. I’m telling you, Kara, you walk into the room in this, all heads are going to turn your way. Everyone will be wearing black.” She passes me the red satin material, pouting. “You get all the best sodding assignments. A nice dinner,anda hot guy. It’s not fair. I wish I was Andrews’ favourite.”
I roll my eyes and jump off the stool, taking a sip of my champagne that rests on the white table of the dressing room we have taken over.
“Says the girl who just came back from Vegas.”
“Okay, that was fun,” she admits with a twinkle in her eye. “Plus, I won £3000 on a slot machine with a quarter I found on the floor. That’s what I call winning.”
I stand in front of her as she undoes the zip on the back of the dress. This is the thing about Anya—she knows what I need her to do without saying anything.
I laugh and walk into the cubicle, closing the thick, plush curtains.
“So where is this dinner?”
“7:30 p.m. at Claridge‘s.”
“Fuck me, that’s a nice hotel. No wonder the country is in debt if they are putting on political events in those type of hotels.”
“It’s acharity event. He’s a guest speaker or some shit.” I pull the black dress down, standing in my underwear, before placing it back on the hanger and passing it back through the curtains to Anya.
I take the red dress and step into it, the satin material smooth against my skin. It’s simple in its design, which somehow makes it feel even more luxurious. The neckline plunges just enough to show my cleavage, toeing the line between bold and tasteful. The back thankfully is covered, mostly.
It hides what needs to be hidden.
It clings to my figure and pools behind me. The dress is loose enough so that you shouldn’t be able to see the knife that I will conceal. It will be the only thing that I can have on me, so any incidents will need to be handled…closely.
“Okay, I think you’re right.” I turn around and check the back of the dress. “My only concern is this…” I step out, kicking the tail from under my bare feet, and hop back onto the stool.
“Of course, I’m right.” Anya rolls her eyes and takes another sip of champagne.
I turn round, pointing to the top of the scar that pokes out from under the back of the dress. The skin marked and jagged.
There would be no hiding it.
“I don’t think it’s as bad as you think. I can barely see it from where I am.”
“He will see it,” I mutter to myself, turning back round.
Anya looks at me pensively and frowns. “Why does that matter?”
“Because it opens up questions that I don’t want to answer.”
“He hired you as protection, not as an agony aunt.”
I pull my hair out and shake it, the long, dark tendrils falling past my shoulders. “Up or down?”
