“Right,” Doug said. “The women.”
“I’m an artist,” Cherry said. “This is the art department.”
He rolled his eyes. “This is the design arm of the marketing department. You’re a marketer.”
Cherry turned away from her computer screen to give him the full weight of her distaste. “Am I actually going to get in trouble for having somepanache?”
“No. You just won’t get promoted.”
She folded her arms. “If my panache gets me pigeonholed, I’ll pass on that promotion, pal.”
Doug smirked. Wallace hooted. (Wallace was an easy mark. Cherry could crack him up at will.)
Doug leaned on the top edge of Cherry’s cubicle. His voice dropped, even though Wallace could still hear him. “You should listen to me, Cherry. Everyone around here likes you—but they don’t take you seriously.”
“Because I’m a young woman,” she said.
“Yeah, probably.” Doug was at least honest. “But also because you dress like a cartoon character. This is a railroad—no one values creativity. You make people nervous. If you want a career here, dress like it.”
Cherry wasn’t sure that she did want acareerat the railroad, but she definitely wanted a raise. So she took the note...
Sort of. Cherry was too broke to buy all new clothes. She already had credit card debt, and she’d had to buy a new car when she got this job. She was living close to the bone—she still went to her parents’ house most nights for dinner.
The best Cherry could do with her work wardrobe was rein herself in. She started wearing her clothes in the most boring way possible. Sometimes in the elevator on the way to her desk, she’d look in the mirrored doors and take off the accessory she liked most.
Her goal for this Christmas party was to look unobtrusive. The invitation said “holiday attire.” When Cherry asked Doug what that meant, he said, “For Christ’s sake, don’t wear anything that blinks.Nothing too cute. No Santa hats and what have you...reindeer. Everything in Meg Jones’s house is a neutral color. Just wear black. Do you have anything black?”
“I have some black,” Cherry said. She thought she might, anyway.
Wallace sat back in his chair so that he could join the conversation. “It’s a wild party. Some of the gals around here get kind of...slinky.”
“Some of thewomen,” Doug corrected.
“Right.” Wallace looked ashamed. “The women.”
Doug pointed at Cherry. “Don’t you dare wear anything slinky. And don’t get drunk, either of you. For Christ’ssake.”
On the night of the party, Cherry put on a pair of very boring, very plain black jeans and a plain black V-necked sweater. In her normal life, she would never wear these two pieces together. She felt like a theater tech. For jewelry, she wore only her gold heart locket. (She always wore it when she needed some luck—it was a gift from her mother with her sisters’ baby pictures inside. It folded out into a four-leaf clover.)
The only interesting part of Cherry’s outfit was a pair of black leather, calf-length boots withperfectheels—three and a half inches, not quite stiletto but definitely not stacked, with the sexiest little curve. They made Cherry feel like a cartoon character in agoodway. Like Jessica Rabbit from the ankles down. (This line of thinking was the reason Cherry had credit card debt.)
The vice president of public affairs—Meg Jones—lived in one of the wealthiest parts of town, a suburb where the houses looked actually built, not 3D-printed. The house had a two-lane circular driveway, like a hotel. Cherry parked her used Hyundai at the end of a long line of black SUVs. (Railroad execs drove the same cars as rappers.)
She was late. She hadn’t wanted to be one of the first people here. Meg Jones was nice, but very intimidating. Cherry couldn’t tell how old she was. She wore Michael Kors suits and looked like she had her hair highlighted strand by strand. Her face didn’t have a single line.
Cherry hiked up to the double-sized front door and then couldn’t decide what to do next. Did you knock at a big party? She didn’t thinkshe should just walk in. There was Christmas music playing inside. She decided to ring the doorbell. A minute later, the vice president herself opened the door.
That’s when Cherry realized her mistake.
Meg Jones was wearing a long, sparkly red dress. Like a prom dress. Even fancier—like a ball gown.
Cherry’s mouth fell open, and she couldn’t close it.
“Cherish!” Meg Jones said. (It saidCherishon all of Cherry’s work documents.) “Thank you for coming.”
She opened the door, and Cherry stepped inside. Just past the entryway was a huge room with a cathedral ceiling. It was decorated with real greenery and tiny white lights, and it was wall-to-wall rich people in fancy clothes. Men in suits. Women in red-carpet-worthy dresses.
“Thank you for inviting me.” Cherry mechanically held out the bottle of wine.
