Chapter 7
Sabrina
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“So what sort of lookare we going for?”
Emmy flips through dresses on the rack with a somber expression, nothing catching her eye. “Something between fun and flirty, and elegant.”
There’s maybe a dozen other women in the store, and one poor guy sitting near the dressing room holding several purses. It’s far more upscale than any store I’ve ever stepped foot in, with a wide array of everything from cocktail dresses to ballgowns.
Heading to the next rack, I start leafing through at random, needing a better sense of direction. “What’s the event?”
“Social mixer,” she responds without enthusiasm.
“Ah, so one of those rubbing elbows and schmoozing deals? Fancy people networking for future investment opportunities and evil alliances?”
Her lip twitches, and just like that, her bitter mood begins to dissipate. “More or less.” She takes on a pensive air, getting a far off look in her eye as she stares at the array of fabric. “I want something that says I’m worth fighting for. Not too seductive, but enough of a tease that keeps someone’s interest so they understand it’s worth being patient.”
My fingers still, realizing that there’s something more going on here than what she’s saying. We haven’t been friends long enough to be hurt that she hasn’t filled me in; hell, there’s so much we haven’t had time to learn about each other, it would take months to catch up on. But I can make sure she understands that I’m here when she’s ready to talk about it, simply by being there for her however she needs right now. And after Cinjin’s teasing comment of how long he expected this to take, it’s clear this is important to her.
“Any certain color?”
Snapping out of her reverie, she smiles quickly. “Nope, but we’ll know the second I try it on if it’s hot or not.”
Pointing to her area, I start walking away. “Then you take this side and we’ll meet back in the middle with anything we find for you to try on, sound good?”
“Sounds perfect,” she agrees.
Turning to where Cinjin is leaning against the wall with his hands tucked in his pockets watching over us, I gesture to the racks. “Feel free to jump in to help in case we skim over a hidden treasure.”
Kicking off of the wall, he saunters over, rolling his eyes. “She’s going to hate anything I suggest; always does.”
I shrug a single shoulder. “Then you know the sort of things shedoesn’tlike. Worst case scenario she puts them back, but it’ll at least give you something better to do than hold up the wall.”
Sighing dramatically, he turns to the closest rack, flicking things aside. As the metal scrape of hangers surrounds us, I lose track of them both while working my way through my section, carefully draping the ones I pick out for consideration over my arm and ensuring they don’t touch the floor. By the time I reconvene with the others, I’ve only managed to find four possibilities, Cin has six, and Emmy only has two.
Ushering us to the changing room, Cinjin takes a seat on the bench beside the guy that’s scrolling on his phone and looking bored to tears. Emmy and I step into a room big enough that three people could easily change in here without bumping into each other, and I shake my head at how easy the upper echelon has it, and likely doesn’t even realize. I’d bet my left kidney that no one in this store has ever had to change in a bathroom stall and pray something doesn’t fall into the toilet.
I hang all of the dresses on the bar running across the right side, a full-length mirror opposite it, and a wooden bench mounted to the wall across from us as Emmy shimmies out of her clothes. We start working our way down the line, quickly and efficiently, already resigning ourselves to an afternoon of store hopping. A few we dismiss before we’ve even finished zipping them up, and another simply for the color, clashing horribly with her skin tone.
“I know you think I’m ridiculous for making such a big deal out of this, but I really appreciate it,” she says, smoothing her hands over her stomach and twisting in front of the mirror before frowning.
Slipping the next one off of its hanger, I snort. “I don’t recall complaining. Yes, poor me, I get to see a hot chick in her underwear and ditch work to shop. The tragedy,” I tease.
Smiling easier, she strips, trading with me so that I can hang the reject back up. “What are you going to wear??”
