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She's not wrong. I'm a broken record at this point. I wouldn't say I'm lying, per se. They do look good. More than good, actually. Incredible. Until I check the price tags.
I fumble with the hem, already anticipating the number of digits, but it's no less shocking than the first time I flipped a tag over.
Three-thousand and seven hundred.
Dollars. Not cents.
Thought I'd clarify.
"Did you try on the pumps?"
"Not yet," I sigh, eyeing the bedazzled-pearl shoes lying on the lounge chair. The heels may only stand four inches tall, which is apparently short, according to Mei, but to someone like me, who exclusively lives in Converse or my house slippers, they may as well be the height of skyscrapers.
But I slip them on anyway, then mosey my way out of the stall on wobbly legs. Mei's brows tick skyward, cautious as they were the last time I walked out, as she gives me a look that says, you're doing great, sweetie, but we'll practice later.
Great. I'm a baby deer taking her first steps.
As if my adrenaline wasn't already high enough today. For a multitude of reasons.
First off, we nearly died on the way here. Twenty percent I'll admittedly accredit to my driving. There, I said it. But the other eighty percent lies beneath the hood of Hayden's sports car—if it can even be called that. Spaceship is more like. Or death trap. Yes, definitely death trap, seeing as a single strand of hair draped across the gas pedal sends the machine blazing into the triple digits.
It's short of a miracle we arrived on Fifth Avenue.
Which is a perfect segue for reason number two.
After Hayden left for work this morning, he texted me Go buck wild, then proceeded to list out each and every luxury store I was to buy from, all of which reside on Fifth Avenue and I can hardly pronounce. Again, it's the dessert menu, but taking a different form. Which would've been fine, if I could blend in, just like any other shopper, except Hayden must've called ahead or something, because the moment we stepped through the shiny gates of Gucci, the workers already knew me.
By name.
Well, more so by—
"Miss Brooks!" My personal shopper, Abby, all but drops my next round of clothes, gasping loud enough to turn the heads of others in the waiting room. "You look stunning. Oh my goodness, Carol—Carol," she barks, waving her co-worker over. I catch Mei's eyes rolling to the back of her head. "Doesn't she look dee-vine?!"
"Ohhh, incredible, just incredible," she answers, shaking her head in awe, with dramatic hand motions and everything. You'd think I'm her daughter descending the steps before prom.
When they both disperse, moving on to grab my next round, I release a breath. "Jeez, I'm pretty sure she'd say the exact same thing if I came out in a trash bag."
"Definitely. You're just learning what power a black piece of metal grants a person." Mei smacks on her gum, blowing a large bubble, the act somehow rebellious in such a place. "But she's not wrong." She meets my stare. "You look amazing."
Warmth pools in my center, sweeping me into an unexpected wave of emotions, when I catch my reflection in a mirror across the room. The girl who stares back... I don't even recognize her. And yet... I feel good.
In reality, I may never be the girl who walks confidently into the party, without knowing a single soul there. Not even close. But maybe, just maybe... I could pretend.
"You're serious?" I whisper.
"Very. If this Hayden guy doesn't already want you as his real girlfriend, he sure as hell will tomorrow."
TWENTY
HAYDEN
With Doris out of the office this morning, I've been left to my own devices. Naturally, I haven't done a damn thing. At this point, Elias and his telephone meltdowns are elevator music to my ears. I hum along to its beat.
Given that it's a weekday, so we're not the only souls in the building, I'm vaguely aware of the sideward glances coming from nearby cubicles. Employees peek past my tiny desk, toward my boss's office, exchanging whispers and concerned looks.
I guess he is on a rather impressive tirade, even for his standards, but his shouts quickly fade into the back of my consciousness.
Humming again, I throw in some toe taps and the occasional head bob, then my pencil is off to the races once more. Not filling out this balance-sheet-report-thingamabob-nonsense, but shading in the torso of the man I saw on my drive over here. The reason he caught my eye, you ask? He was wearing a three-piece, solid-brown suit.
