Page 46 of All Our Nevers

“Shut up, dumbass. I’m networking over here.” I throw a marshmallow at my brother before turning back to Owen. “Wait, so can I really come?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll text you the details.”

“Okay.” My face relaxes into a smile against my will. This could be perfect. A great opening. Exactly what I need and easier than I could have imagined. “Thank you so much.”

He tilts his head towards me in surprise. “You’re… welcome? I’m sorry, I just never expected to hear those words from your mouth.”

I chuck an empty plastic cup at him and call him a dickwad, but I’m still smiling.

11

Lia

Owen: Hey

Owen: The party’s July 15th at the Intercontinental

Owen: It starts at 7 but we can be late

Lia: what about dress code

Owen: Formal

Lia: what are your female friends wearing

Owen: Bold of you to assume I have friends

Lia: ha

Owen: Pick you up at 7?

Lia: nope. ill meet you there

Owen: Fine

Clothing is not only self-expression; it’s armor.

Of course, armor is only as effective as the weapon it's matched against in battle. So, as I get dressed for tonight’s party with Owen’s law firm, I make some broad, sweeping generalizations about the kinds of weapons and battles I’ll be facing tonight.

Battle Number One: Rich people who only like other rich people. This is pretty easy to navigate—just wear something that looks expensive. Well-fitted silk or satin should do it.

Battle Number Two: A museum director who probably values artistic expression only within the confines of respectability politics. This is a bit tricker but not impossible. Whatever I wear will have to be relatively conservative in terms of cut, fit, and neckline, but still have some interest in the color or design.

Then—both last and least—Battle Number Three: my best friend’s annoying older brother.

Manipulating Owen to my will is going to be a critical part of today’s battle strategy. Fortunately, since he’s a sleazeball, he shouldn’t be hard to push around as long as I’m in something sexy and slinky.

Analysis complete, and I’ve got just the dress.

When my Uber pulls up in front of the venue, Owen is waiting on the curb in a charcoal gray suit, white shirt, red tie. Perfect. He looks up from his phone and spots me and for a moment—just a flash—he forgets to control his expression. Awe slackens his features.

I knew this dress would do the trick.

Picture it: true crimson, floor length, a slit on the left that’s just high enough to be sexy without being too much, the satin hugging every single curve and plane of my body. The neckline is high, skimming the bottoms of my collarbones, but the back is where it really shines. A deep cowl skims the middle of my back, hair pulled up to reveal the expanse of smooth skin there. Pair it with gold earrings and gold stilettos and the look is objectively flawless.

Owen’s pupils blow wide as his gaze drags down my body, snagging slowly on my chest, my waist, my hips.

I would be pissed if it wasn’t exactly the reaction I had in mind.