Jo stood out against the cream-colored couch. Black hair, blacker clothes. Emma wondered what her SAGs dress was like. Jo’s everyday style tended toward grayscale. Simple, no nonsense. At events, though, she was a revelation. People still talked about her light blue strapless ball gown with pockets from the Emmys years ago. Emma was going to have to find something outstanding to fit in with Jo on the red carpet.
“Why are you still in that?” Victoria asked, returning with a royal-blue dress draped over her arm. The color was so spectacular, Emma’s hands itched to reach for it.
“Can’t get the zipper,” Emma said.
“You couldn’t help the girl out?” Victoria grumbled at Jo. She hung the blue dress by the others and came over to unzip Emma.
“I want that one,” Emma said, pointing to the blue gown. Now that it was hung, she could see it fully, high boatneck all the way to the slight train where it was longer in the back.
“You can try it after the red,” Victoria said.
Emma didn’t look away from the blue one. “But I love it.”
Victoria laughed at her but switched the dresses.
Just taking the gown off its hanger made Emma love it more. The material was soft and smooth, cool against her fingers. The back was mostly open, with a thick X of fabric crisscrossing it. The zipper was hidden in the side, and she could get it herself. The fit felt perfect. Emma ran her hands over her hips and couldn’t help but smile.
When she came out of the dressing room door, Victoria shrieked with delight and Jo stared. She just stared at her, blinking a few times, and Emma felt powerful. Her smile grew.
“Oh, baby, that’s it,” Victoria said. “And I haven’t even seen the back, turn around, turn around.”
Emma chuckled. “Let me get in front of the mirrors first.”
It looked as good as it felt. Emma beamed at her reflection. She turned her back to the mirror, and that was even better. It was more skin than she’d usually show, but she didn’t mind since it wasn’t cleavage. She took her hair out of the bun to fall in messy waves past her shoulders.
Victoria whistled. “What do you think?”
“I love it,” Emma said.
“Jo?”
Emma looked at Jo in the mirror. Her boss was watching her, eyes unblinking in a way Emma wasn’t sure was good or bad. Jo glanced at Victoria instead.
“She’ll need heels.”
Emma held in a sigh. She wanted Jo’s opinion on the dress. Jo was right, though—the fabric pooled on the floor. Emma would trip over it without heels.
“It’s pretty damn good, though, right?” Victoria pressed, but Jo stayed noncommittal.
“As long as Emma’s comfortable.”
“You’re hopeless,” Victoria said. To Emma, she added, “What size? I’ll go find you heels. Don’t change into a new dress yet.”
“I don’t need to try on another one,” Emma said. “I want this one.”
Victoria nodded. “Shoe size?”
“Nine,” Emma said, and Victoria slipped away.
In her haste to get into the dress, Emma had forgotten to check the price. She found the tag. Twenty-five hundred dollars. Cheap, comparatively. It was still a ridiculous amount of money for her boss to be spending on her. Jo had a ridiculous amount of money, though, and she could do with it as she pleased. Emma had no reason to turn down a fancy dress. She’d already admitted she wanted this one.
“It’s too much,” she said anyway. “For you to buy a dress for me when I’ll only wear it for one night.”
Jo looked up at her. “It’s nothing,” she said. “I’m inviting you, Emma. I’m not going to make you pay to come.”
“Jo, I—” Emma sighed.
She wanted the dress. She wasn’t even that nervous about having to go to the awards anymore. This dress fitting went better than she expected; maybe the awards would, too. But the idea of Jo spending $2,500 on her put this weight in her stomach she didn’t like.
“Do you not want to go?” Jo asked quietly, not quite looking at Emma.
Emma answered with no hesitation, probably out of habit of making things easier for Jo. “No, I do, I just—”
“It’s settled then,” Jo said. “This dress, yes? It’s beautiful.”
Emma nodded, smiling. “Yeah, boss.”
* * *
—
They bought the dress—after Emma snapped a few pictures of herself in the mirrors—plus a pair of heels Emma would have to practice walking in all weekend. It was barely halfway through the afternoon, but Jo directed Chloe, her driver, to drop Emma off at her car in the parking garage.
“Ms. Jones, they’re still shooting. Don’t you want me on set?”
“I think I can survive a few hours,” Jo said. “Especially since I’m monopolizing your Sunday. The suite you booked for me to prep? Come by between ten and eleven. Hair, makeup, jewelry—everything will be taken care of. We’ll have your dress there, so you don’t have to worry about it all weekend.”
Emma hadn’t even thought about getting ready. She chewed on her bottom lip and nodded at Jo.
“I’ve got the Producers Guild Awards tomorrow,” Jo said, though of course Emma already knew that. “I’m not doing the red carpet there, and I thought the SAGs would be more—” She paused. “Fun for you. We’ll be sitting with the cast, of course, so you won’t feel too out of your element.”
Because being dressed in a $2,500 gown with hair, makeup, and jewelry, all paid for by her boss, would apparently be offset because she was sitting by people she knew. Really, the PGAs would be better for Emma, both in relation to networking and in relation to not having to walk on a red carpet. But Jo needed her at the SAGs, so she’d go to the SAGs.
“Sounds good,” Emma said quietly. “I’ll see you then.”
She thanked Chloe and, for the first time in years, drove home while they were still filming.
She texted her sister again, told Avery to come over when she closed the bakery, and to bring Cassius, the snuggliest of Avery’s three rottweilers.
* * *
—
“You know you’re going to make Billie and Roz jealous if you only ask for Cassius,” Avery said as she arrived.
“I’ll take them all to the dog park next weekend to make up for it,” Emma said, petting Cassius before hugging her sister.