I am fascinated though, what would you suggest I use for pick-up lines in the future?
As a dick fondler, your word is gospel.
I will wait for your reply with bated breath.
Pinkie Leroo
“Goodnight,” Daniel says as he pokes his head around the door. I look up from my computer.
“Night.”
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Ah.” I shrug bashfully. “Fooling around on the computer, what time did you get home?”
“Just now.”
“How did today go?”
He leans on the doorjamb. “Well, today I styled the biggest pain in the ass that I’ve ever met.”
“Why?”
“Tells me that she wants a complete new look but then hates everything I recommended and refuses to even try it on.”
I smile. “Is that common?”
“Sometimes. Usually with people who haven’t been styled before. Change is scary for some people.”
“I guess.”
“Not you though, you are a complete pro, look what you wore last week.”
I smile bashfully, and an idea comes to mind. I hesitate as I look over at my closet. “Maybe I should get you to help me buy some new clothes.”
“Well, well . . . well.”
“I mean.” I twist my fingers on my lap, embarrassed that I just said that out loud. “I mean . . .”
“You aren’t superficial.”
“Exactly.”
“But you just need a few pointers.”
“Yes.” I smile, and think for a moment. “What would you wear to work tomorrow if you were me?”
Daniel’s eyes hold mine. “If I wanted to . . . ?” His voice trails off.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Look nice.”
“To impress a certain CEO?”
“No.” I scoff. “This has nothing to do with Elliot Miles.”
Daniel goes to my closet and begins to flick through the hangers. “Honey, it should.” I hear him rattling around in there. “Where are your skirts?”
I frown and sit up onto my knees. “What do you mean?”
“Where are your work skirts?”
“Oh.” I think for a moment. “I usually wear trousers.”
He pokes his head around the corner of my closet. “Every day?”
I nod.
“You wear flats too, don’t you?”
“Not . . . dead flat.” I shrug.
He rolls his eyes and goes back into the closet.
“Well, I just don’t see the point of being uncomfortable at work, you know?”
“No, I don’t, and looking dreary is what should make you uncomfortable, Kate,” he calls.
I roll my eyes.
A hanger with a shirt on it comes flying out and lands on the floor.
“What are you doing?” I frown.
“Cleaning out this shit-pile of a closet.”
“Now? It’s nine p.m.”
“I can’t find anything in here.”
“What are you talking about? It’s completely organized into sections,” I fire back.
“There’s the crap section and then there’s the really crap section,” he mutters dryly; another hanger comes flying out and lands on the floor. “What even is that?”
I listen to him rattle around in there, a pair of shoes comes out and then another few hangers. “What about shirts? Where are the shirts you wear?”
“For God’s sake, are you blind?” I get out of bed, go in, and point to the shirt section. “Right here.”
Daniel frowns as he looks through the choices. “This is it?”
“Aha.”
“I’m taking you shopping as a matter of urgency.”
“I can’t afford Givenchy, Daniel.” I sigh.
“You don’t have to spend a fortune to look good, Kate.” He curls his lip as if I’m clueless, then he holds up a shirt and looks at it and shakes his head. “Where the fuck did you get this?”
“College.”
His eyes widen. “You’ve had this shirt since college?”
I shrug. “I guess.”
“Dear God.” He keeps flicking through and then pulls out a long black dress; it’s fitted and sleeveless and in a casual material. He holds it up against my body. “This I can work with.” He thinks for a moment. “Actually, I have a bag of samples in my car, I think there’s a shirt in there.” He rushes from the room, I hear him run down the stairs and the front door open. Moments later I hear him take the stairs two at a time. I smile; this really is his calling, he just loves it.
Back in my room, he unzips the bag and pulls out a black shirt and smiles. “This.”
I frown as I stare at the shirt. “That?”
“Over the dress.”
I screw up my face. “What?”
He grabs my shoulders and turns me back toward my bed. “Just trust me, I’ve got this.”
I stare at myself in the elevator mirror. The image is unfamiliar. I’m wearing a long, black straight skirt that also moonlights as a dress. A black fitted button-up shirt over the top with a few buttons undone. A patent leather belt strategically placed to cinch in my waist, and black high heels from my cousin Mary’s wedding.
My blonde hair is out and styled and I’m wearing makeup, not a lot, but more than usual. I don’t dress up this much to go out, let alone for work.
And I don’t know why I’m choosing now to do it . . . but I have . . .
I let out a shaky exhale as the nerves dance in my stomach.
I’ve got a meeting with Elliot this morning and am on my way up to his office right now. I glance back up at my reflection and I cringe. Oh, this is stupid, what the hell am I doing? I hit the level sixteen button, I need to get off. I can’t see him looking like this.
He’ll know.
The elevator flies past level sixteen and I close my eyes. Shit.
The doors open on the top floor and I drop my shoulders as I step out and into the reception area, all black with a trendy black timber feature wall. Huge gold letters tell me exactly where I am, as if I could ever forget.
MILES MEDIA
The flooring is black marble and, like everything up here, it just feels expensive.
“Hello Kathryn.” Leonie smiles, she looks me up and down. “You look lovely today, dear.”
“Thanks.” I smile as I wish the earth would swallow me up. “I have something on . . . after work.” I make an excuse for looking the way I do.
“I love it, you should wear this every day.”
I fake a smile. Kill me fucking now.
“Just go through, he’s expecting you.”
I walk down the corridor and close my eyes. God, what was Daniel thinking making me wear this? It’s too over the top. I knock softly on Elliot’s door.
“Come in,” his deep voice calls.
I close my eyes as I steel myself and I push the door open. “Hello.”
Elliot glances up from his computer and then looks back down; he then does a double take and his eyes rise and look me up and down. He sits up as if suddenly interested, and holding a pen between his fingers he says, “Hello Kathryn.”
I grip my folder with white-knuckle force. “Hello.”