50. Amelie
50
AMELIE
“I’m picturing something red for you. I, personally, am opting for black, but that’s because it’s what I’m used to. These events are quite boring, and everyone wears neutrals to match their graying skin.”
I grin as Liz grabs my hand and drags me into an elevator, pressing a button that nears the top floor.
This was the last thing I expected to be doing today.
Two minutes after I complained about not having a dress, Henry told me to follow him outside. Said he had a surprise for me. I had no idea that the surprise was Lizzy, who apparently wants to dress me like her own personal Barbie doll, but I couldn’t be happier.
We aren’t going shopping, though; not in the literal sense of the word. Instead, Liz led me to her workplace—which I’ve deemed High Fashion Headquarters, because I don’t know what it’s really called—and said we’d have better luck here.
I was expecting a bin of rejected dresses. Maybe a closet, best case scenario.
But when the elevator doors open, my jaw drops.
I’m greeted with rows and rows and rows of dress racks. Full shelves of shoes and handbags. Multiple jewelry displays, separated into gold, silver, and jeweled.
This is exactly what the inside of my mind looks like. Likely from overwatching The Devil Wears Prada.
“You work here?” Is all I manage as I gape at my surroundings.
Liz nods and steps into the room—or, no. The floor. I think these shelves occupy the entire level of this building. “My boss gives me hives, but yes. I guess it has its perks. When I’m bored, I come up here and scour things, though most of the pieces aren’t my style on their own. But normally, I can make them work. Accessories and all that.”
I can see why she’d say that. Liz’s outfits are always impeccable, but they’re nothing basic. She’s the only person I’ve seen that isn’t wearing a pencil skirt and a button-down that fastens at the throat. Her black slacks, lacy white tank, and brown leather jacket stick out, and I think she likes that.
“Do you want red?” Liz asks, stopping in front of a rack. The ones in this row are all red; some skirts are puffy, some fitted. Some look like the hem won’t go past my hip bone.
“I like red,” I say, still looking around the room. There’s a pair of heels in the corner that I can’t keep my eyes off of.
Liz hums. “Fitted?”
“Absolutely not. I need to be mobile.”
“Good point.” She grabs a couple of dresses off the rack and tosses them over her arm before moving further down. “Any specific fabric?”
I shake my head and toy with some of the skirts. “Long as I can breathe in it, I’m fine.”
She laughs. “That’s doable. The last event I went to, my dress was two sizes too small. I wanted to die for three hours straight. Though that could’ve been because my dad was the one hosting.”
I wince. “You go to a lot of these?”
“I try to get out of them,” she admits, going to the rack of black dresses. “It works sometimes. This is the only one I have the desire to go to, solely because of…you know.” She waves her hand in my direction. “Any chance I have to see my dad fall is one I don’t want to miss.”
Her tone of voice is so even, so solemn, that it actually stuns me a bit. I know that she means it. I know she wants Roman to fail, because there’s no hesitation in her words. It’s still shocking to me; how ready she and Henry are for their dad to lose. I know that he hasn’t been good to them—to anybody , it sounds—but it’s hard to imagine wanting my own parents in turmoil.
Liz takes a step away from me and attempts to hold her arms up, trying to display the gowns she’s gathered. “You ready to try them on?”
I nod. “Where do we…?”
“Oh, there’s a curtain up here. These are used for last-minute photoshoots and promo, so we’ve got everything.”
I exhale. “So I need to keep this dress totally unblemished.”
“It would be preferable, but if you can’t, my boss won’t notice one missing.” She pauses. Grins. “You know what? Keep it. I love to spite him.”
A smile crawls across my face. “You really don’t like that man, do you?”
“Don’t get me started. You’ll never hear the end of it.” She sighs and starts toward the corner of the room, where three large dressing curtains take up the space. Liz walks into the one on the far left and hangs her dresses on a hook, then places mine in the next one over. “Okay. If you need help, yell at me. I’ll wait out here until you’re done.”
“Don’t you need to try yours on, too?”
“Well, yes, but I’m here to be your runner. If you need a different size or something, I’ll go get it.” Liz shoos me away with her hands. “Go! We don’t have long!”
I comply and slip behind the middle curtain, snapping it shut and grabbing at one of the dresses. Liz picked out four, but one of them catches my eye immediately.
It’s a stunning, off-the-shoulder gown with a loose skirt and a straight hem. The bodice looks sturdy enough to move around in, which I hope is the case. I’m already completely in love with the dress, and I’m totally going to wear it, regardless of its capabilities.
I shed my clothes and step into the dress, tugging it carefully over my hips and onto my shoulders. Liz has an eye for this stuff, because it fits like a glove. I can breathe in it, and the zipper goes up with ease. I make sure it’s truly fastened before I step out from behind the curtain, and when Liz sees me, she gasps.
“THAT ONE!” She cries, clasping her hands together. “You have to wear that one, Amelie. Please. I’ll literally pay you.”
I laugh and look down at myself. “With that reaction, how can I not?”
“You must ,” she agrees, circling me like a vulture. “Oh, you’re gorgeous! It fits you perfectly. My brother is going to have a stroke.”
I laugh again at her comment, but she cuts me off by asking, “What’s up with that, by the way? Can I ask? I’m going to anyways, but I want to make sure.”
My eyes drop to the ground, and I toy with the fabric on my arm. Lizzy got the vague details yesterday, and I’m not sure how much more to say. Maybe that was all Henry wanted her to know, though I sort of doubt that’s the case. Liz just knows stuff. If I don’t tell her, she’ll find out by this evening.
“We told you yesterday that we’re just working together,” I say, my last attempt at keeping it under wraps.
She snorts. “You know I don’t believe that.”
“Fine. It’s…” I take a breath, trying to find my words, but I come up blank. “I don’t know, Liz”
“Well, I know, so let me enlighten you.” She slips behind her curtain before continuing. “He’s enamored with you. Like, genuinely. It’s worse than it used to be. As soon as he started talking about you, I wanted to smack him for even acting like he was indifferent.”
I raise my brows. “You’re kidding.”
“Not in the slightest. So what’s really up?”
I rest my hands on my hips, hoping that I’m not about to say something stupid aloud. “I think we’re trying things again. I think ,” I reiterate, though I’m pretty sure that’s the case. “I don’t know. I’m willing, and I think he is, too.”
“He is,” she confirms. Her words are followed by swishing fabric and a heavy sigh. “Trust me.”
I bite my lip against a smile. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“Do you have someone?”
It’s silent for a beat. Her curtain snaps open, and she steps out in a gorgeous dark purple gown. I didn’t even notice a colored dress in her stash, but I’m convinced the thing was made for her. It’s completely fitted, all the way down to her ankles; the top is a scoop neck, and the back is low enough to send her dad into cardiac arrest. It’s perfect.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her. “That color is amazing on you.”
“Thank you,” she says, staring at herself in the mirror. “I didn’t choose this one, but it was left in there, and it’s my size, so clearly it was fate. But the back…is it bad?”
I shake my head. “No, I think it works. But this doesn’t get you out of answering that question.”
Liz smiles, barely. “Nope. I’ve got no one.”
“No interest, either?”
She pauses. Decides on a shake of her head. “Not that, either.”
I can’t decide whether or not I believe her.
“ LIZZY! ”
Someone shouts from behind us, and I go ramrod straight. We’re about to get caught pilfering dresses. Liz whips around, looking like she’s scared of the same thing, but her face softens when she notices the girl stumbling toward us. “Florence!”
The girl—Florence—barrels forward, wrapping Liz into a hug. “I didn’t know you were here today.”
“I’m just here to snag a couple outfits. Do not tell Hewitt,” she says pointedly. “He owes me for the Fendi shipment, anyways. He’ll survive.”
“As if I’d dare.” Florence clasps her hands together. “You look ravishing, babydoll. You too,” she says, smiling right at me. It makes her eyes practically glitter against her dark skin. Much like I’d seen earlier, she’s wearing a gray pencil skirt with a white button down that does, in fact, close at her throat. Rather than wearing neutral shoes, though, she’s wearing hot pink pumps. I wouldn’t expect them to look good with the outfit, but she manages to pull it off.
“They’re my rebellion,” she explains, noticing my gaze on her shoes. “We have a dress code, but I feel comfortable getting away with this.”
“I’ve taught you well,” Liz says solemnly. I’d bet anything that she rarely—if ever—abides by said rules. “Go for a scarf next week. Really spice it up, Flo!”
Florence grins, then sighs. “We’ll see. I’ve got to go, though. I came to grab the new Valentino shoes we got in.”
“By the makeup counter, I think,” Liz says, motioning vaguely to her right.
Florence seems to understand that cue. She gives Liz a kiss on the cheek and waves to me before disappearing behind the maze of racks.
Liz turns back toward the mirror. “That’s Florence, though I’m sure you got that. She’s my assistant.”
I blink. “You have an assistant?”
“Technically. Really, though, she’s just my friend. I don’t make her do much besides fax things. I don’t know how, and I really don’t care to learn.” She shrugs. “Hewitt—my boss—has picked up on my general hate for delegating, so he normally has her running errands for himself.”
“I’m still hung up on the assistant thing, honestly.”
She laughs. “I’m an editor on the magazine, as well as a main writer, so he got me an assistant in case I ever felt overwhelmed.”
The fact that she’s only twenty makes it all the more impressive. “How long have you been at this?”
“Almost two years,” she says. “I figured things out pretty easily. A lot of people here hate me because of how quickly I got where I am, but I didn’t do anything differently. I literally just do what I’m told. I’m not passionate enough about this job to try and do something groundbreaking.” She sighs and spins around, checking out the back of her dress in the mirror once more. “So, these? Are we good?”
“I think we are,” I say, giving myself a final once-over. “We look good.”
“We look way better than good. I’d go so far as to use the word beguiling . ”
I grin. “Let’s change out of these beguiling dresses before your boss kills us.”
Liz snorts and disappears behind her curtain. “Hewitt can’t tell a stiletto from a kitten heel on a good day. I don’t think he has it in him to murder someone.”
I snap my curtain shut and slip out of my dress. “Speaking of…how badly do you want to spite him? I saw a pair of heels that I’m dying to try on.”
A laugh sounds to my left. “I like the way you think.”