Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
Ava
Tonya comes over Thursday afternoon with a shit-eating grin and a bag full of snacks for her and Elsie. “What’s this I hear about a shopping trip?” she asks the moment I open the door.
I smile back, mostly because Tonya’s smile is infectious, but also because I’m genuinely excited for the gala.
Not only do I get to play dress up, but I get to look into Ric’s eyes as he realizes how fucked he is.
My nerves threaten to overshadow it, but the excitement is too high.
It’s about time for Ric to see some consequences for how he treated me.
I want that asshole to bleed, even if it’s financially.
“Fancy parties require fancy clothes, apparently,” I say. “Who knew?”
“I’m more interested in your date,” she whispers loudly, her eyes trailing over to Dagen where he sits at the table.
Elsie is sitting there going through her multiplication tables, quizzing him on one every now and then to see if he can keep up.
Dagen, to his credit, seems amused by the exchange and happy to help.
When Elsie had tried to show him the new method of showing work, he’d frowned and complained about how math was being changed, but otherwise, he’s enjoying it.
I don’t disagree. It’s hard to help with homework when the methods we were shown in school aren’t even in use anymore.
“It’s a Tech Gala,” I counter. “It makes sense we’d go together since we’re working together on this new system launch.”
“Right,” Tonya grins. “And it’s totally necessary for him to take you shopping for the gala.”
“He’s just a really good boss,” I say with a shrug.
“Oh, I bet he is,” she laughs and wiggles her brows.
“Where can the rest of us peasants find such a good boss?” She glances at the time and pops her lips.
“But ignore me. You two go on and get out of here.” She moves over to the table and plops down, smiling brightly at Dagen.
“She looks great in red if you haven’t noticed. A red dress would be killer.”
Dagen smiles. “I’ll take that into consideration.” He looks over at me, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Are you ready to go?”
I nod and grab my purse from the hook by the door. “Make sure you finish your homework, Elsie. There’s pizza for the two of you in the oven. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
Tonya winks at me. “Take your time. We’ll see you when you get back.”
And that’s how I find myself in the back of one of Dagen’s black cars being driven by John to the expensive shopping district I never go to.
I could have easily just gone to Dilliard’s for a dress, but Dagen insisted that these sorts of things are practically a fashion show.
Your clothing is a representation of your success and if I’m stepping out with Fox Industries and representing Goliath, then I need to look the part.
By that, I guess he just means expensive.
The mall clearance rack doesn’t quite fit.
The car eases to a stop in front of a glass window and Dagen hops out to open my car door and help me up rather than wait for John to come around.
The moment I get a look at just how sparsely the clothing is displayed inside the store, I realize I probably should have worn something other than my jeans and sneakers.
Everything is pristine and spaced out, the black marble shot through with shimmery green veins.
I shift in my tennis shoes, worried that they won’t let me inside just because of how I’m dressed.
If I came in here alone, I’m certain they’d call the cops on me.
“Are you sure this place will have stuff that fits?” I ask, looking up at the sign.
No lights out. Not like the local Dilliard’s with the A always needing a new bulb.
Besides that, I’m not exactly model thin.
I have curves, and expensive stuff like this doesn’t usually like that from my experience.
Even with the clothing I can see inside the store, it looks rail thin hanging on the velvet hangers.
“Of course they’ll have something for you, but even if they don’t, we’ll just go to the next one,” he reassures me. “Come on.”
He holds the door open and I precede him, so I get a good look at the woman behind the counter’s disdainful perusal of me. I knew it. My jeans are too cheap. When Dagen’s steps in behind me, however, her disgusted expression wipes clean, and she comes around with a pretty smile instead.
“Welcome to Feucht,” she says. “Can I help you pick out anything special today?”
Dagen nods. “We need a dress, preferably in red.”
The woman claps her hands, pretending as if she hadn’t looked at me like I was shit on her expensive red-bottom shoe. “We have plenty of options here that fit that specification. If you’d like to head back to the dressing chamber, I’ll bring them back.”
“Don’t you need to know my size?” I ask, furrowing my brows. I’d expected some judgement when I had to announce it in front of Dagen, but she doesn’t bat an eye.
Instead, she laughs. “All of our clothing is custom tailored to your body. Think of it like being fitted for a wedding dress. You’ll pick out your outfit and then Leonardo will come in and tailor it.”
“Oh.” I glance at Dagen. “Do we have enough time for that? The event is in two days.”
“The dress will be ready within an hour after you choose,” the woman says, pride in her voice. “We can most certainly find you something beautiful before then.”
Oh, so this is for rich rich people then. I don’t know what it’s like to be in this tax bracket. I almost feel like a secret agent stealing expensive secrets. Is this why rich people always look so put together? Their clothing is tailored to them?
We’re led back to the dressing “chamber,” and I try my best not to look around with wide eyes at the room.
Chamber isn’t an understatement or just some fancy word to replace room.
In the center of the room is a platform clearly meant for the person trying on clothes to stand.
Plush couches and armchairs sit around it, like the platform is meant to display a work of art.
An area in the back is closed off by a curtain, but the woman appears with a handful of dresses in a few different shades of red and shoves the curtain back.
She hangs the dresses on the hooks and looks over at me expectantly.
“Oh. Right.” I follow her and she closes the curtain behind us.
“Everything off but your panties,” she instructs.
When I hesitate, she touches the dresses.
“A bra will ruin the fitting. These aren’t made to wear with one, and the harshness of a bra will only create unwanted lines.
” She looks me up and down. “We’re both women, sweetheart.
I can promise it’s nothing I haven’t seen before and I’ll turn my back while you shimmy into the dresses.
I’m only hear to zip you and clamp the dress so you can see how it’ll look. ”
As promised, she turns away once I get down to my bra and panties.
Once facing away, I do as she says and remove the bra, holding my hands over my chest while she hands me a prepared dress without looking.
Despite my shyness and her initial look when I’d first walked into the store, she’s nothing but professional now as she helps me into a form fitting silk dress before she clips it at my lower back to make sure we get an idea of the fit.
I blink in surprise at the woman in the mirror.
I hadn’t worn any makeup or done my hair because, why would I do that just to try something on?
But in this dress, I don’t even feel like I need it. It stands on its own.
“Wow,” I breathe.
“Red is definitely your color,” she nods. “Should we show him this one?”
I nod and she throws open the curtain and helps me out to the platform. I avoid looking at Dagen until I’m balanced there before the mirrors, but I purposely look away from them, facing Dagen instead. Only once I take a deep breath do I look up.
Dagen Fox is a force to be reckoned with on any given day. His eyes are always steadfast when he’s doing business. He rarely looks anything but put together. But when I meet his eyes while wearing this red dress, there’s something else there, not surprise, not business, but. . . hunger.
“What do you think?” I ask, holding out my arms and giving a small twirl.
“I think. . .” He glances at the other woman. “I’m going to need a shirt to match.”
“That can absolutely be arranged,” she smiles. She whistles and a man appears from another doorway. A tape measure hangs around his neck, and he wears a fanny pack on his hips. “Leonardo will get all your measurements and get to work on the tailoring. This will only take a few minutes.”
“Shouldn’t I try on something else?” I ask, blushing at the way he looks at me.
“No need,” Dagen says. “This is the one.” To the woman who helped me, he adds, “You’re very good at your job.”
The woman beams under his compliment and somehow gets even more professional as she tsks and gestures to me. “It’s an easy job with beauty like this.”
How strange to stand here like a work of art before them, as they discuss my beauty. My hands start to creep up, the urge to cover myself strong, but I don’t get the opportunity. Leonardo appears with a harsh, “Arms out,” and I do as I’m told.
Leonardo doesn’t say anything else as he gets to work moving around me, using his tape measure and marking the dress with little pins. Just as the woman says, it only takes a few minutes before he bows his head and disappears.
“Let’s get you out of this dress,” the woman says, but Dagen stands.
“I’ll take care of that,” he says.
The woman nods, smiling at him. “I’ll be at the front whenever you’re ready. Just hang the dress on the hook in there and we’ll have it ready for you soon.”