Chapter 8
Ellie
“Are you sure?” I ask Katy, feeling very uncertain, which is not like me.
I spin around in the changing rooms, analyzing my reflection in the floor to ceiling length mirror. “I mean, I don’t even recognize myself.”
Katy laughs, watching me twirl. “That’s kind of the point, babe.
There’s nothing at all wrong with you, or your clothes, or the way you normally dress.
You’re a hot tamale. And no mistake, whether you’re in sweats or a ball gown, you’d look stunning.
But isn’t one of the fun things about being a girl getting to do stuff like this?
Doesn’t it make you feel like you’re going to prom? ”
I don’t reply. I didn’t go to prom. When I was eighteen, my mom was dead, my dad was in jail, and I was looking after my three younger siblings.
Trying to protect them from a world I already knew could be totally messed up.
Thinking of that year, I mostly remember, clear as day, meeting the woman who would eventually adopt my little brother and sisters.
I was focused on keeping my sisters and brother safe, not on dresses and boys.
Now, though, I’m a grown woman. While I wasn’t officially adopted, they’re my family, and they made sure I got the help I needed. I do not let the traumas of my past define me.
Katy doesn’t know the whole story about my childhood. Close as we are, I still haven’t told her about my father. He doesn’t deserve the attention, or to play any part in my life. Besides, I dealt with those demons, and as far as I’m concerned they can remain dead and buried for all eternity.
There was a time when talking about my past was necessary, a way to process and move forward, but now I only want to focus on the future.
And no matter how nice and kind a person is, like my girl Katy, people will always look at you differently once they know, even if they don’t mean to. It’s just human nature.
So no, I did not go to prom. No, this does not remind me of that. And no, I will not give in to the small surge of panic I always feel when I let that man creep too far into my mind. I am here. I am strong. I am more than what he tried to make me.
“You clearly didn’t know me back then,” I tell her. “I had purple hair and a bad attitude.”
She brushes it off. “Honey, we all had a bad attitude at eighteen. It’s what we do.”
I shrug and smooth the dress down over my thighs. “Yeah, but mine was…God, it’s ancient history. It doesn’t matter.”
Katy frowns. “You know you can tell me anything, right? We all have our secrets, but yours would be safe with me. I’m one of those friends who’d help you hide the body.”
“I absolutely know that. And I’m one of those friends who’d help you hide the body, then take you for cocktails, because they undoubtedly deserved it.”
She laughs. “Amen, sister.”
Then she stares at me intensely, her eyes roaming over my body.
I feel exposed. This dress is too tight, too revealing.
It’s a deep red velvet sheath dress that has a Jessica Rabbit vibe, with a plunging neckline and a fishtail skirt that makes my ass look as big as the moon.
Admittedly, I’m currently wearing it with sneakers and my hair in a plain ponytail, which doesn’t showcase it at its best. But still—it’s way too much.
I run my hands over my hips, purse my lips as I look at myself. I’m too much.
I do not have a bad self-image, nor do I torture myself about my weight or my curves.
My first therapist suggested that maybe I purposely gained weight as a way of shielding myself from unwanted male attention, and while I can see that could be a coping mechanism for some, it’s not mine.
She didn’t seem to take my word for it though, and persisted in her line of inquiry, no matter how many times I insisted that I’ve always been a little on the curvier side and simply enjoy carbs with every meal.
After a few sessions, we parted ways and I found Dr. Patel, who did not subscribe to the same style of therapy.
I’m fit and my body is healthy, and that’s what counts.
I like myself, and plenty of men have liked what I have to offer too.
But New York is full of stunning women. I couldn’t believe it when I moved here.
Oftentimes felt like an ogre trying to fit into a world of supermodels. I still do, sometimes.
Like now. Like when I’m standing with my petite size two friend in an exclusive boutique where the store assistants would give those bitches from Pretty Woman a run for their money. I’m more at home at the mall or a vintage fair than places like this.
“You can afford it now,” Katy had said. “You have a great job. You have stability. You owe it to yourself. Besides, come on, you’re not a fast fashion kind of gal, are you? Wouldn’t you prefer to have fewer clothes but know they were going to last, be more sustainable?”
She used all my own principles against me, and here we are. Me shoehorned into a gown that makes me feel both sexy and stupid at the same time. Like an awkward little girl pretending to be a hot woman.
“Honestly, Ellie, you look amazing. Like one of those goddesses you sometimes name-drop. They’d be proud of you. You’re absolutely gorgeous. And I know it’s expensive, but—”
“Are you going to tell me it’s an investment? That it’s ethical? Will last forever?”
She nods sheepishly. “Busted. But all those things are true.”
“They might be, but it’s not an investment if I never wear it again, is it? Even if I somehow find the confidence to wear it tomorrow night, when will I ever have such a fancy event to go to again?”
Katy dismisses this with a wave of her hands. “Girl, are you serious? You’re a VP at one of the biggest companies in the world. Your career is on the up, and events like this? They’re going to be coming at you, babe.”
I gulp a little and suddenly feel way too warm. Maybe she’s right. So far, my wardrobe consists of work outfits and gym clothes. But Mason has mentioned a few upcoming trips, a conference, and a dinner he called a ‘schmoozefest.’ Perhaps I need to start stepping outside my comfort zone.
“But I look like Jessica Rabbit if she was a brunette.”
“Well, there ya go. Jessica Rabbit is a style icon. Ellie, do you trust me?”
I meet her eyes in the mirror. “With my life.”
“Okay. Well in that case, buy the dress. Trust me on this, you are going to look amazing. I know this is a charity event, and I know your bosses and their families will be there, but everyone is going to look at you and be blown away. They’ll see a whole new side to you.”
I raise my eyebrows at her. Is that what I want? Aren’t I happy enough being Office Ellie? Maybe I am with Mason and Elijah. And everyone else I work with.
But there’s also the possibility that Maddox will be there. I don’t know that for sure because I don’t have a copy of the guest list, but Mason did say ‘the whole gang’ would be in attendance. The thought of seeing Maddox has me feeling hot and bothered for a whole different reason.
Apparently Amber, Elijah’s wife, would skin their family alive if they didn’t show.
He said that in a way that suggested it was meant literally.
I haven’t met her yet, but Amber is a legend in the Jamestech world.
I’ve also Googled her, and she is stunning—tall, slim, elegant, a mature blonde beauty who never looks anything less than perfectly turned out.
I am walking in a different world tomorrow night, and perhaps I need to raise my game. I’m sure all the James men will be wearing tuxedos. Maddox James in a tux. Heat blooms beneath my skin.
Am I really going to wear this dress?
Yes, I tell myself, twisting my head around so I can see my butt better. It looks kind of good, actually. And I want to look good at the fundraising dinner—for purely professional reasons of course.
It has nothing to do with Maddox James. Nothing at all.