Chapter 8 #3
I think about Aaron’s comment about beige and gray and feel a flicker of annoyance. “My wardrobe is perfectly adequate.”
“For court? Yes. For a splashy comic book launch at The Beaufort? No.”
“I have no idea what to wear to a comic book launch,” I confess, feeling as if I’m giving in.
Demi’s face splits into a triumphant grin. “Well tonight is your lucky night. I have a few things in my closet that you would look killer in. You will be the baddest baddie there.”
“Baddest baddie?” I nearly choke on my wine.
Me and baddie in the same sentence is laughable.
Demi has been trying to get me to ‘upgrade’ my style for years, insisting that my professional wardrobe doesn’t do justice to my figure.
Yet, she thinks cargo pants and Crocs are acceptable attire for everyday wear, which says more about her fashion sense than mine.
Demi waves her hand dismissively. “Because that’s what you are. Now eat your food and then we’ll play dress-up.”
I roll my eyes, but there’s no stopping Demi once she’s set on something.
After dinner, she drags me to her walk-in closet, which resembles a small boutique more than storage space.
Clothes in every color imaginable hang from industrial racks, and shoes line the back wall in a display that would make any department store envious.
“I’ve been waiting years for this moment.” Demi rifles through hangers like the speed of light.
“I haven’t agreed to go yet,” I remind her, though the protest sounds weak even to my ears.
“But you will.” She pulls out a deep burgundy dress with a neckline that makes me shake my head immediately. “Come on, this would look amazing on you!”
“I’m not trying to give Aaron a heart attack.”
Demi’s eyes light up. “So, you do care what he thinks?”
“I care about maintaining professional boundaries,” I counter, but the heat rising to my cheeks betrays me.
“Babes, that ship has sailed. But I’ll let you think what you want. So it’s a no to this dress?” She tosses the dress aside and continues her search. “Aha!” Demi’s triumphant shout pulls my focus back to the closet. She steps out holding a pink dress. “This is it. This is absolutely perfect.”
The dress is simple yet too much. I’m sure my breasts will be on display with the style of the front, and it has a silky silhouette that would probably fall just above the knee.
The color isn’t just pink—it’s a luminous shade somewhere between rose quartz and cherry blossom that makes even my neutral-loving heart skip a beat.
It’s feminine without being too girly, elegant without being stuffy.
“I can’t wear that,” I say automatically, though my fingers reach out to touch the fabric.
“Why not?” Demi challenges, holding it against me. “It’s sophisticated, it’s unexpected, and it’s definitely not beige or gray.”
I startle. “How did you—”
“How did I what?” Demi looks confused.
“Nothing,” I mutter, not wanting to explain Aaron’s comment about my wardrobe. “It’s just very revealing and pink.”
“And you, my friend, need some color in your life.” She pushes the dress into my arms. “Try it on. If you hate it, fine, but at least try it.”
With a resigned sigh, I take the dress and head to her bathroom.
The silky fabric slides over my skin like water, settling against my curves in a way that’s both flattering and comfortable.
The neckline, as expected, dips just enough to be interesting without being too revealing, and the back features a subtle cutout that adds an unexpected touch of allure.
When I step out, Demi’s squeal of delight echoes off her high ceilings.
“Oh my God, you look incredible!” She circles me, adjusting the straps slightly. “This is it. This is absolutely the fucking one.”
I turn to face her full-length mirror. The woman staring back at me looks softer somehow, less armored. The pink brings warmth to my complexion, making my eyes look brighter and my hair shinier.
“I don’t know,” I hedge, though I can’t tear my eyes away from my reflection.
“Aaron won’t know what hit him,” Demi says with satisfaction.
“This isn’t about Aaron,” I insist, but the words ring hollow, even to my own ears.
“Sure, it’s not.” She smirks, already digging through her shoe collection. “Now, we need the perfect shoes. Something that says, ‘I’m here for the art, but I wouldn’t mind being swept off my feet.’”
“That’s oddly specific.”
“Trust me, shoes talk.” She produces a pair of strappy silver heels that look both elegant and edgy. “These will be perfect.”
I slip them on, and they fit surprisingly well. They give me an extra few inches, without making me feel unstable.
“So, you’re going to the launch.”
“I’ll think about it,” I respond, as if she were asking me. I know Demi like the back of my hand. She is telling me I’m going whether I like it or not.
“Babes, there is no thinking. You are going, and you’re going to have a great time.” Demi smiles. “So, you’re taking this dress and those shoes.”
“I haven’t even decided if—”
“You have,” she interrupts, handing me the bag with a triumphant smile. “You just don’t want to admit it yet.”
Something about her words reminds me of what Aaron said earlier. You will. The confidence these people have in their ability to predict my actions is both irritating and unsettling.
“Fine.” I concede, taking the bag. “If—and that’s a big if—I decide to go, I’ll wear this.”
Demi claps her hands together. “Perfect! Now, about your hair…”
“Don’t push it,” I warn, already heading back to the bathroom to change back. “The dress and shoes are enough of a concession for one night.”
“Fine. I won’t hound you as much, but I will say this,” Demi continues, following me to the bathroom door. “If you’re going to step outside your comfort zone with that dress, maybe consider letting your hair down too. Literally.”
I close the bathroom door before she can see me roll my eyes. Back in my own clothes, I feel more like myself again. But the image of that pink dress lingers in my mind like a tempting whisper.
“Wine?” Demi offers when I emerge.
“I should go.” I glance at my watch. “I have files to review before tomorrow.”
“Of course you do.” She takes the dress from me, puts it in a garment bag, followed by the shoes. “Promise me something?”
“What?” I ask warily.
“When you see Aaron’s face when he first sees you in this dress, promise you’ll remember every detail so you can tell me about it.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s not a no,” Demi points out, walking me to her door.
The cab ride home gives me too much time to think about Aaron’s invitation, the dress sitting in the bag beside me, and the way my stomach flutters slightly when I imagine walking into that party.
It’s ridiculous. I’m a grown woman, a successful attorney, not some college girl getting excited about a date.
Not that it’s a date.
By the time I reach my apartment, I’ve convinced myself that I’m only considering attending the launch for networking purposes. Comic book publishing is a lucrative business after all, and expanding my client base is always prudent.