"No, no, no!" the man shrieked, his voice hitting a pitch that probably had the neighborhood dogs howling. "Dear God, I am going to die of a heart attack from how unceremoniously ugly your taste is!" He began fanning himself dramatically with a silk-bound lookbook, his face twisted in a mask of theatrical horror.
I blinked, feeling the heat rise to my neck. "But... there is nothing wrong with what I picked?" I asked, my voice small. I was holding a sketch of a simple, elegant A-line gown.
"You don't say anything! You know nothing about fashion!" he screeched at me.
I bit my lip, deeply regretting ever agreeing to this party. I had wanted to say no, but when Eric’s stormy grey eyes had held me in place, my resolve had melted like wax. He has this way of looking at me—like I’m the only go
