25
Emma
I’m in a state of panic throughout the entire morning. At my request, Wilson drove me to my apartment before work, so I could pick up a dress for tonight—a long-sleeved, wrap-style piece I found on a department store clearance rack a few years ago. At the time, it looked nice and stylish, the gray material draping over my curves with a subtle flair, but after a dozen encounters with a washing machine, it more closely resembles something out of a cat’s butt.
Still, I grabbed it this morning because it’s the only business-y thing I own. In fact, I was going to wear it to job interviews, back when I still had hopes of getting a position with some big-name publisher. The interviews never materialized, so now I just wear the dress whenever I need to look a little more put-together—li
