“You’re acting odd.”
“I’m just calling to tell you that we have a dinner tomorrow night.”
“What dinner?”
“The Media Awards,” he replies calmly.
“The Media Awards,” I repeat.
“Yes, that’s what I said.”
I look around at my two work friends, who are completely oblivious to the crazy s**t that’s coming out of my running partner’s mouth. “Where is it?”
“Here in New York. My entire family will be there. You’ll get to meet everyone.”
My eyes widen in horror. “Well, what’s the dress code?”
“Black tie.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. “I don’t have any evening dresses here,” I stammer. I don’t have any at home either, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“That’s okay. I’ll have some things delivered home tonight, and you can pick what you want to wear.”
I scratch my head in confusion.
