She looks at me, and I know right away it’s a work thing. That fevered shine in her eyes is a telltale giveaway. “A source just texted. For the big story I’ve been working on.” She shoves her phone in her purse. “I gotta go. Like, now.”
“I’m so sorry, babe. I’ll call you tonight, okay? You don’t need me anyway. You look amazing. I’d smash. Several times. And then buy you breakfast the next morning. The dress is perfect, you’re perfect, I love you, goodbye!”
And then she’s gone. The curtain swishes behind her and I’m alone with Säsha and a three-way mirror that shows every viewpoint of my rising panic.
Säsha clears her throat. “Right. Well. As I was saying… Mr. Lazarev mentioned that foundation garments might be necessary. Given the cut of the dress.”
I look at my reflection to take sto
