After the enlightening trip to Atticus’s office, I’d been bombarded for days.
Melanie, Atticus’s personal shopper, arrived with rack after rack of clothing. Between her and her three assistants, it was two trips to the salon level. There was a huge dressing room complete with more mirrors than needed and enough space for everything she brought and then some. Maybe it was actually a dance studio? A little while later I confirmed that was incorrect—there was also a dance studio.
Hours of going through clothes and looks and convincing me more than once that I needed something. By the end, my walk-in closet was completely stuffed and I had outfits for all occasions—though she did promise to be back, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
It almost sounded like a threat.
The next day was
