has a price so high that there is a comma in it.
“Can I help you?” a saleswoman in a smartly dressed skirt suit asks.
“Yes,” I respond. “I’m looking for Jasmine.”
“You’re in luck. That’s me.” She points to the card in my hand, the one that has her name written on the back of it. “You must be Branson Ford’s assistant. He told me you’d be stopping by. I pulled a few things for you.”
I let out a sigh. “Do you have anything that’s under three hundred dollars? I know he said he’d pay for it, but I feel really uncomfortable—”
“Don’t worry,” she says with a smile. “I chose a few things that are modestly priced and yet will work perfectly for the function you’re going to. If you’re concerned about money, between you and me, Mr. Ford can afford it.” She winks.
I swing my head from side to side. “I take it, he does this sort of thing often. Buys dresses for women? We’re not—”
“None of my business.” She puts her hands up in the air. “I don’t ask. I won’t tell. All I’m here to do is make sure you look fabulous.”
I open my mouth to defend the situation. “I know it’s not, but really, I’m his assistant, and this most definitely is not what you think. This event is all work.”
Even though Jasmine doesn’t seem to care about my statement, I don’t want this woman to think I’m some harlot, soliciting romantic favors in return for a promotion or pretty dresses.
Yes, I absolutely do care about what other people think of me. Even people who I probably will never see again in my life.
Jasmine walks toward the dressing room, and I follow. There are several clothing racks on wheels, one of which seems to be the one she’s looking for. She pulls it out, and there are seven dresses on hangers, all of different colors.
She holds up the first. It’s a bright red gown with a sweetheart neck and sequins all over. The color is beautiful, but it is very showy for my taste.
I try it on because I don’t want to be rude. When it’s on, she compliments me profusely.
“That color pops against your fair skin, making it glow. This is a contender.”
She unzips me, and I walk back to the dressing room to change into the second dress. It’s a sapphire number with an asymmetrical neckline and a large bow on the hip.
“Blue is the new black. It’s the most flattering color on virtually everyone. The statement neckline will really impress the guests at the party,” she declares when I step out of the dressing room.
When I see my reflection in the mirror, I instantly feel like a prom queen from the ’90s.
The third and fourth dresses are beautiful. One is a sexy black velvet gown that hugs my curves. The next is a gold dress with a high slit that forces me to make the Angelina Jolie leg pose.
From showy to sexy, they are all very nice, but it’s not until I slide the fifth dress on that I feel like me.
“This is the one,” Jasmine states.
And I have to agree with her.
It’s a burgundy satin gown with a deep V-neck and spaghetti straps. The dress cinches at the waist and falls in a long A-line, pooling on the ground. The best part is, it has pockets.
I look in the mirror and admire the way the dress fits me. Thanks to my modest-sized breasts, the plunging neckline is just sexy enough without being risqué. And I can even sneak my lip gloss in my pocket, so I’m never without.
The price tag is hanging from the side of the dress. My shoulders fall when I see it is definitely more than three hundred dollars.
“You said these were modestly priced,” I say to her. “I’m sure you have less expensive gowns here.”
Jasmine grimaces. “We do, but Mr. Ford came in here with a price point in mind. The event you’re attending has a dress code that needs to be adhered to.”
I blow a deep breath out my lips as I turn back to the mirror. I want to make the best impression even if that does mean looking the part. I’m aware that my mind and looks are not one and the same, but I know how business games are played. If you look successful, people will assume you’re the essence of success.
“I’ll take it. But I insist on putting three hundred of my own money toward