The wedding we’re supposed to be going to together is on Saturday. It’s Thursday afternoon now, and I’m starting to get nervous. I expected some kind of briefing or notes. I also haven’t bought a dress yet, and I know I have to get right on that. I don’t expect to hold Philippe to his sarcastic promise to pay for a dress. Worst case scenario, I could always just wear the black maxi dress I have in my closet. It’s not fancy, but maxi dresses are good for just about anything. It’s form-fitting enough, in good shape, and I can throw some sweater over it for a pop of color, so it doesn’t look like I’m going to a funeral. Problem solved.
I’m sitting at my desk, trying to focus on the report I’m supposed to be working on and pretending I’m not thinking about Philippe—which is something I’ve done all week—when Cherry sticks her head around the corner of my office.
“Hey!” I shove away from the desk eagerly.
Cherry thrusts a huge package out at me. It’s yellow. Sturdy and square but soft looking. “This just came for you. By courier.”
“Oh.” I can feel my forehead wrinkling up into a frown. “I don’t remember ordering anything.”
Cherry stares at me like she expects me to open it, but I don’t open mystery packages in front of anyone. God knows what could be in there. Someone could have ordered me something super embarrassing as a joke.
“Thanks.” I toss it onto my desk, flash Cherry a big smile, and resume working.
Soon, Cherry leaves since I’m not very entertaining. The second I’m sure she’s gone, I get up, shut my door, run back to my desk, and tear into the package like it’s Christmas morning, and also as if I was promised an actual real-life unicorn as a present.
The thing is sealed up well. I tug at the packaging, bite at the corner, and finally grab my scissors. I make sure I carefully snip so I don’t damage anything inside.
I let out a gasp when something black slides out onto the floor. I discard the rest of the package on the desk before bending to pick it up. A dress. It’s black and tighter-fitting on top with a skirt of feathers at the bottom. Actual. Feathers. I glance at the tag because I can’t help myself. First, I see the size, and when I realize it’s my exact size, I gasp. Then I see the price. And I really gasp. Twelve. Hundred. Dollars. How could this dress cost twelve hundred dollars? It’s a designer name, I realize that, but seriously? It’s obscene. It’s soft, though. Silky, and with real feathers.
I’m scared to set the dress down, so I leave it draped over my arm. The large package contains a set of black flats, also in my exact size, and a black square cardboard box that I open to find a set of black pearl earrings and a silver chain with a single black pearl on it. One glance at the stamp on the chain confirms it’s white gold.
I set everything down carefully on my desk and walk out of the office. The place is humming with conversations, the occasional laughter, and cough. It feels the same as it always has, but when I walk down the hallway, I feel different now. My armpits get moist as I approach Philippe’s office.
The door is closed. I want to turn around and walk the other direction, but no. This is a conversation we need to have. Some protests need to be made, and a particular dress needs to be returned. So I force myself to knock.
“Come on in,” Philippe’s voice drifts out, happier than I’ve heard it in a long time.
I slip in and lock the door behind me. I turn slowly, composing myself. As soon as I open my mouth, Philippe leans back in his chair, a shit-eating grin splitting a face that I’ve come to realize is far too handsome. My lady bits tingle. He’s had his lips on me. Down. There. And I’ve thought about it all week. The thing that didn’t happen. Except it did, and I just can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t turn off my body’s reaction now.
“I see everything arrived. Good. I was worried it wouldn’t be here until tomorrow, and that wouldn’t have left much time to get something else if it didn’t fit.”
I need to tell him that it needs to be returned because it was all too expensive, but for some reason, I say something completely different. “Uh, how did you know my size?”
“Because I am actually a mind reader.” He grins. I roll my eyes. “You’re just angry because I named you Sunshine Sparklepants.”
“What?” My jaw cracks open so wide, it actually hurts.
“Ha! Two can play the crazy journal game.”
I cross my arms. “I see what’s going on here. You’re trying to distract me so I can’t tell you the dress was crazy expensive and that it needs to go back. I can’t wear that!”
“Why not?”
“Because you probably bought it on the company card, and there’s no way I can reconcile it on the statement.”
“I didn’t. I actually used my own card.”
“That’s even worse!”
“It’s fine. It’s my sister’s wedding. You only get married once in a lifetime.”
“That’s not—” I stop there because it’s his sister, and I am not going to say that most people get married and divorced and married and maybe even divorced and, in some
