Chapter 18

In the mirrored dressing room, I gave the dress another look. The dress was obscenely expensive, not that you'd know by the looks of it. It was pitch-black with a high ruffled neck and long, flowing sleeves. Its ruffled hem fell nearly to my ankles.

"I look like a schoolmarm," I said.

Bianca gave me a little smirk. "So you'd rather wear something like you had on earlier? From—How'd you put it?—Hookers-Are-Us?"

"That's not what I’m saying." My head was throbbing. I wasn't stupid. I knew she couldn't have my best interests at heart. And I also knew she'd sabotage me if she could. Still, Jake had sent her with me for a reason.

I frowned. What was that reason? Was he that worried about what I might buy on my own? I turned toward Bianca. "You're messing with me," I said. "Aren't you?"

"If you don't like the dress," she said, "just say so."

"I don't like the dress."

She made a sound of annoyance.

"Oh," I said. "So I wasn't really supposed to say so?"

"Listen," she said in a tone of forced patience. "I know it's a bit conservative. But you're going to an upscale event. It's at a museum, not a nightclub. I do this for a living. I know what I'm talking about."

I turned to stare at her. "You shop for a living?"

"Among other things," she said.

I could only imagine. I snuck another glance in the mirror. "So what's the event?" I said. "A schoolmarm convention?"

"Fine," she said. "It's your call." With both hands, she made a grand sweeping gesture toward the rest of the store. "Go ahead. Pick something else." She made a show of looking at her watch. "You've got ten minutes."

"What?" I said. "Ten minutes? That's not right. We have at least another hour."

"No," she said. "We don't. Because you can't be late for your manicure."

"I have a manicure appointment?"

"And a hair appointment after that."

I looked down at my nails. I'd never actually had a manicure, but my nails didn't look too bad. I snuck a quick glance at my mirrored reflection. About my hair, I wasn't so sure.

"I pulled a lot of strings to get those appointments," Bianca said, "so don't even think about cancelling."

With a sigh, I turned to give the dress another look. Maybe with the right hairstyle and shoes, it wouldn't look so bad. And it wasn't like I was the one paying for it.

Still, five minutes later, as I pulled out the wad of bills and peeled off a sickening number of bills, I couldn’t help but wonder, would Bianca ever wear such a thing?

She wouldn't. I was sure of it.

"Don't look so depressed," she said. "It's not like your money's paying for it."

Color flooded my face. It was true. And I'd been thinking exactly the same thing. But hearing Bianca say it out loud, well, it made me more than a little uncomfortable.

Feeling incredibly deflated, I blew out a long, unsteady breath as I tucked the few remaining bills into my purse. This was just my luck. Just once in my whole life, I buy a dress that's obscenely expensive, and all it does is make me feel cheap.

When I looked up, Bianca was staring down at my stomach. And grimacing. "What on Earth was that?" she said.

I looked down. "What?"

Right on cue, my stomach gave a low rumble.

"Is that you?" she said.

"Hey," I said, "Give me a break. I haven't eaten yet today." Funny, in all the commotion, I hadn't even realized I was hungry. But now that I had thought about it, I was utterly starving. "Is there a food court around here?" I asked.

"Have you forgotten we're on a schedule?" she asked.

"So I'll just grab something to go."

Her lip curled. "And eat while your nails are getting done? Tasha will just love that."

"Jeez," I said. "What's the big deal?"

With a pained expression, Bianca looked heavenward. "Fine," she said. "I'll get the manicure. You get a pretzel, or whatever it is that you eat."

"Wait a minute," I said. "I thought I had to get a manicure."

"Do you see a gun to your head?" She gave an exaggerated sigh. "Look, you've got one minute. Choose. Manicure? Or food?"

At the mention of food, my stomach gave another rumble. 

She stared at me like I'd just farted at the dinner table. "Are you going to be doing that all day?" she asked.

Great. Now I felt cheap and disgusting.

Five minutes later, I was standing in the food court, trying to decide between nachos or a cheeseburger. And that's when I heard it – my own voice, screaming out from someone's phone.