Elle took a deep breath, looked into Troy’s eyes, and said the first thing that popped into her head. “Want to be my date to the Golden Globes?”
I don’t know,” Elle grumbled, turning her body in front of the full-length mirror. Pressed to her chest was a navy blue dress made almost entirely of lace, with a tight bodysuit underneath. “This is more suited for someone like Gina, don’t you think?”
Eve, the petite network stylist with blonde hair and bright blue eyes, nodded in solidarity as she leaned against a table in the large conference room. For two days, Eve had set up shop in the room. Racks of designer dresses filled the room, and mirrors leaned against the gray walls.
“I suppose so, but you should consider something just as hot. What about this one?” She held up a black strapless gown, designed by Christian Dior, with a mermaid hem and a skirt comprised of elegant rosettes, a ribbon-like belt adorning the formfitting waist. Elle was drawn to the gown’s sexy sophistication and exquisite fabric. It would reach the floor, and yet be just as sultry and seductive as the tiny lace number since the sweetheart neckline would accentuate her chest.
“I’ll try it on.” This was her second appointment with the stylist, and Elle had inspected over a dozen dresses in that time. This was the first she was actually considering for the Golden Globes, which was fast approaching.
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Eve grinned, a dimple forming in her cheek as she handed the dress to Elle. “Where is Whitney? She was supposed to be here ten minutes ago.”
Elle sighed. “She’s probably avoiding me.”
“Why’s that?” When Elle cringed, Eve stopped herself, holding her hand out in a dismissive motion. “Never mind. I’m out of my element.”
“No, it’s fine.” Elle slipped behind the makeshift dressing room composed of a portable curtain. She felt like Daniel LaRusso in The Karate Kid when he was wearing his shower curtain Halloween costume. “Things are just weird. You know how things go. We don’t always see eye to eye.”
“Um, Elle—” Eve attempted to interrupt but Elle continued.
“She’s ridiculously stubborn, so—”
“Um, excuse me? I’m the one who’s stubborn? I gave you my opinion and you shut me out completely.”
Whitney.
Elle froze behind the curtain. Her bra was off and the dress was only halfway up her mostly naked body.
“Whit?” Quickly she pulled the dress to cover her breasts and waddled from the dressing room, constricted by the mermaid skirt. Perhaps this dress was not the right choice.
“Yeah, it’s me, your stubborn ass of a best friend.” Whitney rolled her dark eyes and crossed her arms in front of her chest. She glared at Elle, who sheepishly bit on her bottom lip and shrugged.
“I’m sorry, and you’re not an ass. Can we just, I don’t know, make up or something?”
“You’re the one who left me alone in a booth after I got my heart trampled. You tell me.” Whitney turned on her heels and walked to a rack of size six dresses. The hangers squeaked against the metal bar of the rack as Whitney tore through the dresses. Elle toddled across the conference room to join Whitney by the rack of clothes. Eve quickly pulled the zipper so the dress fit snugly around Elle’s hips. The dress was comfortable, but her concern was Whitney. She had to make peace with her favorite person in the world.
“I screwed up, okay? I’m the stubborn ass. You were looking out for me, and I just—I didn’t want to hear it.”
“Fine. Whatever, it’s done.”
Elle grimaced. “It doesn’t sound done.” Whitney pulled a lilac chiffon dress from the rack and held it out for Elle, who immediately shook her head. “Doesn’t go with your skin tone.”
“True.” Whitney returned it to the rack. “I didn’t expect that from you, Ellie. We’ve always been brutally honest with each other. And this time, you treated me like the bad guy. I’m not the bad guy. I love you like a sister.”
Whitney pulled a garnet Versace gown from the rack. Cap sleeves, godet pleats on the floor-length skirt, and a boat neckline; it was stunning and the perfect dress for Whitney. Elle nodded emphatically before responding. “I love you, too. I was wrong. I promise it’ll never happen again.”
“Good. Now tell me what’s happening with the Globes. Has Luke bought a tux yet?”
Elle flinched at the question. She had no idea what Luke had done to prepare for the award show.
“Uh-oh. No. Tell me you two didn’t—”
Elle nodded, looking up at the ceiling, refusing to cry over the man who placed a rather large hole in her heart. “He’s done with me. Aside from work, I haven’t spoken to him in over a week.”
“Wait. He said you were worth waiting for . . . those were his exact words.”
Elle grabbed the clothing rack, holding on for support. “I know. But I guess he’s done waiting.”
Whitney placed the gown back on the rack and wrapped her arms around Elle. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.” Her voice cracked with that single word and she knew the tears were coming. Quickly she retreated back to the makeshift dressing room. Eve unzipped the gown and Elle slid it from her body, placing it back on the hanger. “I’ll take this one, Eve.”
“Very good, Ms. Riley.” Eve placed Elle’s dress choice on a rack marked with index cards, labeling who would be dressed in which designer’s gown. Whitney pursed her lips before retrieving the red gown and slipping behind the curtain.
“Maybe he just needs to cool off. I’m sure when he sees you on the red carpet, he’ll flip. He’ll remember why he’s crazy about you.”
“I don’t know about that.” Elle stood outside the curtain, dragging her fingers mindlessly down the polyester fabric of the curtain.
Whitney emerged from the dressing room and stood before the mirror. Eve zipped her up and placed her hand over her mouth. Elle stood behind her and managed a genuine smile as she took in the sight of Whitney in that dress. “Wow.”
“Yeah?” Whitney asked, smoothing down the fabric and gazing in the mirror. “First one I tried. What are the chances of that?”
Eve glanced at Elle, then back at Whitney. “Slim to none.”
“So tell me what happened. Why did he give up?” Whitney and Elle locked eyes while gazing into the full-length mirror. “Something had to happen . . . right?”
“He walked in on Troy and me . . . in my office.”
Whitney turned, her eyes wide. “You weren’t . . .”
“No, God no! We were just having dinner.”
“You two certainly like to eat a lot,” Whitney said with a sardonic laugh. “Pizza, Indian, and now . . .”
“Chinese.” Elle closed her eyes, shaking her head. She and Troy did eat on their dates. First they flirted over food, then they argued, and they usually followed that up with a makeup session and vows to do better. History was repeating itself in a major way—that pattern was the story of their relationship, their dynamic. Add in some cherished Beatles songs, and you had Elle and Troy in a nutshell. She shook off that thought as she waited for Whitney to respond. But the outspoken beauty was gritting her teeth as she stared at Elle with conflicted eyes.
“Whit? What’s wrong?”
“I’m afraid to say anything after last time. I don’t want to fight with you.”
“I won’t get mad, I swear.”
“Just be careful. You two have a history, an undeniably rocky history. Don’t lose Luke over this.”
Elle threw her arms up in defeat. “I don’t have a choice, Whit. He’s done. Done. You have no idea how much that word killed me. I have to move on, and Troy wants to give us a real shot. I’d be stupid to walk away from that . . . wouldn’t I?”