That white towel is a damn troublemaker.
We approach my stop and I stand and catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass door, feel disappointed with what I see. I look dowdy, and so different to how I looked the other night at the ball.
Maybe it’s time.
I smile as I read the email from my place in bed, and I reply.
Dear Edgar,
Such a shame that you are not a cat person, you could have had a happy life filled with feline love.
I am fascinated though, what would you suggest I use for pick-up lines in the future?
As a dick fondler, your word is gospel.
I will wait for your reply with bated breath.
Pinkie Leroo
“Goodnight,” Daniel says as he pokes his head around the door. I look up from my computer.
“Night.”
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Ah.” I shrug bashfully. “Fooling around on the computer, what time did you get home?”
“Just now.”
“How did today go?”
He leans on the doorjamb. “Well, today I styled the biggest pain in the ass that I’ve ever met.”
“Why?”
“Tells me that she wants a complete new look but then hates everything I recommended and refuses to even try it on.”
I smile. “Is that common?”
“Sometimes. Usually with people who haven’t been styled before. Change is scary for some people.”
“I guess.”
“Not you though, you are a complete pro, look what you wore last week.”
I smile bashfully, and an idea comes to mind. I hesitate as I look over at my closet. “Maybe I should get you to help me buy some new clothes.”
“Well, well . . . well.”
“I mean.” I twist my fingers on my lap, embarrassed that I just said that out loud. “I mean . . .”
“You aren’t superficial.”
“Exactly.”
“But you just need a few pointers.”
“Yes.” I smile, and think for a moment. “What would you wear to work tomorrow if you were me?”
Daniel’s eyes hold mine. “If I wanted to . . . ?” His voice trails off.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Look nice.”
“To impress a certain CEO?”
“No.” I scoff. “This has nothing to do with Elliot Miles.”
Daniel goes to my closet and begins to flick through the hangers. “Honey, it should.” I hear him rattling around in there. “Where are your skirts?”
I frown and sit up onto my knees. “What do you mean?”
“Where are your work skirts?”
“Oh.” I think for a moment. “I usually wear trousers.”
He pokes his head around the corner of my closet. “Every day?”
I nod.
“You wear flats too, don’t you?”
“Not . . . dead flat.” I shrug.
He rolls his eyes and goes back into the closet.
“Well, I just don’t see the point of being uncomfortable at work, you know?”