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 this dress and the rest on Branson’s card.” Thank God I just got paid. My bank account didn’t need to take the hit on purchasing yet another dress, but it’s a matter of principle for me.
Jasmine seems content with my request. “If that’s what you wish. I’ll ring you up.”
The dress needs some minor alterations, so they take it to be picked up later, and then I leave, deciding to brave the cold late-December chill and walk to work.
There’s a food truck on the street, so I walk up to the cart and take a five out of my wallet for a hot chocolate. As I wait for it, I see a homeless man freezing on the sidewalk with a blanket over him. Turning back to the vendor, I ask him to make that two cocoas and walk the other to the man shivering in the cold who smiles at my gift, thanking me as I walk away.
When I get to the office, I hang my coat up and am about to sit at my desk when Branson calls me into his office.
He’s looking down at his computer keyboard as he speaks, “You’ve been gone a long time. I’ve been waiting for the Nielsen report from you. The shareholders meeting is coming up, and we have two failing shows that need revival, or we’re going to have to cancel them.”
I grab the report and then run it over to him. “I didn’t know you were here. I had you scheduled for a long lunch.”
“Well, I’m here and very much in need of an assistant.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have gone to Saks. I just didn’t want to wait any longer because the event is in two days.”
Branson’s head pops up. The frazzled demeanor he just had leaves his expression. “Were you happy?”
I blanch, confused. “Excuse me?”
“Were you happy? With what you picked out?”
“Oh. Yes. I was very pleased. Jasmine did a wonderful job with helping me choose one. You must know that I refuse to let you pay for it. I’m paying you back. For the entire thing.”
“Nonsense.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his foot over his knee. He always looks so handsome when he does this. Like a king on his throne. “I will not take your money, Katherine.”
“I know what you’re saying, but—”
“End of story.” He rises from his chair, dismissing the conversation. “Now, why don’t you and I order lunch in and go over these reports for the shareholders meeting?”
“Order lunch in?” I don’t mean to ask it like a question. I’m just surprised.
Branson and I have never had a working lunch. Not one where we sit in his office and go over reports while having a meal.
He raises his brow, as if he doesn’t understand my objection. I turn around and walk to my desk.
It’s Tuesday, and Branson likes to eat Indian food on Tuesdays, so I place the order. I compile every last bit of research I think he’ll want to go over before his shareholders meeting, the one I’m supposed to give a presentation to next week, and print the data.
When lunch arrives, I walk it into Branson’s office. To my surprise, he moves to the sofa area and sets our food out on the coffee table. The papers are laid out before us.
This is the Branson I like. The one who gives me his attention and asks insightful questions. He listens to me as I explain patterns in the demographic viewings and takes in my suggestions. He gives advice when he thinks I’m off the mark and challenges me to think outside of the box.
This is why I pined for him all those months. He’s so very handsome and smart, and yes, that accent is still so wonderful.