Elara Stewart has had enough of her previous lovers' infidelity.
A fixture in the modeling world, she carved her path on her own with the meticulous steps of a rising star. Her association with Darling Devils-an up-and-coming lingerie company-propel...
Moments like these make me wish that I didn't love clothes as much as I do.
My closet is an absolute mess by the time I'm done tearing it apart in search of something to wear for dinner tonight.
I want something impressionable, but not too much that I look overdressed. It doesn't help that Derek won't tell me anything about where we're going. Only when to be ready, and to dress nice.
But nice can be filed under any category when it comes to restaurants.
Dressing nice for smaller establishments is easy. Usually, you can pass without wearing a dress. Maybe a cute little sundress number, but I doubt Derek Crimson—correction, Rossi, would take me to a place where a sundress would be necessary. Especially if this is another 'stunt' meant to get back to Ryan and Melody.
A finer, more reclusive, non-chain restaurant needs more preparation. A dress, for sure, or a matching set of some kind that's on the more conservative side. I could get away with pants as long as they weren't blue jeans.
But a luxurious dinner at one of the most expensive restaurants in town? I have no idea where to start.
This leaves me here, now, sitting on the floor inside of my closet as Cady flicks through every one of my dresses—deeming all of them lackluster. Though she occasionally picks one up to analyze it under critical eyes, just to put it back on its designated rack seconds later.
In any sort of fashion crisis I always call my sister. But when she's even having issues with the clothes in my closet there's a definite problem.
Cady hums, clearly deep in thought while glaring at the plethora of dresses she thinks little of.
To be fair, most of my dresses are clubbing dresses. Which are either too short, show way too much skin, or are a mixture of both. "Right. We still have a few hours so there's no rush." She turns on one heel to look down at me, one hand propped on her hip as the other flicks through her straightened hair. Brows knit together, she asks, "What about Julia? Does she have anything?"
"She might." I groan and lay flat on my back. The unexpected coolness of the wooden floor makes goosebumps erupt down both of my arms.
Cady plucks her phone from her back pocket with swiftness, looking as if she's about to make an important work call rather than pestering our mutual friend about a wardrobe crisis.
