At No Time || Bruno Mars

36

"Tree, shit, stop yawning!" Angelique's brow turned downward in frustration as she tried to keep her friend from shifting while she applied her make-up. She fixed a stray strip of eyeliner and twisted her lips, annoyed. "I can't do my magic if you keep moving!"

"I'm sorry," Trystan apologized wearily as she did her best to restrain her drowsiness. "I hardly got any sleep last night and then you decided to make me come here at nine in the morning." Trystan could have reached through her phone and strangled her when she called her at seven-thirty, almost yelling for her to get to her apartment as fast as she could.

"What happened to one o'clock?" she had asked groggily, and her comrade worriedly replied that she had forgotten about doing her hair. Trystan had assumed she would wear it how it was already styled, but Angelique insisted on a completely new look that she would not allow Trystan to see until she was done with her make-up.

"Nine isn't that early," Angelique protested. "I was able to do your hair, we got our nails done, and do your make-up without rushing. You're welcome." She smirked as she twisted the cap back onto the mascara tube. "And stop biting your nail! You just got them done!"

Trystan quickly retracted her thumbnail and Angelique grabbed her hand to see if she had done any damage. Satisfied there were no noticeable defects, she tossed Trystan's appendage back to her and reprimanded her again.

Trystan sat atop her hands to keep herself from acting out her nervous habit. "Sorry," she apologized again. Everything was making her antsy—from her weariness, to Angelique's fussing, and to the night ahead.

As the hours drew nearer to the time the gala would begin, she was becoming more and more of a basket case. She did not know what to expect. Of course, she had been to events before, but not on the this type of scale. The one's she had gone to only attained fifty people max, but the Debonair-Vivacity affair was expecting there to be hundreds. She would be talking to people who knew about her but not she of them, having to smile for flashing cameras and hoping she did not look a mess in the photos, and advocate for a company she had not been working for long.

She could only hope to do well by Benson, who had done a lot for her and everyone else around him—almost everyone.

"And . . . done!" Angelique swiped the last stroke of her brush against Trystan's face and stood back in satisfaction. "Come on; let's get you in this dress!" She quickly escaped from the sink, more excited about that gown than her own.

Trystan groaned quietly as she trailed out of the bathroom to Angelique's bedroom where she had placed the outfit. "I'm still not sure if I should wear this, Lique," she admitted as she watched her unzip the bag it resided in.

Angelique turned to her with a cocked, waxed brow. "Do you have any other choice?"

"I could wear one of yours," Trystan suggested with a shrug. She knew Angelique kept a stash of unworn garments in her closet.

"Girl, please!" Angelique exclaimed as she loosened the ties on the back of the dress. "I'm at least six inches shorter than you. My dresses would look like doll clothes on you, as you can see by my robe." She gestured toward her satin robe Trystan was wearing because she had neglected to bring her own. The tail, which almost reached the floor when Angelique wore it, rode up to Trystan's calves.

"You are wearing this dress, and you're going to be the most talked about woman of the night!" Angelique nodded matter-of-factly as she held it in front of her.

"Why? For my legs?" Trystan simpered, and Angelique winked. "Exactly! Now put this on! I can't wait to see it on you!"

Trystan grabbed the dress from her and turned around to do as she was told. The fabric was even softer against the parts of her body that it did cover, and the daring slit accentuated her leg more than she thought it would. Angelique retied the lengthy strings in the back, and the breeze she felt against it indicated that much of her skin would be making an appearance at the venue.