Page 108 of Against the Clock

“I love him,” I say again, and break into a smile. “Wow.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“You think I should?”

“Yes, you little Beaver lover, you should tell him.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight. But you’re going to have to do it with me as your third wheel, because you’re not fucking leaving me alone with Jacob Matthews for one FUCKING second.”

“You sound really unhinged.”

“You’re the one falling in love after a month.”

“That’s why we’re besties,” I say. “Fuck, the dress finally came off. I’m sweating.”

“Gross. Clean yourself up and get ready.” She sounds for all the world like a drill sergeant.

The line goes dead, and I make it to where my phone lies as the nice robot lady asks me if I’d like to make a call.

I kick the dress on the floor, then think better of my desire to rip it into shreds with my bare hands and instead hang it back up in the bag with extreme prejudice.

My hair’s damp from the shower, and I head to the bathroom to finish blow-drying it. Maybe I’ll put the beaver in Beaver Ball, but at least my hair will be dry.

When I’m done, it looks like I stuck my hand in an electrical socket, and I plug my straightener in, careful to unplug the damn dryer first so I don’t throw the breaker. Again.

A knock comes at the door, and it startles me so much that I scream.

“Kelsey Cole? Mr. Harrison sent us. Are you decent?”

I throw a robe on, a threadbare one I’ve had since high school, and pad to the door of my apartment and look out the peephole.

“Oh my goodness,” I say on an exhale.

There are four people standing outside my door. One has a rolling suitcase. One has a silver rolling rack of dresses, and the other two are chatting excitedly and scrolling through their phones.

I open the door a crack. “I’m Kelsey?” It comes out like a question, and the lean guy closest to the door grins at me.

“Hi, sweetie, I’m Charles, from the Neiman Marcus Salon. This is Christophe, he runs the women’s formalwear department, and Suze and Megan are makeup artists that I work with. Mr. Harrison called us and told us we needed to meet you here to get you glammed up for a ball.” His eye turns professional, and he gives me a once-over. “This is going to be fun.”

“Can we come in?” the guy with the rolling rack says. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“I can’t… I can’t afford whatever this is going to cost.”

“Of course you can’t. Mr. Harrison already paid us. You just need to sit back and let us take care of this.” He motions to my robe, and I pull it tighter around me, hoping he doesn’t notice the fact that the seam is totally split at the armpit.

“I’m thinking the mauve Marchesa,” the guy named Cristophe says, squinting at me.

“Oh, that will be gorgeous with her coloring,” one of the women says.

“Did you just dry your hair? It’s such a great color.”

I’m staring at them, and I finally open the door wide and gesture for them to come inside. They’re all chatting happily with each other like they do this kind of thing all the time, and I’m totally thrown.

One of the women pulls a dining chair from my kitchen table and sets it in the middle of my small living room.

“Do you like lavender, hon?” the dress guy easily pulls the rack of clothes more expensive than my entire apartment through the door. “We could do lavender.”

---