Page 10 of Too Sweet

After our conversation with Carter and Cooper, my sister Harmony and I hastily pack up our booth and leave the expo, unloading a trail of free boozy treats in our wake.

We hit the Gold Hill shopping mall, where we try on outfits we can’t afford but might be suitable for dinner.

I’m so tired of wearing my skimpy bottle girl outfit that I’m fine with going into debt for some comfort and coverage.

“I would have been fine with a tee shirt and leggings,” Harmony says, frowning at the casual dresses and pantsuits I load her up with as we head to the dressing room.

“Dress for the money you want, not the money you have,” I chirp.

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes,” she says.

For dinner with our potential investors, I choose a flowing maxi dress with smocking across the bodice. I twirl in the mirror, admiring how that detail gives good coverage, yet makes my tits look fantastic.

Harmony sidles up next to me in the outfit she picked—an oversized color block tunic and black palazzo pants.

She sees the aghast look on my face.

“What?”

“It’s a business meeting, not a funeral,” I remind her.

“Exactly. Who wears a strapless maxi dress to a business meeting?”

I could argue that plenty of people would…with a blazer. But I have no leg to stand on because there’s no way I’m wearing a blazer over this amazing dress.

“You don’t have to dress hoochie, but you could try something that doesn’t make you disappear into the scenery?”

Harmony looks down at her too-big outfit. “It’s comfortable.”

I have to tread carefully here. I like to show off my figure but my sister does not. I’m the girl at the club who smiles, looks pretty, and upsells high-rolling clients. And Harmony is a teacher’s aide with a scarred heart.

“You don’t have to show your skin. But you could, at some point, try on something that actually fits you,” I say gently. “Would you like me to pick something?”

Her face is resolute. “It doesn’t matter.”

Judging by the look she gives me, she won’t budge and I’m dangerously close to pushing her too far. Pushing her as far as I did today was already a big step. I’m going to have to let it go.

“Okay. You’re right,” I say. “This isn’t the club. If these guys don’t want to invest in Little Spoon because of what we’re wearing, then we don’t want to be in business with those kinds of people anyway.”

Besides, I wouldn’t want to partner with the wealthy or faux-wealthy clientele I serve at the nightclub. Too handsy.

Harmony’s tight-lipped smile is all I’m going to get.

The drive to the twins’ home takes us through a woodsy neighborhood dotted with one inconspicuous, gated lane after another. I’m worried I’ll miss the address and get lost, but then I spot a gilded gate bordering on kitsch, and I know we’ve arrived.

I laugh in delight as Harmony clicks her tongue.

“Rather gauche, isn’t it?” my sister comments.

It takes me a couple of tries to input the gate code correctly. The longer it takes me, the more I can sense my sister tensing up. I know her vibe without even looking.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had to enter a code to get to someone’s house. It’s so pretentious,” Harmony says as I lean out the driver-side window, trying not to wrinkle the expensive sundress I bought on credit, which I fully intend to return tomorrow if this deal doesn’t go through. It takes two or three tries, but the gate finally swings open. I cheer.

“What’s pretentious about it?” I ask. “The family has a lot of assets to protect.”

I grunt as I get myself situated behind the wheel once again.

“And they wouldn’t want to live like normal people and do something for the greater good with all that money.”

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