Page 43 of My Totally Unfair Deal

Taking a deep breath, I scan the storefronts across the street.

Balmain. Hermès. Tom Ford. Marc Jacobs.

I have no idea how to properly pronounce the first two, so I take my chances with the third.

Just be confident, just be confident…

I mutter the words under my breath as I walk through the doors.

“Well, hello there, Miss!” A suited man greets me from the counter. “Are you searching for anything in particular today?”

“No, I’m just looking around.” I pause. “Actually, yes. I’m attending a very important event in a few weeks, and I need dress and suit options.”

“Well, I can help you with the suits, but only if you don’t mind coming back via appointment so I can get you properly sized.”

“I can do that.”

“Perfect!” He pulls a business card from his pocket and scribbles on the back. “I’m James, and you are?”

“Eliza Hart.”

“And what is it that you do for a living, Eliza?”

I rattle off the lines I’ve rehearsed with Harrison, and James looks impressed as he hands me the card.

“Email me tonight with the days you want to come in. I’ll respond with times.” He taps his chin. “If you’re looking for dresses, check out The Laccare.”

“Thank you.”

Feeling slightly steadier, I take his advice and walk into the next store.

Rows of bright dresses sparkle from mannequins. I flick the tag on a silver one, and my eyes bulge.

$14,000?

I move toward the purses and pick up a golden clutch bag. The eight-thousand-dollar price tag makes me quietly set it back down.

“Can I help you?” a voice cuts in behind me.

I turn to see a svelte brunette in a sharply tailored black suit. Her smile is all bone and no warmth. She glances down at my shoes before meeting my eyes.

“I’m attending a very important flurry of parties,” I say, clearing my throat, “and I need dress and suit options.”

She doesn’t respond right away—just looks me over like I’ve tracked mud onto the carpet.

“Well,” she says eventually. “Did you mean to come into this store?”

I blink. “I was told you had good options.”

“For… parties?” Her tone is flat, condescending.

“Yes. In pink, preferably.”

She doesn’t move. “Do you have an appointment?”

“I didn’t know I needed one.”

“We cater to regular clientele,” she replies coolly. “You might have better luck at TJ Maxx. Or Marshall’s.”

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