Page 119 of The Grumpy Billionaire

Tabitha comes over and asks me whether I’m going to the Fernhauser Gala on Saturday.

“Is that the thing at the Regis Ritz? Hugo said something about it. Finance people are going?”

“Yeah. What are you wearing?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe a cute skirt and…”

“Were you about to say cowboy boots?” Tabitha demands.

“Maybe?”

“Stella, no! This is the Fernhauser Gala.”

“Umm…high heels?”

“You understand it’s a black-tie gala, do you not?”

“Wait—black tie? It’s a formal ball?”

“It’s a hugely formal ball for Wall Street people. It’s supposedly for charity but it’s really just a schmooze fest. And an excuse to wear movie star shit. How could he not tell you this?”

“He’s pretty much consumed with work. But if it’s a dress up thing…shit, it’s tomorrow.” I turn to Kelsey.

Kelsey holds up her hands. “My most formal dress has a metallic lightning bolt on the front and peekaboo holes on the sides. I guess it’s better than your cowboy boots and blazers.”

Tabitha perks up. “Style makeover time!”

“Excuse me?”

Everybody’s excited.

Lizzie’s dragging me out of my chair. “We’re going shopping.”

“At nine at night?” I ask.

Mia claps. “I call DJ!”

An hour later, Tabitha’s unlocking one of her style storefronts and the group of seven of us bound in. “Is this a shop?”

“Kind of. It’s this whole business concept that involves personal stylists. Tabitha runs it,” Kelsey says, breezing by us. “Did we not tell you what a style maven our Tabitha is?” She points. “Is the formal section in back?”

“You know it.” Tabitha’s pulling little bottles of champagne out of a refrigerator behind the counter.

Lizzie grabs glasses. “So ready for a fashion show.”

“Wait…am I the model here?”

“Fuck yeah,” Mia says.

Shy Noelle raises her hand. “Calling it! You’re an autumn like me. Your skin has gold tones, and your brown hair is in the warm end of the wheel. She’s an autumn, right, Tabitha?”

“Hundred percent.” Tabitha grabs my arm. “Come on.”

We head into the dressing rooms. Dresses are brought to me.

The group drinks little bottles of champagne. Mia DJs it up, coming back for sneak peeks and changing the music based on the dress.

It comes to me around my tenth trip down the makeshift runway that this whole thing is as much for everybody’s entertainment as it is for helping me get something to wear. Once I realize that, I start playing it. Now and then I strut out in a way-too-va-va-voom one and do a little wiggle as I spin.

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