GABRIELLA
“Iam not wearing this to work.”
Donna snickered, leaned against the subway tile walls of the women’s washroom, and folded her arms. “Why the hell not? You look like a stone-cold Gabi.”
“I don’t want to look like a stone-cold Gabi at work.” I turned to my reflection in the mirror above the sinks. The first outfit I’d pulled out of one of the boutique bags was a pencil-skirt dress that clung to every inch of my body. There was no hiding my hips, tummy, or the soft pudge of skin that always poked over the back of my bra strap. “It shows everything.”
Donna rolled her eyes. “Oh please, it does not. You’re just used to all those flowy silk blouses that you button up to your throat and cover you all the way to your wrist. I’m not saying you’re a prude but you are prude-ish.”
“I believe in dressing professionally for work.”
“It’s not the nineteenth century anymore, Gabi. There is wiggle room for women to look hot at work. Especially when their boss is the one encouraging it.”
I frowned. That was the part I found most weird. The fact that Jake had picked out these clothes for me didn’t make me feel more empowered to wear them—it made me feel quite the opposite. Did he want me in them because he wanted something visually appealing to look at? Was he a misogynist? Was I here to be décor and nothing more? Or did he mean what he said, and he just wanted me to elevate my look if I was going to be representing him?
This is all so confusing.
Donna pushed off the wall and began searching through the bags, which I’d lined up in a neat row at the vanity to the right of the sinks. Every now and then some of the women in the office would come in here to touch up their hair and makeup. It came in handy mostly when you had a nice place to be after work and wanted to shift from day to night without having to go home first.
She rummaged through the bags. “Maybe there’s a little shawl or cardigan you could throw over top to make yourself feel a bit more comfortable?”
“Good idea.” I tugged at the hem of the dress, which cut off just above my knees. Personally, I’d always preferred my work dresses or skirts to fall past my knees. Outside of work? I liked cute, short, flowy summer dresses as much as the next girl. But here, I wanted to lead with professionalism and integrity, and I wanted to make impressions based on my work ethic, not how good my legs looked.
Donna frowned. “No such luck. I don’t think Jake is a cardigan sort of guy. Although there is this.” She held up a sheer long-sleeved black blouse and snickered. Peering back into the bag, she muttered, “I wonder if he had the balls to throw a little red bra in here for you to wear underneath.”
I snatched the blouse from her hand. “I’m not dressing like a hooker for him, regardless of how good this promotion is.”
Donna continued sifting through the bags, pulling out tops, skirts, more dresses, and the occasional pair of pants. Meanwhile, I put the blouse over my dress, buttoned the first top few buttons, and tied the hanging ends in a knot near my navel.
I turned to the mirror and nodded. “Better.”
Donna looked me up and down. “Seriously?”
“It makes me feel better, okay?”
“It ruins the look.”
“It’s my look to ruin.”
Donna laughed and threw a pair of red pumps at me. “Try these on.”
“I’ll never wear those.”
“Do you know how many women would throw themselves at your feet to have these shoes? They’re Jimmy Choo’s.”
“Jimmy who’s?”
“Choo’s.”
“Choose? Choose what?”
Donna planted her forehead in her hand. “Oh my gosh, you’re clueless. How is it so endearing? Aren’t your parents loaded? You should know what Jimmy Choo’s are, Gabi.”
I shrugged and stepped into the shoes. They were higher than any heels in my closet, and my little toe felt pinched, but damn did they make my legs look good. Without thinking, I ran my hands down my hips, smoothing out the fabric of the tight dress. It was soft to the touch. Quality.
“There you go. You’re feeling yourself now.” Donna winked. “At least there are some good perks with the promotion, right?”
I heaved a sigh. “I don’t even know why he asked me. I’m pretty sure he hates my guts. And you know what? I hate his. He’s an arrogant, grumpy, consistently pissy presence in this office. And let’s be real, he’s the reason why office morale is so low around here, but he’s so oblivious to other people and their needs that he hasn’t connected the dots.”