“Um,” she said with lifted eyebrows, walking inside and closing the door behind her. She put her hands on her hips, gave me an up-and-down appraisal. “Problem?”
“I’m getting ready!”
“I can see that.”
I turned around, gave her my back. “Zipper?”
“Ah,” she said with a nod, and strode forward, apparently nonplussed at the sight of the bare most of me.
“I like your hair like this,” she said, pulling the sides of the dress together and raising the zipper with a satisfying zwip. “There’s a hook at the top,” she added, fastening it, then plucking at tulle and taffeta until she was satisfied.
“Very nice. Turn around.”
I followed her directions, mostly relieved I wasn’t hanging loose anymore, watched her nod.
“Very nice, indeed.”
Apparently not content with playing at the dress, she fluffed parts of my hair, tucked in others. “This is fun. It’s like you’re my own vampire Barbie.”
She stepped back, hands on her hips, nodding as she looked me over. “Shoes?”
“Box on the bed.” Since there was little chance I was bending over to lace up the ribbons, I lifted the flare of the dress and let her tuck me into the shoes like Cinderella.
The heels were high, but the fit was good, snug. “I think I could run in these,” I said, taking a few in-place steps.
“I doubt you’ll need to sprint at Adrien Reed’s house, but it’s probably best to be prepared.” She pointed to the closet, which held a floor-length mirror. “You want a look-see?”
“Yeah, I think I do.”
She stepped aside while I carefully traversed the bedroom, trying not to snag the dress’s flare on the heels or the spindly legs of Ethan’s antiques.
The sound I made when I saw myself wasn’t far off from the sound I’d made when I’d first seen the dress. I still looked like me, but sheathed in a gown that might have been worn by an actress on the red carpet, my hair softer than its usual knife-edge bangs and ponytail, I seemed softer. Not just a girl with immaculate comic timing and fine katana skills, but a woman who could hold her own with the city’s elite.
o;Against what? My inability to logic through hormones?”
“You’re taking this too personally.” He sounded tired again, like a parent talking to a petulant toddler.
I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on at Grey House. Maybe you’re distracted; maybe you’re concerned about Scott and the AAM. I don’t know. But you know him better than this, and you certainly know me better than this.” And if he didn’t, it wasn’t flattering for either of us.
“You’re saying you won’t do it.”
“Yeah, I am saying that. We all have lines, Jonah. This is one of mine. I assume you trust me, or you wouldn’t have made me your partner. You think about that, and you let me know.”
And for the first time that I could remember, I hung up on my partner.
Chapter Six
WHAT A DIFFERENCE A NIGHT MAKES
I was still stewing when I made it to the apartments. Ethan was gone, but the garment bag lay on the bed beside a glossy shoe box.
Hoping to direct my anger more productively, I unzipped the bag, half hoping I’d find a voluminous satin gown with mounds of rhinestones to rage against.
But I should have known better. Satin and rhinestones weren’t Ethan’s style.
“Oh,” I said as I unzipped the bag.
The dress was a slender column of black flared at the bottom. The sweetheart bodice was fitted but demure, and two panels of black tulle formed narrow sleeves that just covered the shoulders.