"Morning."

Myra smiled eerily towards me, her pretty face looking strangely familiar. Her fingernails looked like small, shiny globs of burgundy that were perfectly rounded at the tips. It was her business nails, or basically the nails she wears when she's serious, which oddly enough is not as frequent as you would expect.

Giving her a puzzled look, I took a seat and poured myself a bowl of cereal. In a cold silence, Myra and I stared at each other. It was weird but not unfamiliar; lately, Myra and I haven't gotten along, just yesterday Myra and I passive aggressively fought over a toothbrush. It's just that she's gotten particularly nagging and that there's this grating, uncomfortable sensation whenever she speaks. In addition, the fact that she seems to believe that my life is solely based on being her maid-of-honor, an "honor" that was bestowed on me after the previous one had a mental breakdown. So, I haven't set up an engagement party even though the wedding is in six months, sue me. Myra didn't want a bachelorette party or for John to have a bachelor one so she decided that the maid-of-honor and best man should plan a tasteful engagement party instead. Now that I think about it, I think the last maid-of-honor had her breakdown when planning for Myra's engagement party and the best man was a skeevy flake.

Pouring non-fat soymilk (bleh) into the bowl of shriveled Special K, I questioned my sister's taste in food and began to nibble at the wet flakes. Myra shifted around, barely touching her egg whites. There were subtle twitches in her face that told me I was disgusting her with my eating habits. Myra's berry lips were typically pursed, she wanted to say something but didn't wanted to be seen as prudish, which she is. Finally, I opened my mouth, revealing a beige mush of chewed up oats.

Making a sound of disgust in the back of her throat, Myra said, "Seriously, you're sick."

Giggling, I retorted, "Actually, I'm hungry."

"Whatever, just be a decent human being and eat with your mouth closed, please."

"Fine," I closed my mouth and swallowed before continuing to speak, "Myra, you need to eat, you look so thin."

Myra shifted around in her seat uncomfortably. "What are you talking about? I look the same. I've just been running a lot more, you know for the wedding…God, is it that obvious?"

Popping a hard-boiled quail egg into my mouth, I said, "It's not that noticeable but you really don't need to be thinner than you are now, you'll look like a skeleton."

Perking up, Myra looked shocked, if vaguely pleased at the observation. "Really?"

I nodded, digging into my bowl of cereal. Myra ruffled with pleasure, now the epitome of New York thinness.

"So, you're going to work…like that?" There was a subtle pinch of the nose, a sure sign of disapproval.

Peering down, I observed my outfit; a black cardigan over a navy turtleneck shell tucked into black high-waisted pants, a serviceable outfit or so I thought. For once, I looked less like a gawky ostrich and more like a normal person, a tough feat for someone who's six inches taller than the average woman. Subtly, Myra's eyes trailed down from my outfit towards my shoes, a pair of patent flats with bows to match.

"What?" I heard myself sputter, "I look perfectly fine! Don't I?"

Myra shrugged noncommittally, "No. No. You look…fine."

The moment my ears heard "fine" panic set in, I couldn't look fine, not in front of those girls; they'd rip me to shreds. If you don't look like you've stepped out of Nuances, then you were an outcast in Strata, abandoned to face the icy glares of your coworkers and the loneliness of the stockroom. Even Puritans give better treatment to their excommunicated.

Then, having seen the horrific expression on my face, Myra retracted her statement, still unaccustomed to my little episodes of panic despite enduring them for her entire life.

"Listen, I probably have no idea what I'm talking about. Look at what I'm wearing!" Myra pointed to her walnut peplum top and her oxblood pencil skirt, a perfectly professional and tasteful outfit and something I would never have imagined wearing myself.

Pouting, I said, "Oh sure, now you say that. God, those girls are going to tear me to shreds."

"Please, dramatic much? You've always been so insecure about your height ever since elementary!"

"Well, I can't help that I was taller than all the other boys in class and that I became "Giraffe" after the graduation picture."

"So what? That was years ago, girls would kill to have your mile-long legs. Stop freaking out." The look of admonition in her eyes ended my little whiny spiel and I felt the tension in my body loosen ever so slightly.

Popping another egg into my mouth, I sighed, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Then, Myra looked into my eyes with a piercing glare. "Speaking of things that haven't been mentioned, how's my engagement party coming along?"

Having chugging my grapefruit juice when being confronted, I nearly choked. I thought she had finally forgotten about it. "Uh…yeah, that's still in the works. But, I don't want to spoil it…" I faltered for a moment, searching for an excuse, "Because it's a surprise!"

Myra let out a squeal of joy, something quite unnatural and disturbing, "Oh my God, you're kidding!"

"Not at all!" I forced a smile. "But I can't tell you anymore, just that it'll happen when you least expect it!"

"Of course, that's the whole point." Then, Myra smiled toothily, a rare sight since she hated her teeth even after the braces were taken off. She never smiled like that to anyone besides Dan and Dad and Mom and me and not since Dan's death. I don't think John, her fiancé, has ever seen her smile like that.

To be honest, I don't think I've smiled like that since Dan's death either.

After changing into a crisp, clean button up shirt and a plain black pencil skirt and wearing my geriatric slip-ons, I rushed over to Strata since it was my turn to open up shop. I had to open up shop every day since I started working here.

Unlocking the door, I questioned myself the point of opening up at eight-thirty since Fifth Avenue was virtually a ghost town until eleven, the appropriate time for brunch. The door clicked and I entered through the pristine glass door, my orthopedic shoes squeaking on the marble tile. Strata looked like Myra's penthouse, stark white, clean details, and completely without personality. It felt like a hospital in the Upper East Side, utterly clinical and indulgent. There was even a granite fountain in the center of the floor, spouting crystal-clear water that trickled down three tiers of chiseled bowls with water lilies carved on. It was elegant for sure, but it felt so empty and overwhelming without anyone else inside.

Entering the employee lounge, I grabbed Renee's id and scanned it on this black box built into the wall, scanning mine right after hers. It was basically a time log, keeping workers accountable for the time they spend working. Grace told me it was Dominic's policy and a strict one at that. You had to scan once when you entered the shop, another time when you were leaving for lunch, another time when you came back, and a final time when you left work. If anyone was caught violating the policy, Strata had grounds to fire him or her. Turns out Strata's pretty strict when it came to business.

It was Renee's turn to open up shop but like the others, she relegated the task to me and I, not wanting to cause any more tension between us, accepted it. Pretty much everyone, except for Grace, hates me since they think I ratted them out about that coffee run and I'm trying to do everything in my power to get into their good graces. It's sad that I'm basically in high school again but if it pays well I'll bite the bullet with a smile.

Placing Renee's id back into her cubby, I stuffed away my oversized hobo bag into mine and pinned my metal nametag on my cardigan. Quickly, I changed out of my granny shoes, my comfortable granny shoes, and put on a pair of black court heels that I kept for work. Running a lint roller across my skirt, I tried to forget how uncomfortable it felt to stuff my wide feet into such pointy, such high, shoes, at least they were pretty. Tottering over to the bathroom, I fixed my lipstick and pinned my hair into a French twist. Looking into the mirror, I was confronted with the eerie sight of my mother gazing back at me, severe pinned burnt orange hair, pale complexion, hollow cheekbones, berry lips pursed in a frown, wearing conservative monotone clothing. Shakily, I unpinned my hair and wiped off the berry lipstick, repressing the image.

Settling myself into the customer service desk, the only place with a chair, I sighed at the sight of the clock telling me that it was only eight-forty. And there I sat for what felt like an hour but was only five minutes. Being the only one in the shop was maddening because there was nothing to do but put away stock in the stockroom and the fact that you would be alone only worsened the experience.

Wanting to waste time, I started planning for Myra's surprise party by myself, knowing full well that Nate, the best man with grabby hands, wouldn't lift a finger. It would be in the penthouse of course, since that's the only place I could get in such short notice that Myra would approve. Also, I would get the Japanese caterer that John liked so much but Myra rejected pitilessly because the poor guy deserves to get something out of this drag. I'd invite Pretentious Elise and her equally pretentious friends for Myra, but not Camilla since she snubbed Myra by not inviting her to her birthday party, and Water Polo Marco and his particularly annoying buddies for John, basically the regulars. Then, I realized that I would have to invite family, which meant that Aunt Katherine and Uncle Matthew would be coming along with Kevin the Prick and Melanie the Stick, nonentities with as much personality as a vegetable, and Jenny and Penny, the bitch twins, with Uncle Roger and wife number five; and I can't forget John's irritatingly optimistic family. In addition to this "fun" bunch, I'd have to invite Mom and Dad, which should amp up the excitement I feel for this drag already, which adds up to eighty people, not one of which I like. Cornelia wouldn't come out of respect since Myra, and well my entire family aside from me, hates her. Speaking of, I haven't called her in a while; I'd have to do that soon.

After listing everything I would have to do for the party, I fought the urge to call up Pretentious Elise and beg her to take the reins, something she'd like and gloat about for days on end. Elise always wanted to be maid-of-honor since she and Myra were best friends since college and was appalled when Myra chose Pepper instead and even more horrified when Myra chose me as the replacement. Now, Elise made petty jabs at me and refused to be cooperative out of jealousy, making me hate her even more. I couldn't even count the amount of times I wanted to kick her whenever she opened her mouth. Nope, I'd never give up this position as long as it pissed her off.

Then, the sound of the door ringing alerted me that someone had finally entered the shop. Putting away my planner, I looked up and caught the sight of swishy black hair as a trendily dressed figure walked past.

"Good morning, Madison."

Madison grunted and walked into the employee lounge.

Suddenly, the door rang again as the sound of heels clicking became increasingly louder. A pretty woman with shiny burgundy hair that dripped down her back like spilt wine walked in. Shocked at seeing a customer come in so early, I straightened out my clothing in a flustered manner. Walking up to the desk, the woman was wringing her wrists worriedly.

"Hi, welcome to Strata. Do you have a stylist appointment?"

"No, I don't. Do I need one?"

"Well it depends. Is there anything you need help with in particular?"

"Erm, yes there is." The woman let out a huff of weariness. "I'm having this big party tonight for work. I work for Lucille Wright, the editor-in-chief of Nuances, and we're going to the Kensington Fashion Awards event. This is an opportunity that I don't intend to miss out on. I had everything set up too; I had the dress, the shoes, and the witty things to say and who to say them to. It was perfect. Then, the cleaners screwed up and bleached my Prada dress, like the morons they are, instead of steaming it. Ugh, I should steam them. And now I'm here, the only store opened at this ungodly hour because I'm too busy any other time."

"Oh…Well, we have a wide selection of evening dresses from Alvarado, Miu Miu, Oscar De La Renta, Époque, Valentino, Dolce and Gabana, Diane Von Furstenberg, and Sonata. Would you like me to show you?"

"That'd be lovely. By the way, I'm Chantal." Chantal offered a hand.

"Nice to meet you, Chantal, I'm Corrine." Giving her a warm smile, I shook her hand.

As we walked past the shoe section and the accessories, I asked, "What's your job at Nuances, if I may ask?"

Shaking her head nonchalantly, Chantal replied, "I don't mind at all, I'm the art director of the magazine, I basically decide the layout and the art direction of each issue. It's a decent job and pays well enough to afford Prada, that's for sure. The real perks come from 'borrowing' the latest samples right out of the Nuances closet and going to these huge events."

A pang of jealousy sparked and I nodded in understanding. "Sounds exciting. Now, is there a particular brand that you're looking for? Any color, fabric, or cut you're looking for?"

"Hmm, well, why don't you decide for me?"

Blinking dumbly, I said, "Huh?"

"Your nametag says that you're a stylist, so why don't you style me?"

"Erm," It was another policy that stylists worked on an appointment-based basis and walk-ins had to pay an extra twenty dollars in addition to the twenty-five flat rate.

"What?" Explaining the policy to her, I waited for Chantal to be outraged and tell me to go screw myself, like most walk-ins did, but instead she sighed and pushed back her hair. Then, she said, "Whatever, I'm tired. I haven't had any coffee and all I want to do is take a nap."

"I'll take you to the stylist lounge; it's got a couch that feels like sleeping on a cloud. Trust me, I know."

Chantal gave me a wry smile and followed me. Lying down on the couch, Chantal murmured her thanks and left me to go searching.

Luckily, it was easy to discern Chantal's taste since it was so similar to most of the customers in the shop, which was high-end and elegant. It was twenty minutes when I came back and Chantal looked like a corpse just lying on the couch. For a moment, I almost believed she was dead. Rousing her awake, I presented Chantal with her options.

The first one was a Sonata maxi dress in a burnt orange tint with a lace overlay, simple and flattering against Chantal's olive skin.

"It's okay." said Chantal, a small hint of disappointment in her voice.

The second dress was a shimmering black sequin number from Zhade, not to mention one of the most expensive. Another thing about Strata was that it urged its stylists to try to convince their customers to buy the most expensive option possible. However, that wasn't the reason I picked it; I picked it because the fluttering sleeves complimented Chantal's round shoulders and the sequins would glitter subtly and prettily underneath any sort of lighting.

Chantal seemed to be more impressed with this choice. "This is more like it. Unfortunately, Liza already decided on the red version of this dress and I doubt she'd want to twin it with me."

The third option was a lavender gown from Louis Vuitton with off-shoulder sleeves and large rosettes sewn onto the skirt. Something I had forgotten that I threw in the pile.

Chantal's puckered lips told me that this was a no go.

The final option was a buttery gold satin Alvarado dress. It had a full skirt that flared out and spaghetti straps that weren't in anyway ghetto-esque and to wrap it up, it came with a pretty bow in the back. The dress came with a chiffon shawl in the same shade, an added bonus. The dress pretty much did it all; it highlighted her round shoulders, showed off her skinny waist, and brought out a glowing effect in her complexion.

The moment Chantal exited the dressing stall; I knew that I was right. Glowing, Chantal looked like a Hollywood star or goddess, not that there was much of a difference.

Chantal herself was speechless.

"Do you like it?"

She nodded her head enthusiastically and I let out a laugh. I allowed her to get changed and then I rang up her purchase.

As I started putting her purchase in a carrier bag, an expression of revelation lit up on Chantal's face. Pointing her finger towards me, Chantal murmured, "You're Corrine Flynn."

Chuckling, I said, "Yes, I am."

"No, what I meant was that you were the stylist that did Strata's gig when Katie had that allergy attack. You're work was genius, that Alvarado velvet jumpsuit with the lace bustier and all that subtle cross coordination. Everyone at Nuances loved it. Even Lucille did a double take. The only time she's ever done that was for Tom Ford's collection a few years ago."

Every single syllable that gushed from Chantal's mauve lips stunned me and I attempted to collect myself. Quietly, I said modestly, "Thank you."

"Not at all, it should be me thanking you. All I have is one question, what is someone with the sartorial skills of a Nuances editor doing as a stylist in a dinky department store?"

My mouth was agape at the boldness of her words; being a stylist at Strata was like being elite in a field, it paid well and it was highly respected among many other entry-level jobs. Sure, there were strict regulations and sometimes it felt overwhelming to work for such a big corporation, in which it felt like you were an ant or something of similar significance.

Honestly, I said, "I just needed this job."

Like a magician, Chantal whipped out a holographic card and proffered it to me. Stunned, I allowed her to hand the small little card into my hands. "Well, if you ever want to call, for any reason, feel free. We have plenty of internships and positions open to clever minds such as you."

Words escaped me, my lips parted and air gushed in and out of my body in shallow breathes. Appreciation barely covered what I felt. My cheeks grew warm and my lips spread out wide, revealing my teeth.

"It'd be my pleasure. Good luck on the party. If you ever need a couch to crash on and clothes, feel free to come back."

Letting out a wry laugh, Chantal smiled, "I'm glad, I hope to see more of your work in the future."

Chantal looked at me for a brief second with an expression of pity, like one does when they find out something disappointing about you that you are completely oblivious about. It was searing in that brief moment and hard to forget. Then, she left the store, leaving Strata feeling bigger and more eclipsing than ever.

"Hey."

A shadow loomed over me and I peered upwards only to wish that I never had. Renee looked pretty and tidy as usual; an Alvarado floral shirt fitted closely to her pin-thin waist with a pair of chocolate leather trousers, also from Alvarado, while her forest green hair was curled carefully to frame her heart-shaped face. Funnily enough, Renee dressed in clothing that costs three times more than what we, as stylists, earn.

Turning my attention back to my copy of American Tattler, I said, "Hi, Renee, don't worry. I carded you in first."

Clearly surprised, Renee said, "Thanks."

"No problem."

"Now, if you don't mind…"

At the sound of that, I peered up and looked at Renee evenly. "What?"

"Well, Grace is making Lillie, Porter, and me unpack and restock the stock room. And, like, we don't want to, you know?"

You have got to be kidding me.

"Let me guess, you want me to do it instead?"

"Yes! Oh my God, you're like a mind reader!" Then, Renee got a piercing look in her eyes, a rather threatening one if I may add. "You wouldn't mind, of course, would you?"

If I say yes, she'd probably spit in my face and make up some nasty rumor about me; but if I say no, then I'd be exiled to the cold, creepy stockroom to shelve away boxes of clothes. It's not like I had an excuse anyway, besides Chantal, I don't have any customers or appointments for the day. So, would I rather be branded as something I'm not at work or would I rather be branded as some brainless lackey?

I bit my lip as I gave in pathetically, "Sure, not at all."

"Great, I knew I could count on you, Cori."

Don't call me "Cori."

In horror movies, there usually is a scene in which a character is stuck in a damp, cold, dark place, wandering aimlessly right into the slasher and his handy dandy chainsaw/machete. Right now, at this moment, I was in that scene, just waiting to be hacked to death. Fine, I'm being melodramatic but the stockroom doesn't lessen my fear. It's large, oppressive in its atmosphere, dark, a dim light flickering on and off at random, and chilly, a slight draft breezing by from an unknown area. I hated it, it reminded me of the closet that my parents would shut me in if I ever disobeyed them or got a grade less than an "A." Luckily, I learned in time to hide a couple magazines, especially Nuances that I bought with my lunch money, and read them whenever I was confined there. Too bad, I didn't have them now.

"Alrighty then." I murmured. "Let's do this."

Ten boxes, two hundred cardigans, and an hour later, I was halfway through the shipment and had reached my breaking point. My fingers ached from constantly attaching tags, my arms had gotten sore from lifting and shelving constantly, even worse, the loneliness, and silence of the room was driving me batty. There was a constant dripping sound that echoed throughout the room, which only drove me battier. Then, a hand popped out of nowhere, clamping onto my shoulder.

At that moment, I unleashed everything I felt, my body clenching tightly and my stomach was in a knot. A piercing scream rocked my body as I scrambled away from the hand. Another scream followed but it sounded disembodied as if it didn't come from my mouth.

A voice yelled at me, clearly annoyed, "Holy shit, what's your problem?"

"My problem? You're the one clamping onto me without a single warning!"

The light flickered on and there, right across from me, was a tiny pretty, dark-skinned girl, dressed trendily and expensively like all the other girls. Wide-eyed and blushing, the tiny girl looked furiously at me as she brushed off her knees.

"Nearly gave me a heart attack…Jesus…"

"Sorry, it's not every day that a random person sneak attacks you like some ninja in a dark room."

"Oh please, get over it. This room always has shitty lighting. Don't push that one on me."

"Fine, truce, ninja?"

"Sure, and it's Simone, call me 'Simi.'"

"Corrine, no nicknames."

"That's a cool name, what is it?"

"Irish, it was my grandmother's middle name." Changing the subject, I said, "Let me guess, Queen Renee gave you the honor of joining me in the dungeon?"

"Hit the nail smack on the target."

"Tell me about it," I huffed, "So, what's your story?"

"Huh?"

"How'd you piss off the queen?"

"How'd you think?" Simi helped open up the box, using a box cutter to cut a slit through a tape. "If you're weird enough with a touch of awkward, it's pretty easy to get taken advantage of."

"Good point."

Defeated, the two of us started stocking the shelves, making small talk. Surprisingly, conversation gushed from us effortlessly despite our awkward natures. In twenty minutes, I had found out that Simi was raised in London by Bengali parents, who taught at a small university, and that she was married to a black Wall Street stockbroker, like many of our coworkers, whose ethnicity caused an unnecessary rift between her and her parents. In the same twenty minutes, Simi learned of my Massachusetts origins, my leaving Harvard, and my party planning woes. It felt like we were best friends meeting after a long vacation away, which is more than what I could have asked for from my dungeon buddy.

Since Simi couldn't be taller than five feet, I had to shelve the pile of cotton dresses. Climbing on the ladder, I asked absentmindedly, "Do you live in the area?"

"Nope, the hubby and I live five blocks up."

"Oh, cool. I live there too."

"Really, where?"

"Hartford Penthouses, that place on Kingston Street, across from that pear-themed restaurant."

"Oh yeah, Kris and I considered living there but the doorman was kind of snobby."

"You mean the one with the blunt cut or the one with braces? 'Cause they're both kind of snobby."

A dry laugh burst from Simi's lips, "The one with the braces. Have you ever been to that pear place?"

"Uh-huh, it's pretty good except I couldn't look at a pear for the next couple of days without dry heaving."

"Good to know, want to go there sometime?"

"Totally," Checking my watch, I said, "It's twelve, want to go now? Screw Renee and her cronies, I need a break. Besides, these boxes arent going to grow legs and walk away for the most part."

Simi looked at me with utter shock; the expression was only fleeting though. A grin spread from cheek to cheek as she said, "Let's do this."

"So, that's the Asian pear-mango-avocado salad with fresh pear cider, for you," The handsome waiter pointed to Simi with his pen and then pointed to me, "And a salmon-tuna-pear ceviche with a pear-lime juice for you."

We both nodded enthusiastically, euphoric from defying Renee's whim.

The waiter pushed back his thick hair and wedged his pen besides his ear, closing up his small notepad. "Alright, feel free to call me back if you need anything else ladies. Your orders will be out in twenty minutes."

"Thanks, John." I gave him a friendly smile, remembering him from the last time I visited the restaurant.

"No problem, Corrine." He flashed me a crooked smile that I'm sure would send many pubescent girls in a hormonal tizzy.

When he walked away, Simi smacked my arm, "Check you out, that guy totally wants something and I'm not talking about anything pear-flavored."

I looked at Simi strangely.

"Or you know he could just want your number."

Laughing, I said, "I know, and I'd love to give it but…"

Prodding my arm, Simi said, "Spill."

"It's weird."

"So what? I'm a weird person, so spill."

"Alright, you asked for it." Taking a deep breath, I said, "I'm seeing someone, well, I'm just going to be honest, you know him. It's Dominic."

Simi looked blankly at me, mentally searching for anyone with the name that she knew. "You mean as in the head honcho, aka our boss? Aka Mister Piss-him-off-and-there-could-be-a-couple-coincidental-layoffs, that Dominic Strata?"

"Yes," I said, "Has that actually happened?"

Looking around suspiciously as if Dominic might be listening right at this moment, Simi whispered, "Oh, it's happened. Like when Katie went out for drinks with his friend in corporate and rejected the creep, she was booted out of Strata faster than she could say 'No.'"

"Well," I said defensively, "It wasn't proven that it was Dominic behind it, right?"

"No…but it probably was." Then, catching the look of hesitation in my eyes, Simi corrected herself, "I'm probably wrong though so ignore me and my stupid mouth."

"I think I will. As I was saying, I was seeing Dominic until two weeks ago when my friends and I spotted him in some seedy bar with a statuesque blonde. Then, I called him just to surprise him, in front of my friends, and he looked down at his phone and then declined my call. Since that night, with the exception of a text that said 'Don't call, I'll call back,' he hasn't called me, and there's no way I'm calling him again. Also, I have no idea where he is or what he's doing. To make things worse, my friends think I'm lying just to save face from not being invited to my ex-fiancé's party, one I know that they're all going to despite what they've said."

"God, douche much?" Simi gnawed on a crispy breadstick in anticipation. "Do you still like him?"

Poking out the soft part of a baguette slice, I nibbled on it contemplatively. "I think I do.

"You think or you know?"

"I know. There are times when I'll randomly think about him, like if he's working, if he's thinking about me, if he cares about me. Sometimes, I'll lay in bed, trying to sleep, and he'll pop up in my mind. But to be honest, if he's really this spotty, I don't want anything to do with him." Throwing up my hands, I exasperated, "God, he's reduced me into a teenager!"

Consolingly, Simi said, "We've all had that stage, Nathan and I had it for what felt like eternity. It shows that you feel something for him at least. It's only terrible if you get stuck in that stage."

John delivered our food and flashed me another smile, which I ignored like a miserable child.

Shoveling ceviche in my mouth miserably, I grumbled, "What do I do?"

Waving around her fork, Simi said, "Call him."

Glugging down my juice when she said it, I sprayed it back out, causing the entire restaurant to stare at me.

Quickly, I composed myself, "Are you crazy? He said specifically not to call him."

"So what? He's not your mom, why should you listen to him if he snubbed you? Besides, guys like a little defiance, keeps the spark alive."

Snorting, I said sarcastically, "Yeah right. I could see it now," Deepening my voice, I did my best impression of a man, "'Hey, bro, you'll never guess what this chick did to me. She did something I specifically told her not to do, I'm in love!' 'Yeah, I love it when my girl undermines my masculinity. It's so hot!'"

Simi rolled her eyes, "Is that what you think men sound like? I'd hate to hear your impression of women."

"Terrible impression aside, you get my point. Besides, I have no reason to call him, I'm pretty sure that be more than annoying and awkward."

"Hmm," Simi chewed on a piece of pear musingly before saying, "What about your sister's party? I know her firm worked on Strata's headquarters and the shops in New York. Why not invite him to that lump of a party. It's perfect. It'd be like, 'Hey, I know you! Congrats on the whole business thing.' 'Yeah, congrats on the whole wedding thing!' 'Business pals for life!' Terrible impressions of people I don't know aside, you get my point."

In a way, it worked and I was itching to give him a call despite my better judgment. Thoughtfully, I said, "Good point, I guess it couldn't hurt. I mean they are friends after all."

"Yeah, there you go!"

Listening to the phone dialing, I said, "I'm probably going to regret this."

There was a click, Dominic's voicemail message came on and I let out a sigh of relief mingled with disappointment. I mouthed that it went to voicemail, which Simi urged me to go through with it anyway.

A beep cheeped in my ear and I took a deep breath. "Hi, Dominic. It's Corrine, I know you said not to call you and that you'd call back but I just wanted to ask if you wanted to come to this pseudo-engagement party thing for Myra, which is going to be a total drag but it'd be nice to see you and I know you and Myra are friends. So, give me a call if you get this…or not you know. Totally up to you…'Kay, bye!"

My clammy fingers clumsily tapped on the decline button, mortification at my own awkward stupidity settling in my mind. If I could travel back in time, I would have smacked Simi for suggesting I do something so stupid. Well, maybe not smack since I actually like her but the friend-equivalent of that, if it's possible.

Smugly, Simi leaned back in her chair, sipping on her cider through a straw. "Not bad, kid."

Let's hope that's the case.

Ohh, hey there. You guys know my deal so I won't put you through that drag. Since I'm on break for a week, I'll try to update another chapter, in Dominic's perspective for once(I missed thinking like a guy lol), and explain Mr. Strata's little absence. I'm not going to make any more promises because I don't want to disappoint you guys that are still reading, something mean of me to do. I'll try to upload as much as I can because I do want to complete this story and start another one (in the Trendsetters universe); it'll be a while before this story is done though since this is the begining. Also, to Neko-fire demon tempest (interesting name ^^): I do plan on including brands from the second game because they have a menswear selection, and to lillyanna11: I don't find your review rude at all but the story is just beginning which means that Corrine won't be acquainted with some characters until later on (like in the actual game) and I won't be including any of the other characters from the second game since I plan on having them in a completely different location for my next story. Thanks for reviewing though :D and I hope everyone enjoyed this installment.