Page 6 of #Awestruck

“She is. And she knows everything about everyone. There’s a party tomorrow night to celebrate the win against Cleveland and to do a kickoff for Tinsley’s favorite charity.” Tuesdays were days off for NFL players. “I’ll get you in as Reggie Franklin’s date. The girls don’t fight over him, so you’ll seem unthreatening.”

Reggie Franklin was one of the practice squad players, which basically made him expendable to the team. There was always a chance he could land a starting position, but not a great possibility. Which meant his earning potential was extremely low and made him not quite as desirable a player as the other Jacks.

“The thing with Tinsley is she loves doing work for the Jumping Jacks organization. The one that’s for sick kids? Figure out a way to help them, and you’ll have your in.”

“That’s my family’s charity. I’m on the board,” I told her, excited. This was all working out so well.

“You’re one of those Baileys?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Whatever you do, don’t tell her that!” Nia shook her head. “Tinsley has to be the star of every situation. You just want to volunteer and help out. She’s in charge, and you have to suck up to her. Think you can handle that?”

Oh, I had a black belt in dealing with and sucking up to difficult women. “I think so.”

“Good. So I have a homework assignment for you. Today or tomorrow take some pictures of yourself for Instagram. Do some inside, some outdoors. Try lots of different looks. Let me see your cell.”

I put in the password and handed it over. Nia fiddled with it for a few minutes before handing it back. “I added my contact information and put Instagram on your phone. Create an account and email me your username, and I’ll follow you. Tinsley will probably investigate you, and we want her to see that we’re friends. I’ll get a bunch of the other girls to follow you, too.”

The waitress returned with our food, but for the first time in forever I couldn’t eat. I was giddy that this was all going so well. Hopefully within the next forty-eight hours I’d have everything I’d need to ruin Evan Dawson and land my dream job.

Nia wasn’t done giving me instructions. “Tomorrow night, be at my house at six o’clock. We’ll all go over to the party together. Sound good?”

“Sounds good!” I agreed. This was all happening so fast. It hadn’t even been hard.

I should have known that nothing in life was ever that easy.

Once the business part was out of the way, I really enjoyed the rest of my lunch with Nia. She was hilariously snarky and loved chocolate and Jacks football, which made her the perfect potential friend.

When I got home, I did as she asked and took about a bajillion pictures of myself, sending them over to her first for approval. She picked out her favorites, and I posted them to my newly created Instagram account, including the hashtags she told me to use.

At first Nia was my only follower, but within an hour I had multiple follows from WAGs and Lumberjills. I didn’t know how she’d accomplished it but figured it was better not to ask.

The next day, as per Nia’s instructions, I went and got my hair done, my toenails and fingernails painted, and my eyebrows waxed. It was pretty far away from my usual casual tomboy style, but I did as I was told. I chose a skirt and blouse that I thought said “hanging with the girls!” It was also the girliest outfit I owned.

It took me about half an hour to drive from my condo to Malik and Nia’s mansion in Lake Oswego. And their house was practically on top of the lake. I parked my car on the street and ran through the drizzling rain, wishing I could better see the view of the water behind their home.

When I knocked on the door, I half expected a snooty British butler to answer. But it was Nia in an expensive-looking red minidress. Her gaze traveled from my head to my feet, and before I could even tell her how amazing she looked, she said, “Oh, nuh-uh. You are not getting in my car dressed like that. Come inside. I will find you something else to wear.”

“You’re, like, a foot shorter than me. Nothing you own is going to fit me.” I stepped into the foyer, and she took my coat and hung it up on a rack.

“Never doubt my closet game. My bedroom is this way. Malik! We need a few minutes!”

“All good, baby,” he responded from another room. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

I had only a second to take in all the luxurious surroundings before she had hustled me into her custom closet, which was obviously a shrine to the patron saint of designer fashion and accessories. It was probably the same size as my entire condo. She was right. I shouldn’t have doubted her closet game.

She started pulling short, sparkly, clubbing-type dresses off her racks, piling them on a bench in the middle.

“Aren’t those more male-centric outfits? I thought I was supposed to dress up for the girls.”

“We are. Don’t you watchReal Housewives?”

“Not if I can help it,” I joked, but she shot me a brief, withering look in between pulling dresses.

“This is how women like this dress up for each other. You’re supposed to blend in. And you’ll stand out in that raggedy broken-down-librarian outfit. No offense.”

“Total offense.” Not really, but I felt like I should probably stand up for my fashion choices.

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