Page 20 of The Bad Girl
“Where are we at, Hanes?”
“Little Miss OSHA’s up, and I’m trying to find something suitable for the photo shoot.”
“Did you just name me after a regulation agency—”
“You do realize these are expensive articles of clothes,” Maxwell cuts me off like I’m not even there.
“They’re last season, Stryder.”
“That shirt is six-hundred-dollars.”
“Yeah, and it’ll look great on someone attending a comic book convention. Nadine needs to pull off business badass, not edgy nerd.”
“Point taken,” Maxwell returns.
“I just need a few outfits,” I say from the bed.
Two pairs of eyes turn towards me, each of them with an‘are you serious?’ expression that lets me know I’m no longer in control of the situation.
I go back to my coffee, knowing when it’s time to let the professionals take over.
“I was thinking of putting her in Aléa’s line,” Stacey starts in.
Maxwell eyes her critically. “Aléa’s line isn’t edgy. It’s for people like Nadine who actually have money.”
Gee, thanks.
“Exactly! It shows her boldness.” Stacey pulls a light blue dress with little flowers off the rack that is the very definition of twee and bends to grab a black pair of military boots off a shelf. “This is the look I’m going for.”
Maxwell studies the dress, feeling the fabric. “I stand corrected—it’s perfect.”
“I also pulled this dress out, it’s the exact one she wore October twenty-second of last year. The pictures she has posted in it stop at the waist, so I’m going to put her back in it, do her hair and makeup the same, and take some shots of her with some thigh-high boots and a sexy bag.”
“I love it!” Maxwell enthuses.
I roll my eyes so hard I nearly fall back into the bed. I came to Maxwell for a little help, some much-needed insight, a glimpse of my blindspot, and now I’m recreating my old looks to make myself appear like I’m some kind of…interesting woman.
Stacey lobs the dress at me. “Throw this on.” She turns her gaze to Maxwell. “Get hair and makeup in here stat. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today.”
“Ummm…I still haven’t messaged Tom back—”
Stacey’s eyes bulge. “Don’t! Or at least, not so quickly.”
“He messaged me Friday night.”
“And you need to put a little distance between you and the text, but not too much. If we wait too long, you’ll look afraid; if we reply too quickly, you’re overeager. We need just the right amount of time.”
“When is that, exactly?”
“Monday morning, 9:12.”
“Why not 9? Or 9:30? Or for goodness sake, 9:10.”
“Round numbers look rehearsed and scheduled. 9:12 says you pulled out your phone and noticed a message.”
I have to hand it to her, the woman is a genius. Everything she’s said and has planned makes perfect sense. The only problem is, nothing she’s saying comes naturally to me. It’s one thing to add a provocative belt to your wardrobe, it’s something else entirely when you’re changing communication practices and having photoshoots.
“What are you waiting for?” Stacey snaps at me. “Move!”
