Dressed to Impress

I was going to meet Alexander Crown Jr. in twenty minutes, and apparently, I'd decided that the most productive use of my time was hiding in the ladies' restroom and questioning every fashion decision I'd made that morning.

Twenty-seven years old. Six years at Crown Living Industries. Three editorial awards. And here I was, turning in front of a bathroom mirror like a girl preparing for her first date.

Which was ridiculous. This wasn't a date. It was a professional meeting with one of the most powerful men in America, and I was a perfectly capable journalist who'd interviewed celebrities, politicians, and executives with egos the size of Texas.

I could handle Alexander Crown Jr.

Probably.

My reflection, at least, looked ready.

My thick black curls fell around my shoulders in glossy, carefully styled waves, framing my face beautifully. Gold shimmer complemented my deep ebony complexion, dark eyeliner emphasized my large brown eyes, and my favorite rose-colored lipstick gave my full lips an irresistible shine.

I'd always been proud of my appearance. I worked hard, took care of myself, and saw absolutely no reason to pretend otherwise.

Especially when I'd spent the last four years making sure my figure looked fantastic.

The glossy black latex leggings were probably the best purchase I'd made all year. They hugged my hips and thighs like a second skin, emphasizing the dramatic curves I'd spent countless hours developing at the gym.

I turned sideways and looked over my shoulder, admiring the result in the mirror.

Damn, girl.

My glutes looked spectacular.

The leggings were definitely staying.

My upper half, however, was another matter.

I'd chosen a crisp white cropped office blouse, worn open over a black lace bra. The blouse framed my waist and shoulders, while the delicate lace added a fashionable contrast against my dark skin.

It was cute. Elegant, even.

But for a meeting with Alexander Crown Jr.?

I wasn't entirely convinced.

God, Naomi. Why did you have to dress so modestly today?

Perhaps I should've chosen something more colorful. Emerald green would have looked wonderful against my complexion, and I had a gorgeous red satin top at home that would've made an impression.

Still, the white was sophisticated. And the black lace looked beautiful.

I adjusted the blouse, turned sideways again, and raised my phone.

One photograph.

Then another.

The second was perfect. My face looked beautiful, the lighting flattered my skin, and the mirror behind me captured the sleek silhouette of my leggings from another angle.

I smiled.

That was going straight to the girls.

THE GIRLS — CROWN LIVING

Naomi: Emergency fashion consultation. Meeting Crown Jr. in twenty minutes. Too modest?

Megan: GIRLLLL

Megan: THAT ASS!!!

Naomi: Megan. Focus.

Megan: I AM focusing. I've been staring at the back mirror for thirty seconds.

I laughed, leaning against the marble counter as Priya joined the conversation.

Priya: Naomi, you look gorgeous! But show us the blouse properly.

Naomi: What do you mean?

Priya: Open it a little more. I want to see how the whole outfit works.

I glanced at my reflection, adjusted the blouse, and took another photograph.

Naomi: Better?

Megan: OMG YES.

Megan: That lace looks incredible on you.

Priya: Hmm. Actually, fasten a couple of buttons again.

I stared at my phone.

Naomi: YOU JUST TOLD ME TO OPEN IT.

Priya: I wanted to compare!

Megan: Wait, wait. Is that the black bra you wore to the office party?

Naomi: Yes?

Megan: Girl. Where did you get that thing? Your grandmother's lingerie drawer?

I gasped.

The absolute nerve.

Naomi: EXCUSE ME???

Megan: I'm kidding! Mostly.

Priya: The lace is lovely, darling. Megan just has terrible taste.

Megan: Says the woman who owns seventeen beige cardigans.

Priya: Eighteen, actually.

I burst out laughing.

God, I loved those idiots.

Naomi: Can we PLEASE focus on the fact that I'm meeting one of the most powerful men in America?

Megan: Fine. The blouse is cute. The bra is questionable. But that BUTT?

Megan: Naomi, respectfully, you could walk into that meeting wearing a potato sack and nobody would notice.

Priya: Megan!

Megan: WHAT? Have you SEEN the second mirror???

I turned sideways again, admiring the reflection.

Well.

She wasn't wrong.

Naomi: Four years of squats, ladies. You're welcome.

Megan: And we're all very grateful.

Priya: You're impossible. But seriously, Naomi, you look beautiful. Fasten two buttons, keep the lace visible, and stop worrying.

I considered that.

Two buttons.

Perhaps she had a point.

I fastened them, leaving the black lace visible above the neckline, and examined the result.

Still flattering. A little more polished.

Perfectly appropriate for an executive meeting.

At least by Crown Living standards.

Naomi: Okay. Final version. No more changes.

Megan: Famous last words.

Priya: Now go impress him!

Megan: WAIT.

Megan: WHAT IF NATHAN COLE IS THERE???

I blinked at the screen.

Oh, right.

Nathan Cole.

The ridiculously handsome blond photographer from Victoria Lane's wedding cover. Priya had shown me his photograph yesterday, and Megan had spent an embarrassing amount of time explaining why I should find him attractive.

As though I'd needed help.

Naomi: Why would he be there?

Megan: Because Crown hires him, obviously!

Priya: Imagine if it's another BLEACHED campaign. They might need a photographer.

Naomi: That's a rather enormous assumption.

Megan: And he's enormously handsome. Your point?

I rolled my eyes.

Naomi: He's cute. I admitted that yesterday.

Priya: You said "huh."

Naomi: Fine. Very cute. Happy?

Megan: VERY.

Megan: If he's there, I expect details.

Priya: And please don't criticize his photographs within five minutes of meeting him.

Naomi: I would never.

Megan: LIAR

I shook my head, smiling as the final messages arrived.

Priya: Seriously, sweetheart. Good luck. You've earned this opportunity.

Naomi: Love you both. If I get promoted, drinks are on me.

Megan: And if Nathan asks you out?

Naomi: Then I'll buy YOU a drink so you'll finally stop talking about him.

Megan: SCREENSHOTTED.

I laughed and tucked my phone into my handbag.

Honestly, those two were impossible.

And I loved them.

I gave my reflection one final inspection. Beautiful face, perfect hair, excellent figure. The white blouse was now fastened enough to look polished while still allowing the black lace to show, and the glossy leggings looked spectacular.

Perhaps a little conservative by Crown Living standards, but certainly nothing to be embarrassed about.

Unfortunately, my stomach still hadn't received the message that I was perfectly capable of handling an executive meeting.

I adjusted an earring, checked my lipstick, and straightened my blouse one final time.

For heaven's sake.

The truth was, this meeting might be the opportunity I'd spent years waiting for. My last three editorial reviews had all praised my research and technical abilities before arriving at the same frustrating conclusion.

Where was the passion? Where was the fire?

I'd spent six years building a career at Crown Living, and lately I felt as though I'd stopped moving forward. Megan was becoming one of the beauty department's most recognizable voices, Priya had practically made herself indispensable to luxury lifestyle, and I was still being told my writing was wonderful but missing something.

I wanted more. A major feature, an exclusive assignment, something that would finally let me show what I could do.

Something people would remember.

And apparently I wanted it badly enough to spend half the morning worrying about my blouse.

I smiled at my reflection.

"All right, Naomi. Go be brilliant."

I collected my handbag and headed for the elevators.

The executive floor was exactly as extravagant as I'd imagined.

White marble stretched beneath enormous crystal chandeliers, gold accents decorated the walls, and expensive artwork hung between panoramic windows overlooking downtown Heartwell. Everything practically screamed wealth.

I loved it.

I'd visited this floor twice before, accompanying senior editors to corporate events, but never for a private meeting with Alexander Crown Jr.

It was quieter up here. Not because the building was empty, but because everything seemed carefully organized. Assistants moved between offices carrying documents and refreshments, expensive shoes clicked across polished marble, and discreet conversations took place behind enormous glass doors.

The walls displayed Crown Living's history in photographs. Alexander Crown Sr. stood beside prominent Hearts Movement figures in one, while others commemorated the company's first luxury residential development, its acquisition of BLEACHED, and the launch of BLEACHED HEARTS Entertainment.

Near the elevators hung a particularly spectacular photograph from last year's annual corporate celebration.

Alexander Crown Jr. stood at its center, surrounded by executives, celebrities, and glamorous women wearing elaborate evening couture.

He looked handsome. Very handsome.

I briefly wondered whether he looked as good in person.

Then I noticed the receptionist.

Oh.

Oh, come on.

The woman behind the enormous curved marble desk was absolutely breathtaking.

She was a stunning East Asian beauty with luminous porcelain skin, enormous dark eyes, and glossy jet-black hair falling in immaculate waves down her back. Her full cherry-red lips, impossibly long eyelashes, and flawless makeup made her look like she'd stepped straight out of a BLEACHED beauty campaign.

And her outfit?

Good Lord.

She wore a gleaming white satin halter top with an exceptionally daring neckline, its delicate fabric fastened by golden clasps. The fitted white skirt followed every curve of her hips, while sheer stockings and towering gold heels completed the ensemble.

Around her neck glittered an elegant platinum ownership collar. Just beneath her collarbones, an elaborate red-heart tattoo framed the words PROPERTY OF DADDY CROWN.

She looked absolutely incredible.

And apparently this was what passed for ordinary reception attire on the executive floor.

I glanced down at my own outfit. White blouse, black lace, glossy latex leggings. All perfectly fashionable, of course, but suddenly nowhere near as impressive as I'd believed ten minutes earlier.

The receptionist looked up from her monitor, her expression brightening into a dazzling smile.

"Good morning! You must be Ms. Brooks."

"That's me. Good morning."

"Wonderful! I'm Evelyn Chen, Mr. Crown's executive receptionist. It's lovely to finally meet you."

"Likewise." I smiled, approaching her desk. "Although now I'm wondering whether I should have dressed up a little more."

Evelyn laughed softly.

"Oh, don't be silly. You look gorgeous! I love those leggings."

"Thank you. They're actually new."

"Well, they suit you perfectly."

I smiled, appreciating the compliment. Evelyn glanced at her monitor before continuing.

"Mr. Crown is finishing another appointment, but he should be ready for you shortly. You're a few minutes early, so please make yourself comfortable."

She gestured toward an elegant seating area beside the panoramic windows.

"Can I bring you anything? Coffee, sparkling water, perhaps some champagne?"

"Champagne? At ten in the morning?"

Evelyn grinned.

"Executive floor, sweetheart. We have everything."

I laughed. "Tempting, but I'll stick with water."

"Of course!"

She pressed a button on her desk and requested a glass of sparkling water, then looked back at me.

"First time meeting Mr. Crown personally?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Not at all." Her smile turned reassuring. "He's wonderful. Very enthusiastic about his projects. Just be yourself."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me."

"Then perhaps you should listen."

I chuckled. "Fair point."

Evelyn gestured toward the waiting area again.

"I'll come get you as soon as he's ready, Ms. Brooks."

"Thank you, Evelyn."

"My pleasure!"

I walked toward the windows, feeling a little more relaxed after our conversation. Evelyn was lovely, and if everyone on the executive floor was as welcoming as she was, perhaps this meeting wouldn't be quite so intimidating after all.

Still, I couldn't resist one final glance toward the reception desk.

Evelyn had returned to her work, looking effortlessly glamorous as she spoke into her headset. Her white satin outfit was spectacular, her makeup immaculate, and her confidence entirely natural.

I sank into one of the enormous leather chairs, crossed my legs, and looked down at my blouse.

Two buttons fastened.

Just like Priya had suggested.

I shook my head.

Man, I really should've worn that top with the plunging neckline.

I considered the alternative for another moment.

Or skipped the bra altogether.

I sighed, already imagining Megan laughing herself sick when I told her.

Hell, maybe I should've just gone shopping for something new.

Damn it.