Shopping – The Dress

Five hundred dollars. In cash. In a white envelope. I held it in my hand like a ticket to some other, magical world. I'd never gotten that much money just like that for shopping. And certainly not from a man who didn't really know me and just said I should look “appropriate.” Whatever that means.

I felt like the fucking Shopping Queen. Only without a camera crew around me. Too bad, really. I'm sure I'd look great on TV.

On the subway, I scribbled on my notepad:

Evening gown. Check

Business suit. Check

Cocktail dress. Check

And maybe a little something extra. For later in the evening?

I was sure the CEO had a very specific idea of what I should buy. But so did I. And “surprise me” sounded like an invitation to stretch the company standards a little bit.

In the city, I headed straight for La Boutique Élégance. Expensive. Chic. Air-conditioned to the point of freezing. I strolled between the tastefully displayed dresses and, looking at the price tags, had to admit that my shopping list was a little oversized. I couldn't afford more than one item. A sales assistant in high heels with angular cheekbones looked at me suspiciously, as if she was about to set off the alarm.

And then she came out from the back of the store. Small curls, dark eyes, definitely Asian and African ancestry in her family tree. Flat pumps, skin-tight dress. Cheeky smile, cute accent. “Can I help you?”

Her casualness wasn't disrespectful—it came from a natural familiarity, as if we'd known each other forever. I liked her immediately.

“I'm looking for something to knock a guy's ass off,” I said. “Elegant. But not stuffy. Sexy. But not slutty.”

She laughed. “That's a narrow niche.”

I grinned back. “I'll fit in there.”

She brought me three outfits. One in emerald green – form-fitting, with a low back. One in cream, a little too prim for my taste. And the third... was just wow.

Dark blue like a summer night. Smooth and shiny. The fabric shimmered like liquid crystal. Simple, but the fit was perfect. The straps were narrow. The neckline was low. The waist sat perfectly. I wanted to try it on right away. That one and no other.

Of course, La Boutique Élégance didn't have any cramped, musty changing rooms where you scraped your elbows while getting dressed. There were separate dressing rooms with indirect lighting and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. I stood in front of one and took off my clothes—and in that moment completely forgot that I wasn't wearing any panties. Siranne, the sales assistant, stood behind me holding the dress in her arms. In the mirror, I could see her smiling. She didn't comment, just said professionally and kindly, “I'll help you put it on.”

With her help, I slipped into my dream dress. Her fingers brushed fleetingly over my bare skin. It felt like a breath of ice. Goosebumps. My heart was pounding.

“Wow,” she said quietly and admiringly. “That dress is made for you.”