Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 124320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
“Like I said…” She smiles and shakes her head. “He’s new. I do get tired of the constant Secret Service presence, but I get it. And they are so over the top now that the word is out I’m pregnant.”
“We haven’t had a baby in the White House since…” I frown, thinking back. “Wow. Since the Kennedys.”
“Yeah, we’re hoping for a better ending,” she says dryly. “Thus all the hyper protection. There’s like four more where Hal came from out in the lobby.”
“Oh, I bet Carla is salivating. You know she loves a big man.”
Right on cue, a knock comes and my assistant pokes her head around the door. There’s a flush on her pale cheeks and her purple hair is slightly disheveled like she’s run her fingers through it.
“Should I feed those men out there?” she whispers. “I could order lunch for everyone.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Lennix says. “I’m not staying long, but thank you, Carla.”
“Don’t rush off,” Carla says, her cheeks going pinker. “Really. It’s no trouble.”
“Don’t get distracted by all those muscles,” I warn playfully, “and miss my delivery.”
“It just came.” Carla’s grin is abashed. “Should I bring it in?”
“Sure. Thanks, lady.” I rub my hands together. “This is the dress I’m wearing to the awards ceremony in Atlanta. My family’s foundation is honoring community leaders.”
I always make sure our foundation has plenty of donations, but my limited hands-on involvement has been a sore point. My mother insisted I attend this event, and I’m actually looking forward to it.
Carla walks back through the door carrying a huge brown box. I gesture toward the work table on the other side of my office, thanking her as she leaves. Once the box is laid out, I tear through the packaging to find another box inside, this one white, emblazoned with the word gLo, and tied with a wide purple ribbon.
“I didn’t know it was one of Lotus Ross’ designs,” Lennix breathes, touching the silk bow. “You guys know each other?”
“We met at the Image Awards not too long ago. She’s a riot. You’d love her.”
“I adore her stuff. That last line was fire.”
“Are you kidding? She’ll send you anything you want. A chance to dress the First Lady? What designer wouldn’t jump at that opportunity?”
“I’ve been careful to make sure I’m wearing things by up-and-coming designers when possible, especially indigenous women. It’s such a great way to draw attention to those who might get overlooked.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call Lotus overlooked,” I say dryly, “since she just won the CFDA for womenswear designer of the year, but she’s still pretty new to the game, so that kind of exposure could only help.”
When I lift the lid of the white box and peel the fragile tissue paper away, Lennix and I both gasp.
“Holy crap,” Lennix says, running her fingers lightly over the golden silk. “This will look fantastic on you.”
“It was literally made for me.” I lift the dress from the box, revealing the gilded fall of shimmering fabric. “Lo sketched it over drinks when I was in LA a couple months ago.”
“You have to try it on.” Lennix presses her palms together in a begging pose. “I wanna see.”
“Okay! You lock the door. I’ll get the windows.”
While Lennix walks briskly to lock the door, I draw the drapes across the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the chaos of D.C. traffic and commerce. I rush back to the work table, anticipation humming through my every molecule. My girly reflex is fully activated. I’m already thinking about the Manolos I found to go with the dress, mentally accessorizing and wondering if I should wear my hair blown out or upswept and in its natural curls. Without self-consciousness, I strip off my slacks and blouse, standing in only panties and bra. Lennix and I are in that “over ourselves” stage of friendship you reach through time and trial. She, along with our friend Vivienne, were my extended family so far from home. I carefully slide the silk up to my thighs, frowning when it catches there.
“What the…” I mutter when the material only inches up incrementally, not quite clearing my hips. It pulls so tight that if I force it, the dress will probably rip.
“Oh.” Lennix bites her bottom lip and tilts her head to the side. “Well, it…did she maybe send the wrong size?”
“I told you. She made it for me. One of these exists in the whole world, and Lo confirmed my measurements no more than ten days ago. I don’t get it.”
“I’m sorry, babe. Well, if we—” Her phone buzzes on the work table. She grabs it, still eyeing me with consternation. She glances down and grimaces. “Ugh. Dammit. I forgot we added a meeting to my schedule this morning. It’s on possible legislation for improved maternity leave. Something with teeth. My secretary just reminded me.”