No Kissing Allowed (No Kissing Allowed #1)(5)

“Fine.”

I gave Lauren a fleeting look before stepping back into my fitting room and slipping on the first dress. It was a black button-down sweaterdress. Long-sleeve, knee-length, and sure enough, forever-right Grace was right. The dress was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Straightening my back, I rose on my toes, appreciating the look once in heels. It was professional, yet trendy. Picturing myself walking into Sanderson-Lowe in this dress, I felt a sense of confidence and pride. But then my gaze dropped to the tag, swaying in the mirror, and I craned my neck to read the price, only to storm out of the fitting room. Grace and Lauren were in front of the mirror with new outfits on.

“Twelve hundred dollars. Are you crazy? I mean, what is it made with, gold stitching or something?”

Grace shook her head. “What? It’s a Derek Lam. And it’s not that much.” She picked at one of her manicured nails. “But maybe don’t try on the other dress.”

“Why? How much is it—two thousand?”

Grace smiled sweetly. “Um, more like four.” She swept in behind me before I could faint over four thousand dollars. For a dress. And placed me squarely in front of the mirror. “But look at you. It’s so, so perfect, Cammie. Can’t you just splurge? Just once? Your inheritance from your dad is plenty to—”

“No. I don’t touch that money. You know that.”

Guilt crossed her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up. Really, I’m sorry. But I still think you deserve to have something amazing.”

The problem was, she didn’t get it. Lauren understood. Like me, she paid for everything, but Grace had never wanted for anything in her life. And I knew deep down she didn’t understand why I refused to touch my dad’s money. Receiving money for someone dying felt a little like karma trying to buy you off. Here’s some cash for your trouble. I hated having it, hated receiving statements in the mail, hated the idea that something was left to me after he died, when all I wanted was to have him back.

Pushing aside the pain that always came at the thought of my dad, I lifted my gaze to the mirror to find Grace watching me, hesitant. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But I can’t spend twelve hundred on a dress. I just can’t. Can we find something in the two hundred range?”

Lauren nodded to Grace, who looked like I’d just asked her to find me a dress at Target—which, honestly, would be a better option for me—but then she smoothed out her horror and left the fitting room, mumbling to herself as she went.

“She’s just trying to help,” Lauren said once she was gone. “And she’s never had to care about money. She doesn’t do it on purpose.”

“I know.” I glanced in the mirror again. “And it’s a fantastic dress. Just twelve hundred dollars? That’s not me.”

She ran her hands down her own dress, avoiding looking at me. “Kind of like last night.”

“You mean UT Guy.”

“UT Guy?”

“He was wearing a UT hat.”

“Ah. Do you know anything about him? Where he works? Last name? Anything?”

I pulled my hair back into a ponytail. “Yeah, because I didn’t catch his first name, but somehow the last name stuck?”

“Good point.”

“I have no idea. For all I know, he doesn’t have a job, just floats from bar to bar, tempting girls with his perfect hair and glasses.”

She grinned. “Glasses?”

“Don’t ask.” I studied the dress in the mirror, my nerves getting the better of me. “I can’t believe we start our jobs tomorrow.”

“I know. Ready or not, world, here we come!”





Chapter Four


Standing on the subway platform on a Monday morning in the city was a little like preparing for the start of a race. The yellow line stretched out, telling us to stand behind it, to be courteous and wait our turns, but as soon as the silver train appeared, we all crowded the line, eager to make it on before the car filled up and we had no choice but to miss the train and risk being late. Which wasn’t an option. Not today.

The train appeared and the doors opened, but I was a pro now and made my way inside, standing close to a pole and out of the way, then began running through the people at work I’d see today, seeing faces and trying (and often failing) to remember their names.

I knew from the moment I chose NYU that I wanted to work in advertising, and there was no advertising firm better than Sanderson-Lowe. A part of me still couldn’t believe they’d hired me.

I pushed off the subway, eager to get to the office. I’d been this way my entire life. Most saw something new as stressful, dreading and delaying it as long as possible. Lauren had spent all morning in that very mood—talking too fast and switching clothes and generally acting like a crazy version of herself.

But for me, new gave way to possibility. Plus, I was too much of a planner to ever go in unprepared, which was why I’d spent most of the night on my laptop, researching for my morning meeting. My boss, Gayle Litchen, had landed a new client. A power drink company named Blast Water, and the meeting would be to discuss campaign ideas. So far I had five that could work, but I was torn between jumping in or getting acclimated first. Initial appearances were everything in business, and I didn’t want to come across as too strong or too meek. There had to be a balance.