"Remind me again how you two going out together is going to help things?"

I looked up at the ceiling as Trisha dusted my face with a thin layer of powder foundation. The bathroom in our flat was already small and cramped but now made more so by the wooden chair Trisha had dragged in from the kitchen for me, not to mention Trisha's massive collection of beautifying products that she had spread across every flat surface.

I called her almost immediately after Tom had walked into the kitchen and begged her to help me get ready. Trisha eagerly agreed, instructing me to meet her at home in thirty minutes. I left soon after we hung up with Tom promising to pick me up at seven o'clock.

"The event is for a charity Tom works with-the Footprint Foundation, or something. They do a lot of work with urban green spaces," I explained as I tried not to blink too much. "Anyways, some major donors for Tom's foundation will also be there."

"So you're going to poach donors?" She asked incredulously, apparently managing to find an ethical standard above poaching wealthy philanthropists at charity events, but somehow not below prowling the same events for one night stands.

"No, of course not!"

"Close your eyes," she ordered as she grabbed a tube of eyelid shimmer.

I did as I was told and tilted my chin up slightly. "Cynthia just wants me to meet them and show them I'm not some crazy party girl or any other sort of bad influence on Tom."

Trisha was quiet as she applied just the right amount of cosmetics. "Don't. Move." She mumbled as I felt her tug slightly on my eyelid before I felt the cool brush of liquid eyeliner slowly drag over my lash line.

She hesitated after she finished the first eye. "But there'll photographers outside the event tonight, right?"

"Probably. Maybe inside it, too."

"I thought..." she said slowly, her voice low in concentration, as she began the other eye, "you were trying to avoid photographers. I mean, that's the excuse you keep giving me whenever I invite you out anywhere."

I waited until she had finished and I could feel her lean back. "I am, it's just... I think the foundation really needs this. I think Tom needs it, too, he just won't admit it."

I slowly opened my eyes and had to blink several times before I could clear my blurry vision enough to make out Trisha's face and her perfectly tweezed eyebrow raised just enough to give her arch a dramatic look.

"He's more often their target than I am," I explained. "And I can see how the awful things they say affect him. He pretends they don't, but they do."

"Well," she sighed dramatically as she briefly turned back to the counter to retrieve a tube of mascara. "As a crazy party girl myself, I don't see what's so wrong with enjoying a fun evening dancing on tabletops with your mates."

"Nothing's wrong with it," I laughed as I took the tube she held out to me and uncapped it. "But, unfortunately, donors and hiring managers don't seem to be very big fans."

Trisha let me finish brushing on my mascara and then inspected my work before fussing over my hair again.

I had repeated Cynthia's guidelines verbatim to her-evening wear, elegant, something to dance in-and added a few requests of my own-on trend but still on the conservative side of things, preferably understated, and as economical as possible.

She had accomplished everything but the latter, and, from the smug look on her face when she skipped through the front door, I had a feeling Tom might have been a co-conspirator in that as well.

Trisha kept my makeup a clean, natural look. There was a hint of sparkle in the gloss she applied to my eyelids, but it was subtle enough that the only attention it drew was to the color of my eyes, which it made appear a warmer shade of roasted chestnut.

My hair she had mostly allowed to fall in its natural loose curls, though she had added magical serums and products that subdued any frizz or rebellious fly-aways. One section, however, was pulled back and fastened with a large golden clip in the shape of a leaf with delicately crafted veins.

I'd been afraid to ask if it was real gold, but after seeing the dress I knew I wouldn't like the answer.

"How's the job search?" Trisha asked as she adjusted the clip.

I shrugged while doing my best not to move my head. "You know... the same."

"How many interviews have you done?"

"Twelve-no thirteen," I corrected myself. "I had one this morning."

I could feel Trisha gaping at me through the mirror. "And nothing? Not one has panned out?"

I quickly met her reflection's gaze and then just as quickly dropped it.

"How the hell is that possible?" She exclaimed. "You're an amazing writer!"

I hesitated before closing my eyes and taking a deep, steadying breath. "I thought... I thought it was just me. I thought maybe I just wasn't qualified, but-"

"But that's bloody rubbish!" Trisha cut in.

"I know, well sort of-It's not just me," I stammered, forcing myself to meet my friend's increasingly deepening scowl. "It's Rufus."

"What's that prick got to do with it?"

"He blacklisted me. He called every major literary magazine, every reputable publishing house-anywhere I might search for work-and he told them all of these horrible things about me."

"Are any of them true?" She demanded.

"Of course not!" I practically yelped.

"Well, then that's illegal!" Trisha huffed. "It must be! Can't you sue him for libel or something?"

I shook my head, sending my curls rolling over my shoulders. "I don't have any proof. I only know because I spoke with a recruiter after I was rejected for a position, and when I pressed him he told me what Rufus had said."

"Well there! You've got a witness, isn't that proof enough?"

I sighed as I slouched uncomfortably in the chair. "It was all off the record. He only agreed to tell me on the promise of anonymity."

"But there must be something you can do!"

"Just keep slogging along, though between you and me the only interviews I get are with publishers more interested in Tom and his family than they are in me."

I glanced up at the mirror to find Trisha's expression had morphed from a furious scowl to a pitying frown. Already feeling sorry enough for myself, I pushed myself up and out of the chair before walking into my bedroom with my head held as high as I could muster.

Trisha watched from the doorway with her arms crossed as I slowly undid the back zipper of the dress, which we had earlier laid out on the foot of my bed.

The dress was stunning-so much so I couldn't even be angry over how much it must have cost. It had the shape of a tea dress with the light coloring of a robin's egg where it wasn't embroidered with dark gold and navy threads in the shape of intricate flowers and leaves. It might have appeared old-fashioned, but the cut of the dress-sleeveless with a subtle tapering along the hem-kept it feeling fresh and youthful.

"So, you going to this event... this is you just giving up?"

I carefully lifted the dress off the bed, refusing to look at her. "I'm out of options, Trish," I finally managed to say, my voice soft in quiet.

She sighed and took the dress in both hands, holding it low to the ground for me to step into. "What's Tom have to say about it?"

I cringed as I shimmied the fabric over the curves of my hips. "I am going to tell him... I've just been waiting for the right moment."

Trisha nodded solemnly, and I silently turned my back to her so she could zip me up.

"There's never a good time to tell someone shit news," she murmured as she made a few minor adjustments to where the fabric clung to me. "But if there is ever a dress to wear when you do, this is the one."

I couldn't help but laugh.

"He tried to bribe me to put you in flats," she smirked.

I grinned at her over my shoulder. "What did you tell him?"

Trisha shrugged playfully. "I told him that you wouldn't be happy stomping around in flats while wearing a dress this beautiful."

I rolled my eyes. "Let me guess, Tom made some joke about medieval torture?"

Her smile faltered slightly. "No, he..." Trisha cleared her throat and reaffixed a tight smile to her lips. "He said you deserved to be happy, and I quite agree with him."

I swallowed the expanding knot in my throat and turned back toward the mirror. My reflection nodded solemnly back.