The stylist pushed her glasses up her nose. "Ms. Summers, you look stunning."
I smiled, but before I could say a word—
"Oh no!" She pointed, voice rising. "There's a snag in the fishtail!"
I twisted to look. A long, ugly pull ran through the fabric like a scar across a beautiful face.
The stylist grabbed her phone. On the other end, the assistant's voice was tight with frustration. "How is that possible? How does someone make that kind of amateur mistake?"
"I know what happened..." The assistant trailed off, clearly afraid to finish.
"Spit it out." I could hear the hesitation in his voice plain as day.
"The gown... Ms. Simmons asked to see it earlier..."
That said it all. This kind of petty sabotage, and she really thought it would rattle me?
"I'll find something similar in the closet here."
"But Ms. Summers, Mr. Fox said the gowns were off-limits."
"It's fine. I'll explain it to him myself."
I hung up and walked toward the closet.
I pulled open the wardrobe doors. Women's clothes filled every rack, all styles, all sizes, price tags still dangling.
As if someone had bought them in bulk, waiting for the right person to come see them.