Blue Shoes #1: New Adult Rock Star Erotic Romance (Morris Music Book 6) Read Online Free Page B

few minutes later with the gown from the window. My mood brightens up when I take a look at the bodice. This one might fit me perfectly.
    “This one was… a return,” Mrs. Hale explains. “Not that we take returns, but it was… complicated.”
    Riley gives the dress a skeptical look. “Sounds like bad luck,” she says.
    “Don’t be grouchy,” I tell her.
    She scowls and shakes her head. I’ve never known Riley to be superstitious, but her worry is getting to me.
    We’re all quiet for a moment, and while the song on the stereo changes, the sounds from outside of the store drift in. We can hear people arguing with each other and bumping into the glass windows. For the second time today, I’m reminded of zombie hordes. Ugh, this city.
    Mrs. Hale clip-clops out to check on the door, then comes back. “There’s now twice as many photographers out there,” she reports. “My evening client has rescheduled.”
    Riley scowls in the direction of the noise. “They sound restless.”
    Amanda jumps up from the leather sofa. “I shall go and play a concert for them, on the white piano.”
    Mrs. Hale shrugs. “You may as well enjoy the piano.” She’s got a glass of champagne in her hand, which explains her relaxation.
    I give her a look to let her know I understand. The photographers drive me crazy, too. What bugs me the most is they treat me like I’m just another party girl ditz. They shout questions and try to get my reaction on video. They ask what I think of various actresses who are hot at the moment. They’re always trying to start feuds, between me and girls I’ve never even met.
    Sometimes I want to take their cameras and smash them on the sidewalk. I want to scream that I have a job, a career. I get up and go to work in the morning. I work hard. I don’t chase after people and invade their privacy.
    Badly-played piano music floats into the fitting room. That would be Amanda and Riley, banging away on the grand piano.
    Now I have to smile again. This is just one of the reasons I love my girls. They always remind me that life is for fun. They’re the perfect antidote to fame, work, and Dylan.
    Mrs. Hale finishes her champagne and tells me to try on the dress from the front window. She unzips the back and helps me slip it on.
    I hold my breath as she zips it up.
    This one fits me perfectly. Even the length is perfect. Whoever returned this dress could have been my clone.
    I don’t dare open my eyes and look in the mirror. I can already tell without looking that it’s beautiful.
    The silk bodice feels cool and smooth on my skin. The shape hugs my chest and waist. It caresses me down to my hips, then it follows the curve of my legs to the floor and ends in a small flared train.
    I open my eyes and take the sight in. The dress is simple, but not plain. A layer of intricate lace clings to the entire dress, giving it an antique feel. The neckline accentuates my chest, and tiny sparkles woven into the cloth make me look like I’m glowing.
    I’m actually glowing.
    I step onto the stage in the middle of the showcase room.
    Mrs. Hale calls the girls back in.
    I anxiously await their opinions.
    Is the dress perfect? Do they like it as much as I do? I’ve never thought of myself as very fashionable or having a personal style. I wear skirts and suits to work, but around the house, I’m usually in jeans.
    Dylan’s always trying to get me to be more adventurous. He says I’m better at picking out costumes for our Morris musicians than I am at dressing myself. Last week, I brought home some samples for a trio of backup singers, and he went crazy. He thought the short dresses and matching stilettos were actually for me.
    “It’s perfect,” Mrs. Hale says. She’s on another glass of champagne, and stumbling in her clip-clop shoes. “That dress will bring you good luck. All eyes will be on you.”
    “Hah! That’s why I’m so nervous. I get so awkward when I think people are looking at me.”
    “Relax, honey!