Page 21 of Dirty Boss

“Your daughter has good taste,” Mr. Koval announced, entering behind her. “This is good fabric for an everyday suit. Plain weave wool, soft touch. Feel.” He presented a sleeve for me to touch, and I did, nodding.

“It’s nice,” I said, not really knowing what I was supposed to say.

I was way out of my element here, but I didn’t hate it. Mr. Koval recommended a similar wool for my new suit, and he let Charlotte choose the color from a selection of fabric bolts on the wall. When she chose a dark navy, he gave her a solemn nod—but I saw the twinkle in his eyes. He liked children, and I appreciated him including my daughter.

“Come back tomorrow for a fitting, same time,” he told us, then waved us away.

We walked to a nearby coffee shop and Charlotte bounced next to me, her cheeks red in the January cold. “That was fun!” she announced. “You’re going to look so handsome, Daddy.”

I put my arm around her shoulders and smiled. “I hope so.”

The next day,I went in for a fitting. It was mostly me standing on the dais while Mr. Koval grunted and scowled at me, moving pins around and making notes.

“Tomorrow, I deliver,” he said, then made a shooing motion toward the door.

And deliver, he did.

I got into the office around noon, after a long visit to the Midtown construction site, and found a garment bag hanging on a hook behind my desk.

Hillary poked her head in and smiled. “Nice hair,” she said, then nodded to the garment bag. “And that looks nice too. I’ve emailed you notes about Arlo Noble ahead of your meeting this afternoon.”

“Thanks, Hillary,” I said, eyes on the bag. I closed the door to my office and kicked off my boots.

Then I looked down at the carpet and swore. I’d forgotten to brush them off again. I quickly put them on the shoe tray next to the door and scanned my desk. Nothing from my snarky cleaning woman—until I pulled back my desk chair and found a gold wrapper right in the middle of the seat. One of the wrappers from the chocolates I’d given her. That’s what she thought of me chastising her for sitting in my chair. I laughed, delighted.

It reminded me of Alba, snarky and resentful as she dropped my food off, lobbing advice over her shoulder like it was nothing.

I glanced at the garment bag—a suit bought on her advice. Unzipping the bag, I touched the navy fabric inside, begrudgingly admitting that it felt a lot nicer than the suits I already owned. I hadn’t known wool could be this soft.

I changed in the private bathroom attached to my office, then stared at myself in the mirror. Almost without my conscious input, my shoulders rolled back and I stood straighter. I hardly recognized the man looking back at me. I looked broader, more imposing. Even the crinkles around my eyes looked less obvious. I looked like I belonged in some fancy boardroom in a skyscraper.

I caught myself at the thought.

I was already in a skyscraper, and much of my day was spent in a boardroom. So why did it feel so weird to finally look the part?

Mr. Koval had thrown in a free tie with the suit, which was nice of him, except for the fact that his suit cost more than what I would’ve considered a reasonable mortgage payment before I made it big. The tie was dark navy as well, with black thread forming a subtle pattern. I wrapped it around my neck and started to tie it—then stopped.

The four-in-hand tie knot was unacceptable, according to a certain opinionated waitress. But she hadn’t told me what tie knot I was supposed to use.

I checked my watch. I had time to spare.

I grabbed my jacket and left the office.

NINE

ALBA

My day had startedoff on a bad foot. I’d finally got the dryer in the basement working and had done another load of laundry, only to discover that the beautiful silk turtleneck I’d worn to meet with Deena was now the size of a doll’s.

I won’t lie; I cried when I pulled it out of the dryer. I cried real tears, because the top had been one of my favorites and now it was ruined—and also because I felt stupid and useless and foolish. Bested by a load of laundry—again. How useless could one woman be? There was no way I could afford to replace it, which made me sob harder, but then I had to wash my face and get ready for work.

When Elena had asked me why I looked so sad, I told her about the top, and she looked at me like I was the stupidest person in the universe. She asked if it was dry clean only, and then I had to admit that I’d never understood what people meant when they talked about dry cleaning, and then she’d given me that look that I’d become accustomed to—the one that showed me just how little everyone really thought of me.

Coming from Elena, who was the very definition of competence, it hurt.

But how was I supposed to know laundry had so many freakingrules? Every time I learned a new one, I messed something else up. My entire life, I’d put clothes in a hamper and they’d magically appeared in my closet the next day, clean and pressed. I hadn’t known to separate colors, to dry things flat, to freaking dry clean. What did that even mean? I still didn’t know!

I’d been so sheltered and so naive, and now I could barely function in the real world.