Chapter ThreeKeaton
The dress I’m wearing is one Karina picked out for me on our last retail-therapy binge. In the reflection of the bar window, I quickly examine the curves the little raspberry-colored dress shows off.
The silken material of the bodice climbs all the way up to my collarbone, but a slit down the center reveals just enough cleavage to say, “Hello!” The sleeves are three-quarter length, made of a tight, stretchy lace material. With the slight elevation of shoulder pads hidden under the seams, I look like I stepped off a women’s fashion magazine boasting, “Darling or dangerous?”
“Oh, Mama!” Karina said, doing her best husky man-voice as I twirled in front of her in the dressing room several weeks ago.
“You sure it’s not too . . . I don’t know, CEO?” I asked, poking at the
