And then, as if noticing it's been probably an hour since I added anything of value to the conversation, they all turn toward me expectantly, curious to see if I have anything at all to say.

I don't.

Obviously.

The clothes have all blended together in my mind, and honestly, I've been thinking about other things. Ollie. Bridget. Ollie. Bridget. Ollie. Ollie. John. Ollie. Bridget. Round and round and round. I'm going crazy stuck in this room with only my thoughts to entertain me. But with all three of them watching and waiting, I feel like I need to say something. So I blurt the first thing that comes to mind.

"My best friend hates me."

Face, meet palm.

Ugh.

They pause as a group, utterly confused but also intrigued enough to stay silent. The quiet drags, practically shrieking that I need to fill it.

So, of course, I ramble, "Um, I mean, I know that doesn't have anything to do with what we're doing, but it's all I can think about. I started seeing this guy who I really like, but I wanted to keep it a secret until I knew where it was going, so I lied to my best friend. And then she totally caught me and called me out. But instead of telling her the truth, I told her I got back together with this ex of mine that she loathes. Now the boy I'm seeing is pissed because I want to keep us a secret, she's pissed because she thinks I've lost all self-respect for myself, and I'm totally confused. And, well...I need help."

I sigh, breathing a little lighter now that it's off my chest. But when I look up, it's directly into Blythe's eyes. And I suddenly remember that not too long ago I was dating her brother, and maybe she doesn't want to hear that I've moved on so fast. "Um," I jump in again, totally uncomfortable in my own skin. "I mean, I know it hasn't been that long since Patrick and I broke up, but this new guy and I have a history that sort of moved things along, and I'm sorry, but I just don't know what to do, and-"

"Skylar?" Blythe interrupts.

I nod, cringing, waiting for the snide response to let me know Blythe doesn't give a damn about helping me and couldn't care less about my problems.

But to my surprise, she smiles. And it actually looks genuine. "Anything that keeps you from getting back together with my brother is a win in my book."

Okay, so she's selfishly pleased.

But still, pleased. Not mad.

Right now, I'll take it.

"So, any advice?" I shrug.

"Why don't you just tell your friend the truth and come clean about your relationship? Solve two birds?" Rebecca asks softly, as though the solution is clear and obvious, as if telling the truth is the easiest thing in the world.

Then again, to normal people it might be...

"What's the fun in that?" Blythe asks, utterly serious.

Suddenly, I realize we have a lot more in common than I ever thought.

Scheming. Lying. General duplicity.

Rebecca rolls her eyes, but Isabel steps closer. "Why are you keeping this guy a secret from your friend anyway? Maybe that'll help us understand."

"Well," I start, not sure how much to reveal. "She knows him, we're all sort of close friends, and I'm worried she'll be mad that we've changed the dynamics of the group. And he and I have been friends for a really long time, the relationship is super new. I think we need time to figure things out before we tell people because once we do, it'll suddenly become really serious really fast."

Rebecca and Isabel nod with understanding, but Blythe narrows her eyes. "That's not the real reason."

I frown. "Excuse me?"

She lifts her brows, as if to say, what, you asked. And repeats. "That's not the real reason. I mean, those are adequate reasons I guess, but there's something else you're not saying. I can just tell."

Is she a mind reader?

A Jedi?

Blythe crosses her arms, waiting.

And for some reason I don't at all understand, my fragile wall comes crumbling down, and I find myself opening up to the last person I ever thought I would confide in.

Like I said, I'm desperate.

"I think I'm afraid," I murmur, eyes dropping to look at the buckle on my flats and the dust sprinkling the floor. The girls remain silent, still. "I guess, it's just..." I take a deep breath and look up, finding Blythe's eyes. There's a hint of compassion I've never seen and that, more than anything, keeps me going. Because without Bridge, I'm lost. And I need help wherever I can get it. "This guy, I was in love with him for a long time, and I guess I've always thought he was out of my league. And now we're suddenly together, and he's suddenly within reach, and I just don't want to mess things up. I'm worried," I whisper, confessing this to myself just as much as to them. "Worried that if our relationship becomes real, he'll see me for what I really am, and he'll realize he doesn't want me after all."

Blythe snorts in a very un-Upper-East-Side way.

I cringe, immediately regretting my decision to open up. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

But then she says, "That's idiotic."

I frown, looking toward her, waiting.

"You've got to be the worst sex columnist I've ever heard of," she continues. "How did you even get this job when you don't understand guys at all?"

I shrug, because really, I've asked myself that same thing a million times.

The world will never know.

"If this guy says he wants to be with you, says he loves you, and says he wants to risk ruining a group of friends for you, then you should believe him. Guys are simple creatures. If he was just looking for someone to sleep with, he would have picked a less complicated target."

Huh, I've never thought of it like that.

But she has a point.

"Yeah, I guess," I murmur.

Blythe tosses a very exaggerated eye roll in my direction, overflowing with exasperation. "Seriously, how do you live with yourself?"

"What?" I ask a little louder.

Blythe stares at me wide-eyed. "How do you survive with such little self-confidence? Even listening to you is exhausting sometimes."

My mouth drops open.

Is this her way of helping me?

Insulting me?

But I think she's trying. I really do.

"I have self-confidence," I say back, trying to strengthen my voice.

Blythe scoffs, mocking me, and then scans her eyes up and down my body, taking every detail in. "You might think fashion is ridiculous, but it's told me everything I need to know about you from day one. You wear a navy suit almost every day because you're afraid to stand out. You want to blend in. You don't want to be noticed. You wear flats because you don't want to be too tall in a crowd. And you keep your jewelry to a minimum because you don't want to draw any attention. You've probably never once tried dying your hair. All the nail polish you use is faded shades of pink. And natural is the only makeup style you understand. And none of that is bad, it's just who you are. Clothes are a woman's armor, and yours scream 'don't notice me.' Confident women send a different message, they stand out because they're ready for a challenge, they're just daring someone to try."

I glance down at myself, begrudgingly aware that everything she said is true. But I still don't get it. "So, how does that solve any of my problems?"

Blythe holds out her hand, ticking her fingers as she goes. "You don't want to tell your friend the truth because you're too nervous how she'll react. You want to keep your relationship a secret because you're too afraid of what will happen when it's not. So instead of getting the courage to just admit it, you lied. And now your best friend and your boyfriend are pissed." Okay. Yeah, that about sums it up. But Blythe presses on. "You're not ready to tell the truth to your friend, that's obvious. And you won't be ready until you gain a little confidence in yourself and your relationship. So, let her be pissed for a while, she'll forgive you eventually if you guys are actually as close as you say. And focus on the guy because he's way less likely to keep putting up with your shit."

Suddenly, Blythe has become my love guru. I'm in awe. "What should I do?"

She glances at the other girls for help. Rebecca is a little more practical, but I've talked to Isabel enough to know she's a helpless romantic.

So I'm not at all surprised when she's the one answering with a grin from ear to ear. "Surprise him."

"Okay..."

But she's too excited, and she dances from foot to foot, or stiletto to stiletto as I should say, suddenly eager to focus on something besides clothes for a moment. "Surprise him at work or maybe go to his apartment before he gets home and cook dinner for the two of you. Something to show him you care and that you're sorry."

Well, home is out.

Work it is.

We spend the next half an hour crafting the perfect plan, and amazingly, I think it's something I, with all my shortcomings, might actually pull off. Somehow, considering the day began horribly, it's become the best one I've ever had in this office.

Late in the afternoon, one of the editors pops in to check on how the outfits are coming, and we scatter, pretending that we've been working the entire time. I follow Blythe to the back, figuring I can at least pretend to be helping with the dress selection, and start to push hangers from side to side.

"Hey, Skye," she whispers.

I turn, curious. Blythe is watching me, holding out a dress I've never seen before.

"You should wear this for the date," she says, shaking the dress a little.

"What?" I murmur harshly, as though the walls have ears and someone could be listening. "I can't take something from the closet, it's not allowed."

Blythe shrugs. "We've all done it, just have it dry cleaned before you bring it back. No one will ever know. Come on, it's gorgeous."

And it is. A deep gray silk, almost black, that wraps and folds in a way I know will accentuate and enhance any assets I have. Sheer lace cutouts start at the hip and extend all the way up the back of the dress, totally sexy. And a slit down the side reveals just the slightest bit of leg in an otherwise full-length skirt.

I want it.

But I can't.

But I can.

But...no...yes...no...

"Won't Victoria want it for fashion week?" I ask, weakening.

Blythe stares at me pointedly. "It's a size six." But I don't comprehend. She sighs, shaking her head. "You're the only one of us it would fit."

Oh, right, because they're all models, and I'm just normal old me-hips and all.

Blythe shakes it, taunting.

Resistance is futile.

I grab the hanger, drawing the dress to my chest. "You won't tell, right?"

Because it's a trap. It has to be.

"No," she says, and for some reason, I believe her. Then she straightens, as if remembering this isn't how we interact with each other. "Remember what I told you before? I'm fully confident you'll screw this job up without any assistance from me. As far as I'm concerned, I'm doing this on behalf of my brother, to keep him far away from you."

And yet, for the first time, I don't buy it.

Not really.

Because there's a softness in her eyes that hasn't been there before. Only for an instant, but I saw it.

Suddenly I remember her words-women wear their clothes like armor. Is that what she does? Is that what she's been doing? Guarding herself? Because I came in and took the job she wanted. Then I went out and stole her brother. I judged her the first time I met her. I kept her at an arm's length. But now all that's changed. And maybe, just maybe, she has too.

Then again, maybe not, I think as she sneers and turns away in a huff.

But something was there. I'm not going crazy.

Well, crazier...

Planning surprises gives me heart palpitations. Shocking, I know. Just take my normal level of neuroses, multiply them by one hundred and add on a panic attack...or two. But yet, I secretly love them. Because there is nothing better than watching the person you love in that moment-witnessing the surprise and happiness and disbelief that you cared enough to go through so much just for them.

My hands are shaking, actually shaking, when I step off the subway and hurry to climb the stairs. It's so late the streets are practically empty, especially for New York on a Friday night. This part of town isn't known for nightlife, and to be honest, the quiet, brisk January air helps calm me down. But only for a moment because my phone buzzes, and I expect to be told that Ollie knows, that all of this planning was for nothing, and-what I'm really afraid of-that he doesn't care.

But when I open the screen, my unexpected accomplice gives me good news.

Glenn: Everything is pretty much ready. You almost here?

I smile, letting the rush of excitement cycle all the way to my toes, adding a little pep to my step, and I prance down Park Avenue toward Ollie's restaurant.

Me: There in two!

Glenn: Perfect.

And it is, it really is. Because this has to work, it just has to. And Glenn, sweet pastry chef Glenn, has been a dream. I never thought that after saying goodbye months ago, I would ever see him again. And to be honest, I was freaked out to ask him for help. I mean, Ollie set us up on that blind date! I thought maybe Glenn would be upset that we started dating after I turned him down. But it turns out, Ollie and I were a lot more obvious than we thought-to everyone except ourselves, and maybe Bridge. Glenn wasn't at all surprised. Well, maybe he was surprised to hear from me, but he got over that really quickly. And I couldn't have done any of this without him.

Which is why I'm excited when I slip inside the dark restaurant, and the first thing I see is his smiling face, lit only by soft candlelight. Glenn waves me over quickly, sparing a nervous glance toward the kitchen as I make my way to him.

"He'll be done any minute," he whispers and then grins a little evilly. "Ollie was pissed when the other guys left, leaving him to clean everything by himself." He sucks in air, shaking his head. I smile too because it doesn't take much for me to imagine the McDonough temper at full force. "I told him it was delayed hazing."

"Thank you," I gush as my carefully reined in emotions start to spill over.