Unofficial date

EVANGELINE.

D-Day. I'd gotten off work a bit earlier, thanks to Dave and his perfect cover-up excuses— although I now owe him a favor, and that was quite a scary position to be in. Now, you already could picture the image. I was standing before my wardrobe, and my stylist, Harper, had her fingers aggressively tapping her chin as she bored her eyes into every corner of the wardrobe. I feared for that wardrobe; if it were a person, then it would have shrunk under the burning intensity of her gaze.

There were countless clothes on the bed, all paired to make out the best outfit, and I agreed with it because, for some reason, I did want to impress Asher. He was willing to help my brother out of the blue, and because of what my brain had been structured like since the past, a part of my pride was still bruised.

Even my father, after his very apt display of bullshit, I hadn't allowed him to help me. Hell, I didn't even let him know where Marcus schooled. I wanted him to have a better life t