The Assistant

By: Elle Brace

I raised an eyebrow and shook my head at her uniqueness as I put a spoonful of marshmallows into my own hot chocolate and following her out. Amy and I had been best friends since Junior year, when I came to high school as a transfer student from Vermont. We clicked instantly, obsessing over Harry Potter like our lives were dependent on it. We had both made it to NYU after graduation – where we started our degrees in business and teaching – and stayed attached at the hip the entire time.

I smiled at her ‘concentration face’ as she sipped her hot chocolate and scrolled through the dresses revealed on the bright screen thoughtfully. “I think I’m going to go for Chanel or Hervé Léger,” she mumbled to herself before swiftly typing it into the search engine. “That’s always the safest option to begin a successful career in.”

After what felt like hours (to me), Amy let out a startling yelp. “This is it! I don’t care what you and your uptight morals or your sexy boss say; you’re wearing this dress Saturday night.” Amy gave me a look I was all too familiar with – her eyebrow was slightly raised and her lips were set in a thin line – that’s when I knew that there was no room for arguments.

“Show me.”

Amy passed over the laptop as she took another sip of her hot chocolate and observed my expression – no doubt waiting to see my reaction. I studied the dress – it was a plain black bandage dress that had a V shaped neckline and enough material to cover my shoulders.

“You can wear it with the peep-toe Louboutin’s we bought you last year,” she explained, taking another sip of her drink. “And we can put your hair up in a high bun or in a nice side hairstyle.”

I looked at the dress again in doubt. It looked awfully fitting to the body…

“Don’t you dare tell me it looks too tight, Emily Hannah Johnson, or so help me I will email an image to your boss pretending to be you and asking for his approval of the dress. You have the perfect body shape for it!” Amy gestured at my chest area like that was enough to prove her point.


“You’re not finishing that sentence!” she snapped, snatching the laptop from me and doing something with a stern expression on her face.

“What are you do-”

“WHOOPS,” Amy grinned. “I accidentally pressed buy!” She pretended to gasp. “Oh no! What will you do now?!” She asked in a mock- dramatic tone. My eyes widened in shock before I glared at her and put my hot chocolate down.

“Amy! Why would you do that?! What if he doesn’t deem it worthy enough for the event? That’s – how much was it?” I asked curiously, cutting myself off.

“$1,345.” Amy answered, looking both smug and amused.

“Oh. That’s $1,345 gone! Wait, what? $1,345?! And you bought it? Are you crazy?” I screeched, my eyes growing wider than before.

“Emily, chill! I did my research while you were making our hot chocolates; his other assistants used to wear much tighter dresses then what this will be on you. They were much shorter and much more revealing too.” Amy frowned, recalling the images she had seen.

“In case you missed a little physical difference between them and me – they’re tall, slim, runway models and I’m a short, curvy geek!” I wailed, giving up and slumping on the couch in defeat.

Amy rolled her eyes. “Shut up. That’s all the more reason for you to wear the dress. Your hourglass figure will make that dress look a million dollars more than its actual pricing. You’re also going to wear red lipstick-”

“The theme is black and-”

“To match the bottom of your Louboutin’s. I don’t care if the colour scheme was fucking purple. You wear what I tell you to wear.” Amy glared, before gulping the rest of her hot chocolate down.

“This is why I don’t ask you for help in this department,” I mumbled, bringing my own cup to my lips and taking another sip.

“What was that?” she asked, raising both eyebrows at me.

I grinned. “I said… I love having you around my apartment?” I tried, before giggling and giving away my lie.

Amy laughed and launched a pillow at me that I caught clumsily, grinning again before using it as a shield. “I’m leaving now. It’s getting late and I don’t want you to look tired in front of Mr. Sexy tomorrow.” She winked.

“Do you just want to stay over? It’s way too late to go home now.” I frowned in worry as I watched her get off the couch and grab her hand bag.

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