The final bell rang at three-fifteen, and I made it halfway to the parking lot before Harlow materialized at my side like a particularly enthusiastic ghost.
"Assistant-kun!"
I stopped walking. "That nickname still sounds terrible."
"But it's cute!" She looped her arm through mine without asking, which had become standard operating procedure. "Are you ready for our super important dry cleaning errand?"
I checked my phone. Vivienne's instructions were color-coded blue for urgent, with seventeen bullet points about fabric care. The dress couldn't be pressed with steam. The lapel required hand finishing. The buttons needed special treatment.
All this for one cocktail dress.
"Let me guess," I said. "Your sister made this a three-page document?"
"Seven pages, actually. I only sent you the important parts."
I needed to rethink my definition of important.
