Within ten minutes, she was home and stripping off her clothes as she took the stairs up to her loft. She showered quickly and dried her hair, pulling the wavy locks into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. She leaned forward to get closer to the mirror as she applied a small amount of eyeliner, the only makeup she usually wore. After putting on a bra and a pair of boyshorts, a slight wave of panic hit her as she stood in front of her closet. She had been so busy lately that she hadn’t put any thought into what she wanted to wear.

She stated on the invite that the dress code for the night would be dressy casual. She also asked people to wear purple if they could, as that was the color for pancreatic cancer awareness. She pulled out the only three purple options she owned—a dress, a button-up, and a blazer.

It had been a while since she’d last worn a dress. She didn’t hate them, but she also didn’t love them. The thought of wearing heels all night made the decision for her and she put the dress back in the closet. She tapped her lips with her finger as she stared at the last two choices. As the host of the event, she supposed she should dress as nice as she could. Blazer it is, then.

When she put the purple button-up back, she exchanged it for a white and navy checked one, and grabbed a pair of dark blue jeans, a gray sweater, and her favorite pair of black dress shoes from Tomboy Toes. She got dressed and checked herself in the mirror. She had left the collar of her shirt unbuttoned and adjusted it so it sat on top of the sweater just right. Next, she cuffed her jeans a couple times for a little extra flair.

She closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths. It was time to honor her dad, and she prayed that everything went smoothly tonight.

Jill tried to wrap up some last-minute calls as Friday came to a close. She had actually planned to leave on time for once so she could get to the benefit early and help Reagan with anything she needed. As soon as she hung up her phone after a call with their lead designer, the phone rang again. Catching the extension on the readout, she mumbled, “Fuck.” She thought about ignoring it, but Harrison would just call her cell phone if she didn’t answer. She held in a groan as she picked up the receiver. “Hi, Harrison.”

“Jillian,” he bellowed. “Listen, I was supposed to have dinner with the Apex Aviation executives in a half hour. I need you to go in my place. Tell them how amazing we are and we’ll give them top-notch service and all that. We need this account.”