Sam said doubtfully, as Elle stared in the tiny mirror of the Ladies’ bathroom. “I hate it,” Elle said dramatically. “I don’t know why I had it done. I look like a brassy whore,” she said, running a strand of hair through her fingers. “My hair was fine before. Now it’s insane. Look at it.” “It’s great, I promise,” said Libby, applying some lip gloss. “It’s the crappy Bluebird sales conference, not the Oscars.” There was a sharp rap at the door. “Hurry up, please,” came Posy’s voice. Elle, Libby, and Sam hurried sideways out of the cramped room. Posy was waiting for them, resplendent in a floral bias-cut Jigsaw dress. She was wearing blue eye shadow and mascara and her hair was up. Elle stared; she’d never seen Posy dressed up before. Posy tapped her foot. “The authors will be arriving soon,” she said, in the tones of one announcing the Apocalypse. “Let’s go.” Elle had never heard of a sales conference before she’d gone to work at Bluebird.
