Chapter 41 No point in throwing a fucking pity party

Angelique was shorter and rounder than Amberleigh expected, but the woman knew her shit. And her hair was on point, a sleek, black bob that Amber really wanted to touch, but resisted the urge in fear she’d come off as a weirdo. The last thing she wanted was charges pressed against her or tossed out on her ass. Rules to live by in her books, never ask a woman when she’s due and never touch her hair or belly without fucking permission. All of those rules Amber had found out the hard way in her life. The worst of which when at fifteen she’d asked her new foster mother when she was going to have her baby. Elaine wasn’t pregnant and got so highly offended, Amber had a rough go at that house for a while afterwards with the worst chores and sleeping arrangement. Lesson fucking learned. Most of Angelique’s dresses were actually gorgeous, not the kind that looked like the marshmallow man’s slutty daughter or that scraps of leftover fabric had been thrown together by a five-year-old trying to dress her Barbie doll. She was more into making classic vintage-esq pieces which were in high demand, or one of a kind creations tailored uniquely to fit the client’s body type and vision. She was a designer for the fucking people alright, well the loaded ones anyway. However, every year her brand chose ten deserving youth and provided them with a free custom made gown for their senior prom. That had hit Amber right in the feels as she remembered reading the article in a glam mag about it once.