Fashionistas

Date: June 1, 2440 Time: 2:00 PM CST

Oxana quickly banged out a message:

Oxana → Angelina
T’mari needs jeans tonight, and I need to hem them so she looks good for whatever he has planned. Matt said money is no object. Russell’s Clothier has five pair that will fit and six that will almost fit, but they told me no when I asked for delivery out here. Also included are some comfortable shirts, underthings, and shoes. They seem to think I’m a nobody. —Oxana

The reply came back before she’d even set the phone down:

A → O
O, will make them beg. lol. —A

Oxana didn’t miss a beat.

She waved a hand to redirect the chaos building in Matt’s old room. “I need two of you on confirmation calls as we order. One of you start the accessories layout. The rest—help me refine the lookbooks. We have four hours to get everything measured, selected, and ordered. Move.”

T’mari, standing near one of the screens, tilted her head at a scrolling image of dark denim. “Are these standard workwear?”

Oxana slid up beside her, already smiling. “They’re jeans. Classic. Durable. Sexy if you wear them right.”

T’mari raised a brow but said nothing.

Another girl caught the hesitation. “Try them. With a blazer. We’ll match it with boots—maybe burgundy.”

“Burgundy?” T’mari repeated the word slowly, almost testing its weight.

“Deep red,” Oxana said, holding up a tablet with the color picker.

T’mari considered a pair of ankle boots on the screen. “I do like the symmetry. And the strength in the lines.”

“You like matching shoes and jackets, huh?” one of the girls asked.

“I like when form follows function,” T’mari said. “And when the palette speaks with one voice.”

“Oh my god, she talks like Pinterest had a baby with a military commander,” another girl whispered, earning a stifled laugh.

L’tani, seated with a monitor in her lap, glanced over. “So this is fashion?”

“It’s also warfare,” Oxana muttered. “And right now, we’re storming the gates.”

A few of the girls giggled. One gave T’mari a quick once-over and whispered, “You’re gonna break hearts in that outfit.”

“I have no desire to cause cardiac injury,” T’mari replied dryly.

“Oh, she’s perfect,” one of the younger girls breathed. “Can we keep her?”

“Focus,” Oxana snapped, though she was clearly amused. “And someone get me burgundy boots in size eleven. Maybe two styles.”

Meanwhile, one of the girls held up a pleated skirt toward L’tani. “What do you think? Cute, right?”

L’tani looked at it like it was a surgical tray. “Impractical. Exposes the thighs. Vulnerable in wind.”

“But also super flattering on your frame,” the girl argued. “Here—try this one on,” she said, pulling it from a bag of shared clothes.

L’tani hesitated, then muttered, “I would never admit this aloud, but… I think I might love it.”

“You kind of just did,” another girl whispered with a grin.

“I will wear it only under protest,” L’tani said flatly—and also lying.

“Oh good,” Cherry Webster laughed. “Everyone says I have the best legs around when it comes to skirts, and now I don’t have to compete with you.”

“Noted,” Oxana said, already adding several to the order. “But we’ll call it silent protest and pair it with a high-necked blouse and platform boots. Deal?”

L’tani gave a single nod, as if she’d just negotiated a peace treaty. She decided she would play along; unlike her sister, she had plenty of clothes in storage. They might not be what these people were used to, but she had them.

Oxana scanned the room again. “Okay—two of you, go double-check sizing and get full-body scans. The rest of you, help me organize orders by priority. Amazon Prime’s still alive, and we’re gonna beat the clock.”

Tiffany Roxas whispered, “I can’t believe I’m on Matt’s actual bed.”

“Try not to drool on the sheets,” Oxana snapped. “This is a job. And the biggest PR win this town’s ever seen. So let’s make the aliens look better than any runway on Earth. By the way—aren’t you related to Matt?”

“Nothing in recent centuries.”