Trousers were conditionally suitable for work – conditionally, because I would have preferred black or neutral beige, rather than the red-brown ones I was wearing today, or the bright blue, olive and crimson ones hanging in the closet. Raspberry pants! Nightmare!

And not a single one, NOT ONE! Classic blouse. Not white or anything like that.

Yes, if you show up at the department in this crimson horror and sticking beacon… It’s surprising that the professor is only hiding behind a newspaper, in his place I would probably crawl under the table.

Decidedly going downstairs to the bonus cards scattered all over the table, I found a business card of either an atelier or a boutique – I didn’t even bother to look into it. She squeezed, desperately thinking about a strict work outfit – black trousers of a classic cut, a white blouse – fitted, tailored to the figure, but closed and modest.

It jerked as if someone had roughly pulled my hand. And I ended up… apparently still in the studio. A rack with fabric samples, a display case with buttons, lace, fasteners…

And either the hostess or the master, plump, at first glance, attractive to me, who smiled affably at me and asked with frank curiosity:

– Miss Blair? What's wrong?! So suddenly – and so strikingly different from your usual orders!

“I want to impress a man with certain tastes,” I answered honestly. It is always better to hide the big truth, putting forward a small and not the most important part of it…

– Oh-oh-oh… I understand! Now we’ll dress you up, Miss Blair, no doubt, the chosen one will be impressed and smitten.

“Oh yes, I’m smitten,” I thought gloomily. Meanwhile, I found myself standing on the same platform from which I almost shied away from at home – and opposite, another Charlotte Blair wove out of thin air. Like in a mirror, but three-dimensional. And already on her materialized the same blouse I had presented and black formal trousers – a little narrower than I wanted, but they emphasized her figure so well that I could not resist and nodded.

“We need to change the top,” the master shook her head (still a master? And what a shame, I have no idea how to address her, but Charlotte probably knows!). – Like this, look.

The darts at the waist lengthened, and the blouse fit exactly to the figure, almost the same shape as all of Charlotte's beacons. The turn-down collar was replaced by a stand-up collar, the top buttons were not a cutout, but… as if in a hurry, they simply weren’t fastened all the way. The strict style has become defiantly sexy. No, it’s not suitable for work… But I couldn’t refuse.

– Great, but a strict classical one is also needed.

“Strict classical ones can be very different,” the master smiled. – Let's see what suits you best.

The next hour – no less! – we went through the styles. In the end, my eyes were filled with ruffles, inserts, embroideries, brooches… But the main thing is that I really couldn’t choose! Almost everything looked simply wonderful. Even immediately excluding models with lots of lace and puffy collars, I was literally torn. Until she mentally waved her hand: Charlotte’s account did not allow for such excesses, she said that day: “Manage your money boldly, Charlotte never lived only on her salary. My father has his own business, he paid for all major expenses. Although the salary at the Panacea Academy is significant, even for an assistant.”

The bell above the front door rang melodiously, and she stepped inside… I didn’t dare call her a middle-aged woman, more like a fairy. Light, thin, in an airy dark gray dress, so elegant and at the same time surprisingly simple that you can’t help but fall in love. Light wavy strands spilled out of a lush bun and framed a thin, beautiful face. “And no makeup,” I thought enchanted, “but she looks amazing. Everyone would do that. Magic? How old is she really? A little over forty?