Chương 6: Just a Girl stuff
"Manager Whifler," Tanya called out to Whifler, who was sitting on a couch with a book in one hand and a folder in the other.
"Yes?" he responded without looking at her, still engrossed in his reading.
"I bought sixty-five blouses, nineteen dresses, twenty skirts, eighteen pairs of pants, some fashion shorts, and... um, six pairs of boots—all lengths—and sixteen pairs of high heels and five flats." Tanya listed off.
Whifler closed his book and set it on the center table along with the folder.
"Thanks. Are they ready?" he asked.
"Uh, I think so. I ran into Mr. Lee at the gate when I arrived," Tanya replied.
"Alright. Bring everything to the lobby," Whifler instructed, then made his way toward the lobby.
He found Tristan lounging on the long couch.
"How was your session with Mr. Lee?" Whifler asked. Tristan glanced at him briefly, then covered his eyes with his arm.
"Your friend asked me a ton of questions." Tristan sighed.
"That's what specialists do. How did it go?" Whifler asked.
"It was fine," Tristan replied.
They both looked as Tanya and the maid unloaded several paper bags and shoe boxes onto the large round table in the lobby.
"Wow. That's a lot," Tristan remarked, sitting up on the couch. "What's all this for?"
"These will be your clothes and footwear when you start as Trish. It's not everything, but it'll help for now," Whifler explained while pulling items out of the bags and boxes.
He scrutinized the clothes for a moment, then picked out a long-sleeve, side-cut black fitted dress and a pair of silky black lace-up high heels.
"Okay. Try these on," he said to Tristan, handing him the clothes.
Tristan raised an eyebrow, eyeing the heels. "Are you trying to torture me?" he asked with an amused look.
Whifler shook his head. "Four-inch heels won't kill you. Come on."
Whifler helped Tristan up and handed him the clothes. Tristan hesitated, then took the heels and dress before heading to his room. Though the outfit would help him look more like Trish, he had never worn heels before, so this was a first.
A moment later, Tristan's voice echoed from his room. "Whifler!"
Everyone jumped when Tristan's voice rang through the mansion. Whifler rushed to his room and flung open the door.
"What happened?!" he asked, looking at Tristan, who was awkwardly leaning against the wall.
"I can't walk in these!" Tristan complained.
Whifler looked unimpressed. "Tristan, you screamed like the world was ending!"
"I might as well be! If I trip, I'll never walk again!"
Whifler raised an eyebrow. "If you trip, you'll just sprain your ankles, not amputate your feet. Stop overreacting. Now, stand up straight. Try walking slowly."
"B-But I can't!" Tristan protested, which made Whifler sigh in frustration.
"Try walking, at least," Whifler said.
"I can't... I can't even move my toes properly."
Whifler took a deep breath. This was a new side of Tristan he wasn't exactly fond of dealing with. "Just take it slow and find your balance. It's not that hard!"
"Then you do it!" Tristan snapped, crossing his arms.
Whifler's eyes narrowed, irritated by the sass. "Do you really want to test me?" he warned.
"It's just heels, Tristan. Why are you making such a big deal out of this? What about the bigger challenges ahead? You said you'd handle it. What happened to that?" Whifler said, his tone growing sharper.
Tristan bit his lip and avoided eye contact, mumbling under his breath, "Why is he always throwing my words back at me?"
The heels were uncomfortable, and Tristan wasn't used to them, but as Whifler had told him, he had asked for it. He had to endure.
"I just need to walk slowly, right?" Tristan said, taking a deep breath and releasing the wall for support.
He took his first step, then another, moving like a robot on high heels. Whifler, frustrated, shook his head. "Relax, Tristan. You're not walking on a tightrope. Feel the air."
Tristan paused, then tried again, focusing on Whifler's instructions. Gradually, he started getting the hang of it—though the discomfort lingered.
Whifler rubbed his forehead as he watched. "What kind of walk is that? You're supposed to be elegant, not a soldier in a dress! Walk like you mean it!"
"I'm trying!" Tristan groaned.
"No, you're not! You're walking like you're about to fall at any second!"
Tanya watched the two of them argue, her head beginning to throb from the rising tension. She winced at their shouting.
"Anyone want a snack?" she asked, hoping to defuse the situation.
"Yes, please," Tristan sighed, looking exhausted.
"Nope. Not until you walk properly," Whifler said firmly, crossing his arms. Everyone looked at him in silence, even Tristan too stunned to respond.
"Are you... serious?" Tristan asked, his eyebrows furrowing. "I'm starving."
"Then do it right," Whifler shot back, his tone unyielding.
Tanya could see how drained Tristan was, hungry and frustrated. "Uh... Sir, Whifler?" she said hesitantly, catching his attention.
"Yes?" Whifler's voice was heavy with frustration, his eyes narrowing at her as if daring her to speak.
"Uh... I think you need a break too," Tanya said quietly.
"I'm fine," Whifler snapped, turning back to Tristan. "Walk again."
Tristan let out a small sigh, giving in. If he wanted to be the perfect substitute, this was part of the deal. As Whifler kept saying, it was just heels.
"Just heels?" Tristan said under his breath, stopping in front of Whifler with a puzzled look.
Whifler raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Well, I'm starting to wonder... why are you so good at this?" Tristan tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "Do you swing that way?"
Whifler flinched, eyes narrowing in warning. "Tanya! Give him the six-inch heels!!"
And that, Tristan realized, was when he regretted asking that question more than anything.
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