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Either the person didn’t hear her, or purposely pushed the door closed button, because they clamped shut one second before she got there. She grunted and pressed the call button about a million times. “You suck,” she said under her breath.
Ugh. The last month had been a time-warp back to her old life. Except she was in a smaller, crappier apartment. She was still just getting coffee for other people living their dreams. On the plus side, Chelsea had liked her last sketches. She’d told her to make a couple of mockups. Too bad her sewing machine was still in L.A. at Derek’s house.
And now she was thinking of Derek again. She mentally smacked herself. Pull it together.
Her phone chimed the notification that she’d gotten an email. Since she was stuck there until the next elevator, she pulled out her phone to see what it was.
The words Poiz Design Award made her breath catch. It wasn’t time to announce the winner yet, was it? No, it couldn’t be. It was too soon. But still, maybe it was telling her she’d made it into the next round. Or, not.
Her pulse raced as she touched the screen.
Dear Nara Claymore,
We are sorry to tell you that your submission for the Poiz Design Award has been disqualified. The dress design you submitted was copyrighted last year by LaTigue Designs. We here at Poiz take great pride in our design award and do not think lightly of plagiarism.
The email went on, but Nara stopped reading, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. What are they saying? They think she stole the design from LaTigue? How could she have? She created that from scratch three years ago.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. In a daze, Nara stepped into the confined space and pressed the button for the eleventh floor. How could this have happened? She didn’t even know that much about LaTigue. She opened her browser with one finger while still holding Chelsea’s coffee in her other hand. With her thumb, she searched LaTigue, and scanned the Wiki article. Eight words jumped out at her and made it hard to breathe.
LaTigue Designs is a subsidiary of AVA Designs.
Anger and humiliation coursed through her as she put two and two together. Chelsea had stolen her dress design. Bile rose in her throat. How many of her other designs had she taken and passed off as her own? It made her sick to think of all the designs she’d given her.
The elevator doors slid open and Nara marched out and down the hallway. How dare she? This was her life’s ambition. And Chelsea has ruined her reputation and stolen what was rightfully hers.
She turned the handle and shoved the door open, letting it hit the wall with a loud thud. Chelsea’s gaze whipped up to hers. “What’s going on?”
Nara’s hand clenched around her phone as she stalked toward Chelsea’s immense desk. “How many?” she said, between her clenched teeth.
Chelsea was the epitome of NY sophistication. Her blonde hair was perfectly wrapped up in a French style, her heels matched her blood red nails, and her black blazer and pencil skirt showed everyone she was a businesswoman through and through. The only thing that didn’t match was the puzzled expression on her face. “How many what? I asked you to get me coffee. One. Which I see you have.” She held out her hand in an impatient gesture.
Nara seethed. “How many of my designs did you steal?”
Her face morphed into a knowing smirk. Her gaze traveled over Nara, one eyebrow slowly rising. “You think your designs are worth stealing?”
“Don’t give me that. I know you stole my designs. I just want to know how many.”
Chelsea turned back to her computer, as if talking to Nara wasn’t worth her time. “I haven’t stolen anything from you.”
Nara’s emotions sparked and she couldn’t stand there looking at Chelsea any longer. This woman had demeaned her too often. Forced her to race to get her stinkin’ coffee three blocks away when there was a perfectly fine coffee pot in the break room. She not only stole her designs, but her dignity as well.
Nara loosened the coffee cup lid and tossed the contents at Chelsea. Unfortunately, it was still stuck in place and all her flailing did was send a couple of tiny drops onto Chelsea’s white shirt. But from her reaction, you’d think the whole thing had emptied on her. She shrieked and jumped up, her chair hitting the wall. Her face flamed red. “How dare you?”
“Man, you went from Uptight Schoolmarm to Demon from Hell in point three seconds flat.” Nara tossed the coffee cup onto the desk. It toppled over and liquid gushed out. “I quit.”
“You’re fired!” Chelsea yelled, grabbing the coffee.
“No, I quit first.” Before Chelsea had the chance to say anything else, Nara dashed out of the office and down the hallway to the elevator.
As she pressed the button, she heard Chelsea yell, “Security!”
Too late, Nara thought as she stepped onto the elevator. She was so out of there. Her pulse raced and her hands shook as she exited the building. The smell of rotting garbage mixed with car exhaust and a restaurant’s breakfast menu hit her as she walked on the pavement. It made her stomach roll. Right now, she hated New York.
Her pace slowed as the events from the morning played over and over in her head. She couldn’t believe what Chelsea had done. She’d stolen from her. Ruined her. Now she was jobless, and if she didn’t find a way to pay the rent, she would soon be homeless.
The weight of her situation pressed down on her as she stepped over a steaming grate. Chelsea had been stealing her work. But how was she supposed to prove it? She had no high-powered attorney. She had no money to fight. She had no way to prove she’d created that dress three years ago. Her reputation was ruined, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Visions of her dream job swirled down the drain, making her feel like throwing up.
She needed Derek. She felt so alone right now. Desperate. Her world was crumbling before her eyes, and she needed a lifeline. But she couldn’t call him. She hadn’t spoken to him once since she’d left. She was so embarrassed that her father had forced them to get married. And she was embarrassed she’d acted so stupid for that week.
