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“Fitz, I want to, I really do, because it’s you and me, and of course I—“
“I’m sorry.” He cut me off. “I must go. I’ll call again soon.” The line went dead, leaving me to stare at my cell, wondering if any of it had actually happened.
And if it did, was I actually brave enough to say yes?
Fitz
I remained fixated on the phone screen, avoiding the imminent encounter with my parents. Their whispers drew closers. That’s why I’d cut off the call. I couldn’t have Mother hear Michaela voice her doubts.
“I trust that was good news?” Her sweet tone didn’t fool me. Though my mother’s love for me was fierce, her need to be right hardly took second place. The king had his plans for my future wife, but the queen had made her own and she didn’t fancy the idea of someone getting in the way.
“Yes.” Despite my blatant lie, I faced her with a smile. “She can’t wait to come. I’ll arrange her travel tomorrow.”
It was only a lie if Michaela didn’t come… until then, it was hope.
At the moment, hope was all I had left.
Michaela
On my resume, I could probably include balancing coffee orders as one of my special skills. I’d gotten it down to a science—Kaitlyn’s caramel macchiato in the crook of my elbow, Jonovan’s tall peppermint non-fat latte with whip wedged between Gina’s quad mocha, aka four shots of espresso, and Ripley’s vanilla sweet cream cold brew with three pumps of hazelnut and a sprinkle of cinnamon. That didn’t include the orders wedged in my other arm.
Drink carrier? No. My coworkers preferred to see me laden down like a mule. But I did it with grace. Mostly. I’d also become adept at incorporating coffee stains into my daily attire.
“Hey, Kaitlyn,” I smiled the best I could as she weaseled her coffee out of the crook of my arm, “have you seen Violette?”
“She’s in with Rochelle, sweetie.” She smiled, but it faded almost immediately.
We weren’t actually friends. Work acquaintances, at best. But Violette Hushley, the Violette Hushley of HUSH Inc., had noticed me sketching at my desk last week and loved what I was working on. The moment she asked if she could borrow my portfolio for the weekend, I felt a surge of validation. After years of invisibility, someone finally noticed me.
All weekend, my mind kept straying to the possibilities of the future. I wasn’t naïve enough to think she’d want to give me the reins, but even if Violette only wanted to collaborate, that would open enormous doors in the fashion industry for someone like me.
I set Jonovan’s coffee on his deserted desk and placed the last delivery on Ripley’s workstation, all the while keeping my eyes locked on Rochelle McCoy’s office. She ran Reverie, one of the leading fashion magazines in the country. Rochelle’s undeniable dedication to the fashion industry drove her to the forefront, attracting the attention of top designers like Violette, who eagerly shared sneak peeks of their upcoming lines, recognizing the potential influence on her upcoming season.
Laughter bubbled out as the door cracked open. By the looks of it, Violette’s launch was promising. A couple models strode free, but Violette hovered in the doorway.
“I know. It came to me like a lightning bolt.” She laughed her perfectly musical laugh but must have felt my lingering gaze because she turned and smiled. “Michaela. How lovely to see you.”
“Hi, Violette. I mean, Ms. Hushley. Did you have a good meeting?” I didn’t want to ask about my portfolio right away. She had a lot on her plate. She didn’t need me nagging her.
“It was marvelous. I expect good things.” With the flick of her hand, she ordered the door shut, despite the racks of clothing and models still inside. “I’m afraid I can’t chat today. Too busy.”
“That’s fine.” Despite making room for her exit, she remained preoccupied, rummaging through her bag. “I was actually wondering if you looked at my drawings.”
She clicked her tongue like she was thinking about it. “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask me that.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t find words for a moment. “I’m sorry I bothered you… I thought they were…”
One of her black-gloved hands removed my familiar portfolio from her bag and extended it to me. “Derivative. But keep trying. One day, I’m sure.”
I nodded, fighting back the emotion that came with disappointment. Gracious losers live to fight another day. I took the portfolio and mumbled another apology before I left for my cubicle. I thought she would like at least one design. Maybe two, but to not like any… I…
The door to Rochelle’s office opened again and a model stepped outside to speak with Violette. They exchanged a few words and then the model vanished back inside. I couldn’t help but stare. Not because of anything that transpired, but because I knew the dress the model was wearing.
I designed the dress she was wearing.
When Violette opened the door, I craned my neck to see better.
Horror clenched my gut. The red dress with the flirty fringe. A blue sheath with ombre shading. A yellow baby-doll dress that reminded me of spring buttercups.
