AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“The very first company I started was a one-man shop.” David’s words cause me to freeze. “I only needed four things to succeed. Knowledge of every facet of the business, a naïve optimism that blinded me from the thought of failing, talent only a few people recognized, and one other thing. The one thing I learned l needed the most—people behind me that supported my dream without question.”
David truly is a kind gentleman. He must pick up on my insecurities. I’ve studied this business; I have a three-hundred-page dossier that can attest to that. I have talent, despite the fact my colleagues don’t see it. And I’m naïve enough to think that amillionaire starting up a new venture might entertain selecting a one-woman firm with zero experience. It’s the last one, the one he says I need the most, which is the red flag. I’m standing here alone. “Three out of four won’t cut it, huh?”
The door to the arena slams open, and David doesn’t turn. He knows who’s coming and doesn’t have to. “I’d say four out four.”
I turn to see a massive security guard holding the door open. “They’re in here.”
“If your delay at the security desk made us late…” My eyes fill with happy tears at the sound of my sister’s voice. She’s here.
She has a sixth sense as to when I need her. I told her about Devon, and she must’ve feared my pitch would be a disaster. She’s here to pick me up off the ground.
“I see your pitch isn’t quite over,” David says.
I wipe the tears in my eyes as my head plays catch up. David told security to letthemin. Stacy said makinguslate. She’s not alone.
My vision clears, and I wipe it twice more; what I’m seeing can’t possibly be right. I’m not alone, and based on who I see entering the door behind Stacy, neither is she.
Chapter Twenty
Zara
My hands shake by my side. A strange mix of happiness in seeing my sister and the anxiety of not knowing what she’s going to do. Stacy strides into the arena like a war hero returning home to save the day.
She’s dressed like the cheerleader she is, bright-white, tight, short-sleeve top and a blue-pleated skirt the same color as the Magic. This isn’t a random fashion statement. She spins, and I recognize the four-foot wireless sound bar hooked over each shoulder, backpack style. It’s the speaker she brings every time we picnic on the quad of her dorm.
She’s magnificent, and I can barely pull my eyes from her. A rhythmic instrumental beat streams from the speaker she carries, and my eyes flit to who’s behind her. Marching in a perfect two by two formation are ten men I don’t recognize. Each stands the same height. Each, I suspect, weighs within one pound of another. Each wearing one of my designs.
My hands rise to cover my mouth.
Stacy has come to my rescue. How? Where? A thousand questions flood my head. Questions I know will remain unanswered until this plays out. I lower my hands to display a sense of calm when all I feel is the opposite.
Gorgeous men of every hue and nationality stream into the arena. African American, Hispanic, Asian, East Indian, White, and Native American. She’s assembled a walking Benetton ad.
Stacy stops three feet in front of David, takes a bow, then juts her chin at me. She’s passing the baton to me. I don’t know how she did it, but she somehow retrieved my outfits from Devon. I’ll figure out later if she used the carrot or the stick.
“David, I’m happy to present to you my vision of the Magic collection.” I find my voice. My pitch isn’t over. My sister is handing me a second chance.
The earth stops shaking beneath me as I realize I’m back on solid ground. My original pitch had Devon standing in front of David, wearing my designs. I had written pages of material to cover off the time it would take Devon to perform his quick change from one outfit to another.
With the photo presentation earlier, I didn’t need to fill the void with details. I gave just the highlights. Now with the designs here in front of him, designs I know inside and out, I can flip the script. A script I’ve written in my head for months as I worked every evening on these designs like a mother hen lauding over her chicks. Everything is as it should be, except for the man I expected to be with me on this journey.
As I complete my description of the tailored team blazer, noting the details of the hidden pocket to hold autograph sharpies and designer sunglasses, I appreciate the skill of the chosen models. I only had enough faith in Devon to stand in one spot, afraid if I had given him the task of strutting and spinning, he’d either end up on the floor or might kick his shoe off his foot, striking David in the forehead.
The model struts around David, giving him a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the blazer in motion. He hits his mark, back in front of David, unhooks the button, and fans the jacket out a la Neo in theMatrix. The perfectly executed move nearly brings me to cheers. I sneak a glance at my sister and shoot her a quick wink. What she’s been able to pull off in less than a day is incredible.
Rather than give me a thumbs up, she gives me a nervous headshake before dropping her gaze to her hands. The pads of her thumbs press to her palms. I’ve seen this look on her before. It’s theI’m not sure about this next partlook she gives when she thinks she’s overstepped. My sister rarely settles for good enough. When she commits, she shoots for the moon. Even if everyone on the ground has told her it’s an impossible gamble. It’s one of the million reasons I love her.
The model with the blazer struts away, falling into formation with the others. There’s only one model left—the team sweat suit. As I describe the comfortable outfit, my mind races ahead to try to decipher what could place my sister on edge. This is the final outfit, and she must know she’s knocked it out of the park. After this, we’re done.
Then it hits me. What if we aren’t? What if there’s one more?
The mascot.
The pace of my voice picks up as does the tension in the arena. If the mascot is here, why didn’t he enter with the others? Did something happen to my head again? Is that why Stacy’s nervous? Did she find out where Devon lives and broke through a tiny basement window to steal my designs, and the head wouldn’t fit through the window? My mind constructs scenarios quicker than Google can map directions.
I open and close my hands into tiny fists and recenter myself. I construct beautiful things out of thin air. Stacy has delivered methe materials, it’s up to me to spin it into gold. It’s what I do. I have the skills, I have the experience, I’ll make it work.
She believes in me and my dream. It’s time, I do too.
