Page 83 of Hate To Be Mine

It was probably why models had such bad reputations for being catty. They had to claw their way onto those runways and covers. It was not just given.

And now they didn’t realize their new competition was Buzzkill Bernadette.

I almost laughed but didn’t.

“So you don’t think I should use her?” I pressed.

“I mean, do what you want,” Clarissa said, her tone making it clear she thought I absolutely shouldn’t. “But who is she? We haven’t worked with her yet. Is this AI?”

I laughed that time. “Not AI. She’s here, and no, you haven’t worked with her.”

“Oh, she’s one of those,” Portia said with irritation. “I thought you didn’t work with the uppity bitches that refused to do joint work. She’s obviously difficult to work with if you had to sneak off to get test shots.”

Clarissa studied the pictures. “You can tell from her posture she’s not happy. She’s too stiff.”

Right. Because they could definitely tell someone’s personality from a single photo. They were jealous, plain and simple. Which meant Bernadette looked as good as I thought she did. That was all the confirmation I needed.

“Thanks for the input,” I said. “Really helpful.”

I left them whispering to each other and went to find Elizabeth. I needed another opinion from someone whose judgment I actually trusted. And the dresses and swimsuits were Elizabeth’s designs, so she would definitely have an opinion.

I found her in a corner of the tent with Mary Jo. My sister-in-law was absolutely destroying what looked like a pancake folded over scrambled eggs and bacon. Like a breakfast taco. She was eating it like a woman that hadn’t seen food in three months when I happened to know we ate less than eight hours ago.

Maybe she was carrying twins. Wouldn’t that be some shit?

“Morning,” I said, sliding into the seat across from her.

“Mmph,” Elizabeth said through a mouthful of pancake-taco.

Mary Jo laughed. “She’s been like this for ten minutes. I’ve never seen someone so committed to breakfast.”

I waited until she’d taken another bite before pulling out my phone. “Okay, snack buddy. I need your professional opinion. As the designer whose clothes are being photographed.”

I showed her the pictures of Bernadette.

She studied them, chewing thoughtfully. “Wow. Yeah, she’s gorgeous. Who is she? Is she one of the backup models?” She looked closer. “Wait. Is that Bernadette? Where was she hiding all that thunder?”

“Right?” I leaned forward eagerly. “I’m worried I’m biased, but she’s totally great, right? Like, objectively? As a designer, would you want her in your campaign?”

Elizabeth set down her breakfast taco—which clearly required a lot of effort—and took my phone to really look at the photos. I would have to wipe the bacon grease from the screen later. “Sebastian. This is stunning. The composition, yes, but also her. She’s got this quality… she doesn’t look like a model. She looks real. Like someone you’d actually want to be friends with. Like a real woman who went to the store and bought the clothes. But also otherworldly. It’s perfect for the Venus concept.”

“So I should use her?”

“Absolutely. You found your Venus.” She grinned. “Does she know you want to use these?”

“Not yet. I was going to ask her this morning.”

Mary Jo leaned over to look at the photos. “Oh, that’s beautiful. She looks like a Pre-Raphaelite painting come to life. Do it. Use her.”

“Great. Now I just have to convince her to actually do it.” I looked at Elizabeth. “I’m going to need backup. You’re the designer.”

She reached for her breakfast taco and looked like I might try to take it away from her.

“After you finish,” I added, seeing the feral look that crossed her face. “Take your time. Please. Chew. I don’t want you to choke. If you choke, my brother will kill me.”

She nodded while she chewed. “So good. You should try this.”

I made my own breakfast taco while I waited—because now I was curious if it was actually good or just pregnancy cravings talking. It was amazing.