Page 14
“I’m already two points ahead.”
Harper should be happy that they finally agree on something. Instead, she feels a tight knot in her stomach. Because it’s clear they work well together. Professionally, the two of them are a force to be reckoned with. And seeing that makes her want to shoot herself.
“As you can see, not everything in the universe revolves around you, Harper,” Victoria tells her. “Even if you keep clinging to that fantasy.”
A silly, mischievous smile slips across Harper’s face before she can stop it.
“That’s exactly what you told me the night we met at the Vogue party. Do you remember?”
“I have a better memory than you’d like,” her ex-wife replies. “And you should keep that in mind.”
Harper walks over to the table and picks up the photo of the test model.
“We have to decide what we want the opening photo to look like—the one that kicks off the main feature.”
Victoria stands next to her. Too close. Again.
“I’d like it to seduce the reader little by little, to make them want to turn the page without really knowing why.”
“And don’t you think we’ll achieve that with something more eye-catching?”
“You’ve always loved a good show,” Harper snaps, looking her straight in the eye. “At meetings, at award shows… everywhere.”
Victoria turns. Her eyes lock onto Harper’s with such intensity that Harper takes a step back until she bumps into the edge of the table.
“Actually, not everywhere…” she says, tapping the table a couple of times. “Only when I felt it was worth the effort, or when there was someone on the other side who really cared about seeing me shine.”
Harper’s heart skips a beat.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Cut the crap. I’m not in the mood for your riddles, Victoria.”
She doesn’t answer. She just stares at her. Harper sets the photograph down on the table because her hands are shaking. She needs to get out of Victoria’s reach. She walks toward the back, where the sample coats hang, and begins rearranging the hangers by color. It’s an absurd and pointless task, but it allows her to turn her back on her.
Exhaustion is playing tricks on her—that much is crystal clear. The defenses she’s spent years building with the help of therapy are crumbling right before her eyes. Suddenly, Harper remembers Sunday mornings in their apartment. She remembers how Victoria would come up behind her while she was making coffee, wrapping her arms around her waist and resting her chin on her shoulder without saying a word. She remembers the feeling that, as long as Victoria was there, the outside world could burn.
How treacherous memory is. Because she only remembers the warmth. Victoria’s mouth on her neck. The promises in the darkness.
“Harper.”
Harper closes her eyes for a second before turning around.
“What?”
Victoria is three steps away from her. She’s set the pen down on the table. Her shoulders are slumped, and her gaze is unguarded.
“I’m exhausted, Victoria. I don’t feel like dealing with nonsense,” Harper adds.
“We can leave it at that if you want,” Victoria replies. “We’ll come back tomorrow around six and finish putting together the look before Eleanor—”
“Eleanor wants a polished job,” Harper protests. “I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of thinking I couldn’t handle this.”
Victoria sighs.
“You don’t have to treat this like a matter of life and death. If you’re tired, you should just go home.”
