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"Don't you have an agent who can call on your behalf? Mr. Wilcox is a very busy man--"
"He asked me to, um, call personally." She hated herself for adding to her suspicions, but her stomach dropped when the other woman answered back knowingly.
"I see. Please stay on the line while I connect you."
That stealing, cheating, two-timing son of a b--
"Hello, Troy Wilcox. How can I help you?" He was using his smarmiest business tone and Julie gripped the inside of her palm, trying her best not to picture how satisfying it might be to smack the smug look right off his face.
"Troy," she said.
He hurried to answer back, "I think you have the wrong--"
"I'm positive I don't. I saw the paper this morning."
"You did." It wasn't a question.
"When did you plan on dropping this massive bomb on me?"
"I don't know what you're--"
"Come off it."
“Look, Julie, you had to know I couldn’t just let you walk out like that.” He sighed. “You’ve got to come back and this was the only way—“
“Come back so you can get the final details on my designs?” She wanted to spit, to stamp her foot, to do anything at all to convey what a piece of slime he really was.
“I talked to Eli. He’s willing to promote you if this show goes well.”
“You can’t promote someone who doesn’t work for you.”
Troy sighed again. “Do you really want to do this?”
“It seems like you’ve left me no choice.”
“Fine. Here’s the deal. Nobody is going to believe the designs are yours. You know it and I know it. So, you can either make a name for yourself by throwing one hell of a show—“
“In a week?”
“Or you can make yourself the laughing stock of the industry. Frankly, I don’t give a fuck what you choose.”
“I—I—“ Julie longed for the days when she could slam the phone onto the hook and glare at it angrily. Instead, she slid her thumb across the screen, gritted her teeth, then tossed the thing onto the bed where it promptly bounced up and slammed against the wall.
Perfect.
She winced, hoping it hadn't cracked, but decided the last thing she needed to do was check on that particular problem right now. She had way more massive fish to fry. Like, for instance, setting up the event of the century in two week's time with no help and no hope of anyone realizing that the work being displayed was actually her own. She sucked in her cheeks, then glanced out the window at her mother who was digging around in the rainforest of a garden outside.
Julie closed her eyes, hung her head, and thought hard. Maybe she just needed some time to process. She could go outside, help her mother, and by the time dinner rolled around, some magic solution might appear. Yes, time was the answer. Pulling on a jacket, she flounced out of her room and tried to fix her expression to one of happy determination before trudging down the steps. Just as she reached the landing, though, the front door swung open and Luke walked in...with Chase Westmore in tow.
Today Chase had given up his button down shirt in favor of a worn Nirvana tee she could have sworn he used to wear in high school. Of course, back then it had hung loosely on his lean frame. Now, it stretched across his muscled shoulders and t
orso like it might burst at the seams at any moment. His jeans, too, looked well worn, and when her gaze fell on his face, he looked just as shocked to see her as she was to see him.
Still, remembering that Luke was there, she beamed at her brother and said, "Well look what the cat dragged in."
Luke rushed toward her and took her in his arms, swinging her around the foyer before setting her back down on her feet.
"What was that about?" She laughed.
