“I’m a fan of fashion, not people.”
“Well then this dress is not the fashion statement intended. The waist, bodice and color are off.”
“The color is set to the season of release, which is summer. The bodice and waist had to be adjusted to be workable.”
“I’ve made this dress myself. The bodice and waist were just fine, and I want the green I requested.”
She rolls her eyes. “Look, Myla. I know you think you’re in charge, but there is a reason Michael hired me.”
Michael. She called him Michael. I am stunned when I should not be, and in fact, I’d celebrate any affair between them if I wasn’t clear on her role now. She is how this label would exist without me. She makes me disposable, but I do not dare blink. “And Michael put me in charge,” I say, my well-honed survival skills kicking in. “Which is why I won’t waste his time involving him in this. Now, if we can’t come to terms on this dress, but most importantly, my role here versus yours, then I will make it clear to him that I’m interviewing new designers. Think about it overnight and we’ll chat tomorrow morning.” I don’t give her time to reply, crossing the room, leaving the gauntlet on the ground, the shattering of my admiration for one of my idols, with it.
Kyle is, of course, watching my approach without reaction, when I know he’s heard the exchange. His expression is unreadable, his stare hooded, the door opening beside him as Barbara appears. “The models are beginning to arrive,” she says eagerly. “Come. We’re in the room off the reception area.” She waves me forward and disappears again.
I glance at Kyle. “Models,” I say. “You should enjoy this part of the day.”
“The only woman I’m watching is you,” he assures me, a hint of something warm slipping into his tone.
I swallow hard, not sure why, but in that moment, I feel vulnerable with this man, exposed in ways I have never been with Michael Alvarez, and my defenses rise. “I guess that’s what you get paid the big bucks for,” I spout, and it’s not only out-of-character snideness, but I regret it the moment I say it.
He doesn’t like it either, the glint in his eyes a telltale sign that says he wants to reply, but it is gone an instant later, and so am I. Exiting into the hallway, heading toward the lobby. I’m almost there, when I stop and face him. “I’m sorry.”
“What?” he asks.
“About what I just said,” I explain, and realizing I’ve already brought too much attention to us, I enter the lobby. “Where am I going?” I ask Heather.
She smiles and motions me toward a door, but her face freezes as her attention shifts to Kyle. Poor thing. Michael is right on one thing. His normal crew would not work out here. Kyle might be intimidating big, quiet, and good looking, but those guys look like they will corner you alone at any moment. And they will, I think, my gut twisting with a memory I cannot allow to surface right now.
Stopping at the door, I turn to Kyle, lowering my voice for his ears only. “Heather can’t take you standing by her desk the entire time I’m in here. You have to come inside.”
His lips quirk ever so slightly and he gives me a nod before we enter the room, me first, and we find a row of five chairs in front of some sort of a red carpet I assume is meant to be the runway. Barbara motions me forward to join her, then points for both me and Kyle to sit. “This is your runway show,” she says, handing me her clipboard. “Names. Agencies. Stats. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I say, feeling excited all over again, and hating how easily that keeps happening, but the thrill is gone the instant the first girl enters the room and starts strutting her stuff. She’s gorgeous. She’s perfect. She’s everything Heather is at that receptionist desk, which is perfect for the slave trade operation Juan and Ricardo recruit for every chance they get. I need to get her out of here. I mark her card with a negative. Three more girls walk for us, and I do the same. I’m starting to feel sick. I can’t hire models. I have to find a way out of this.
Barbara waits until I’ve declined girl number five before standing in front of my chair, hands on hips. “What isn’t clicking?”
“I don’t know,” I say, and afraid just coming here is putting the girls on the wrong radar, I change direction. “Maybe I should look through the agency books before we have more come out?”
“We have ten more lined up,” she says, “and we need to shoot the campaign in the next three weeks to make the launch publication dates for the top five fashion magazines.”
Top five fashion magazines. My designs. My dream. But these girls are potentially in hell. I’m back to this being a nightmare. “I’m sure I’ll find someone,” I lie. I’m not going to find anyone. I’m not going to let this happen.
“We need three girls for the plan you approved earlier.”
“Yes, I meant three.”