More Than Fashion (6 page)

I sketched out a basic idea I hoped would both show off my geek chic aesthetic and stand out among the others, while still fitting the challenge. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded, especially since we were limited by our fabrics, but I thought I’d have a pretty good shot at winning the challenge if I could pull off the design I had in mind. Assuming I could finish it in time.

Once my sketch was done, I cut the fabric using Carla’s measurements, which I’d also found in my box. I went faster than normal, silently praying I didn’t screw up, but for this challenge, there was no time to waste. I still felt like total shit, which wasn’t helping matters either. I’d just about murder someone for some more pain meds for my headache. And, in related news, I was somehow both starving
and
nauseous. Basically the worst combo ever.

I shoved all of that deep inside while I worked and managed to block out everything around me, including the other designers’ conversations. The few that were going on anyway—most of us were quiet and focused. We didn’t have any time to mess around.

I pinned the cotton fabric to the dress form, trying to get it into the correct shape, making adjustments as I went along. Satisfied, I took my tacked-together dress into an adjacent room with sky blue walls and top-of-the-line sewing machines. With fourteen designers, there were nowhere near enough sewing machines and the room was crowded, but I spotted a free one near the back. I rushed to grab it before someone else did.

At the sewing machine next to me, a black guy with a shaved head and muscular arms was telling that Nika girl a story. I’d missed the beginning, but as I sat down, he said, “The producers told me I needed more experience! Can you believe that? After I’d worked on shows at Paris Fashion Week two years in a row,
still
they turned me down! But I came back again and again until I finally got picked.”

“They told me the same thing,” Nika said, with an accent that sounded Russian. “I auditioned three times before they finally let me on the show. Three times!”

“It took me three auditions as well,” a man behind us said in a soft-spoken voice. He was older, maybe late thirties, and had short black hair and brown skin. His name tag read
Tom Nguyen
, and he had a cool geometric tattoo on his upper arm.

“It’s just so unfair! What about you?” the other guy asked me.
Derrick Jones.
“How many times did you have to audition for
Behind The Seams
?”

“Um…” Crap. I totally blanked, trying to figure out what to say. I should probably tell them the truth—that I hadn’t auditioned at all, but instead had won a spot on the show at Comic-Con. But somehow I didn’t think they’d want to hear that, not when they were commiserating and bonding about how hard it had been to get on the show.

Nika gave me a long once-over, sizing me up. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those lucky bitches who got picked on the first audition.”

“No!” Great, yet another thing to lie about. Another secret to keep that would probably come back to bite me in the ass.

Derrick snorted. “Yeah, right. I mean, look at you, you can’t be older than what, eighteen? Nineteen?”

“I’m twenty-one,” I said. “And I’ve been working my ass off to get on the show for years.” That was true, even if I’d never auditioned. But I’d wanted to for as long as
Behind The Seams
had been on TV.

“Aw, such a baby,” Nika said in a sing-song voice, although she couldn’t be much older than I was. Thirty, at most. “So tiny, too. Like a little Asian doll. I want to put her in my pocket and carry her around.”

Derrick snort-laughed, and the harsh sound made me break one of my needles. Dammit! I swore under my breath, but that only made them laugh more.

“She’s so cute when she’s mad!” Derrick said.

That was it. I wasn’t going to let some jerks who were barely older than me treat me like I didn’t belong here. “You two sound jealous. Sorry, I can’t help it if I’m the youngest designer this season.”

Their laughter died. Derrick sat up a little straighter. “Youngest just means least experienced.”

The words stung because I secretly worried he was right, but I gave a little shrug. “Remember those words when you’re at home, watching me on the finale.”

“You’ll be lucky if you make it past this challenge,” Nika snapped.

I was firing up another comeback when a commotion in the design room distracted me. The models had arrived and were pairing up with the designers they’d been assigned to. Shit, how much time had passed? This challenge was going by
way
too fast.

I quickly finished my seam and rushed out. Carla was already standing at my workstation, and I was relieved to see her smiling face, even though it had only been a few hours since we’d parted. That is, until I saw the other designers introducing themselves to their models and remembered I had to pretend I didn’t know her.

“Hi, I’m Julie,” I said loudly, extending my hand.

“Carla,” she said, her lips pursed. I could tell she wasn’t a fan of this deception either.

“I’m really excited to work with you.” I tried to sound enthusiastic, but I was sure it seemed forced. “Let’s see if this dress fits.”

She took off her top and jeans, leaving her in just a bra and underwear, with zero hesitation about undressing in a room full of people. All around us, the other women did the same. Such was the life of a model, I supposed. It would all be blurred or cut out when the show was edited later, so the viewers at home wouldn’t get to see the full, half-naked glory in front of me.

I helped her get the dress on and stood back to check it out. It fit great, but I did know Carla’s body pretty well by now. I could pull it in a little on the waist, but otherwise it looked good on her. I switched off my mic and grabbed some pins to make a few adjustments, a good excuse to get close enough that no one could hear our conversation.

“Thank god you’re here,” I whispered as I brought in the waist. “Today has been a disaster.”

“How’s your head?”

“Fucking miserable. Feels like someone is pounding nails into my eyes. And my stomach feels like someone has set it on spin cycle.” I quickly glanced at Gavin’s workstation, but he wasn’t there. “But that’s not even the worst thing. That guy from last night? He’s here.”

“What do you mean, here?” She looked around the room. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure! He’s one of the other designers and he’s stationed at the next table and oh god don’t look, but he’s coming back now.”

Too late. She tried to be subtle about checking him out, but failed horribly. Not that I blamed her; he did stand out as the hottest guy in the room. Half the other models stopped whatever they were doing to eye him up, too.

“Could you be any more obvious?” I lightly smacked Carla on the arm, and she turned back to me.

“Sorry. I just can’t believe he’s on the show. Although now we know why he was at the hotel last night…”

“If you’re about to tell me I’m an idiot and I should have been more careful, trust me I’ve already yelled at myself a hundred times in my head.”

“I would
never
call you an idiot, Julie.”

Gavin returned to his workstation and began speaking with his model, a tall, golden blonde who looked like a warrior princess. Give her a sword and she could be Thor’s sister. Even she seemed dazzled by Gavin, launching right into the “I love your accent” spiel I’d heard from so many other girls already today.

His eyes locked on Carla for a long moment, then slid to me with a frown. He gave a faint shake of his head before turning away. Shit, he must have recognized Carla from last night. Another thing he could use against me.

I dropped a pin, and when I bent over to grab it, my head throbbed even harder. Like it just wanted to remind me how much today sucked, in case I’d forgotten. I rubbed my forehead with a soft moan as I stood back up.

Carla looked around, then sneaked something into my palm. “Here, take these.”

“What are they?”

“Heavy-duty pain pills. I had them in my emergency travel kit.”

“You are an angel sent from heaven.” Thank god for Carla’s over-the-top planning. I downed the pills and chased them with a big gulp of water. Hopefully they’d kick in fast.

“I’ve got to head to hair and makeup. Take care of yourself, okay?” She gently rested a hand on my shoulder, her dark eyes worried.

“I will.”

She looked like she was about to hug me, but then stopped herself and left with a little wave. Behind me, someone chuckled. Gavin.

I kept my back to him, but I could
feel
his eyes on me. Judging me. Distracting me. Making me fucking crazy. I slammed my scissors down, ripped off a corner of my sketch pad paper, and scribbled,
What’s so damn funny?

I crumpled up the note and threw the tiny paper ball on his table. I refused to look at him, but I heard him chuckle again. A minute later, he discreetly slipped me the wrinkled piece of paper as he walked to the sewing room. He’d written underneath my message, his handwriting neat and precise, with sharp, bold strokes.

Just that I’m not the only one you’re pretending you didn’t know before the show.

I scratched off another message with my pencil and dropped it at his feet after he returned.
I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Anyone else?
he wrote back.
Is Lola secretly an old family friend?

I blew out a long breath and closed my eyes, too tired to deal with his bullshit.
Could you please just not mention this to anyone?

Don’t worry, love. Your secrets are safe with me.

Maybe. Maybe not.

I continued working on my dress, but right when I was in the zone, Kelsey popped into the room and told us we had to take thirty-minute breaks in shifts. My name was called for the first shift, naturally. With the clock ticking and so much work to do, I didn’t want to spend a second away from my workstation. Even if lunch would probably be good for me.

Back to the breakroom from earlier, but this time it had more substantial food than just champagne and tiny appetizers. I forced myself to eat a turkey sandwich and chug some soda, ignoring the other designers in the room as best I could. I didn’t have the energy to socialize with people I might not know after today.

I finished eating in five minutes and felt about a thousand times better for it, but Kelsey refused to let me get back to work. “Labor laws, sorry!”

I scowled at her, but crashed on a sofa in the corner. Maybe if I closed my eyes for a minute my head would stop spinning.

Ah, blissful darkness, with only the sounds of the low buzz of conversation and the familiar hum of sewing machines. Perfect. One fifteen-minute cat nap and I’d be back to work and better than ever.

***

A hand on my shoulder jolted me awake. I blinked, dazed and blinded by the bright light above me. Gavin stood over me, his dark eyebrows drawn together, a frown on his pretty mouth.

“Wake up, love,” he said, nudging me again.

Trina stood beside him, her arms crossed. “C’mon, Julie, you need to get up.”

I groaned and sat up, the darkness in my mind slowly receding. A quick survey of the breakroom showed that all the designers during my lunch shift were gone. A sick, dizzy feeling settled in my stomach, but this time it wasn’t from my hangover.

“How long?” I asked.

Gavin and Trina exchanged a look. “We’re not sure,” Trina said. “We came in for our break and found you like this.”

“No, how long left in the challenge?”

“One hour,” Gavin said.

Shit.

CHAPTER SIX

I 
rushed into the design room in a panic, my brain stuck on a loop of
fuck shit fuck shit
before taking a detour to
oh god what have I done
and
I’m so fucking screwed
.

I’d lost almost an hour while passed out on the couch. Not a single person from my shift nor the shift after that had woken me. Those jerks. And where was Kelsey? If Gavin and Trina hadn’t taken pity on me, I’d probably still be asleep.

Once at my workstation, I weighed my options, trying not to freak out even more. I had so much to do on my dress and very little time left. My original design wouldn’t work; I’d never get it finished for the runway show. I’d have to do something a little less complicated, something I could get done in less than an hour. But what?

My little nap might have ruined my chances of staying on the show, but I had to admit I did feel a lot better now. My headache and nausea were gone, replaced only by a grim determination to get this dress done in time, however I could.

Before I knew it, Carla was back with her hair and makeup done, her skin practically glowing. The dress was still nowhere near what I wanted it to be, but we got it on her and it didn’t look too bad. I made a few adjustments, snipping strings off the hem, and found her some black knee-high boots in the nearby accessory room, which had more necklaces, purses, bracelets, and hats than I’d ever seen in one place before. I even spotted some bronze goggles, of all things. I made a mental note to use those for a future challenge.

Once Carla was dressed, I stepped back to survey my work while she walked back and forth in front of me—and I wanted to cry. The dress looked rushed and sloppy and, even worse, uninspired. I slouched against the table, rubbing my face.

“It fits great,” Carla said, twirling a little and making the skirt flare out. “I’m sure the judges will love it.”

“It’s a disaster. They’re going to send me home for sure.”

“They won’t. Not a chance.”

“I’ll be happy to just get to the next challenge. Today’s been rough.”

She moved to give me a hug, but then paused, glancing around. Instead, she gave me a warm smile. “You will. I’m sure of it.”

Lola appeared in the doorway, clapping her hands sharply and calling out, “Designers! Time for the runway show!”

Carla and I rushed out of the room behind Gavin and his Valkyrie model, the other designers and models right on our heels. It was a mob of little black dresses as we went down to the first floor in groups on the elevator, then followed Kelsey into the backstage area behind the runway.