Avoiding Intimacy (6 page)

she

asked,

arching an eyebrow.

The guy did his best not to look surprised. “How much stronger?”

“Tequila?”

she

requested

conspiratorially.

“We have wine.”

Chyna rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”

“It’s

vintage,”

he

offered

apologetically.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she groaned, taking the Champagne out of his hand.

“
Mi dispiace
,” he said actually apologizing.

Chyna waved away the apology. “
Va
bene
.”

She sipped, okay, gulped down her Champagne, finishing the first glass before her waiter even departed. He raised an eyebrow, but he handed her another glass before walking away as if he didn’t want to be responsible for the centerpiece’s alcoholism. She actually sipped this one because she was terrified of walking around in this thing drunk.

Her eyes instinctually found Marco in the crowd. The reporters were hovering over him like moths to a flame, trying desperately to get the next interview. He was engaged with a particularly attractive blonde at the moment. Chyna wasn’t even surprised that the woman was basically molesting him or that he was letting her.

They weren’t together. Their arrangement had nothing to do with that. It was only about lust, need, hate, and passion, and she liked to keep it at that.

Still, there was some kind of draw she felt to him—that she had always felt to him. It was strangely magnetic. It made her want to claw her way out of her clothes one minute and then slap him clear across the face the next minute…before letting him tie her to the bed and tease her until he forgave her. It was a never-ending cycle—lusting after a man who had the power to break her and knowing half of the time she wanted him to.

“He is extraordinary, isn’t he?”

someone asked from behind her.

Chyna made the mistake of swiveling in place, twisting the train up around her ankles and nearly sloshing her Champagne on the priceless one-of-a-kind dress. She teetered in place, rearranging the skirt in her mile-high shoes before glancing up at the woman who stood before her.

She was plain in a way that made Chyna wonder if she had modeled when she was younger. Makeup, smiling eyes, and a camera could cover up plainness real quick. Wearing a molded burgundy mermaid gown tapered to a deep V in the back, she had the taste of someone accustomed to high fashion. Her only accessory besides her shimmery gold clutch was one long strand of white pearls that hung from her slender neck. Chyna would recognize the swirly Corsa logo on the clasp anywhere; after all, her mother had worked for them.

“Who?” Chyna asked, smiling sweetly at the woman.

“You know who,” she said, slinking forward slightly.

Chyna glanced back at Marco who was speaking confidently into a tiny microphone.

“He is,” Chyna answered her initial question.

“With, if I might add, impeccable taste,” she said with a smile that didn’t quite match her face.

“Why, thank you,” Chyna said, wondering who the hell this woman was.

She recognized quite a few of the faces in here, at least all the ones that really mattered. Yet, this was not a familiar face.

“Excuse

me,

I’m

being

rude.

Cassandra,” the woman said, holding out her hand.

“Pleasure,” Chyna responded.

“You’re

American,”

Cassandra

commented.

Chyna didn’t know if it was a negative or

positive

feature.

The

woman’s

expression gave away nothing. Chyna never knew how people did that.

“Very.” She smiled wider and took a sip of her Champagne.

Cassandra chuckled softly, eyeing her flute of champagne but not taking a sip of it. “However did he find you? Have you ever even modeled before? You seem like a natural. Maybe he didn’t even need much time to mold you.”

It was a bit presumptuous. Alright, it was very presumptuous, but Chyna could appreciate that. In fact, it was a breath of fresh air in the crashing sea she had been wading through all summer.

“Forgive me,” the woman said in a way that made it seem as if she had no reason to be forgiven. “I continue with my rude behavior.”

“Seemed alright to me. Did you want something?” Chyna asked, trying to get to the point.

“I believe so,” she said, surveying Chyna. “Yes, I believe I do.”

All Chyna wanted to say was that she wasn’t all that into chicks because this woman was looking at her like she was deciding whether or not to take her home.

Chyna didn’t know what to make of it.

Was she flirting with her or just being odd?

“I’d like to offer you a job,”

Cassandra told her finally.

“Excuse me?” Chyna asked, staring back at the woman as if she were a martian. She hadn’t decided on what she was going to do now that her summer endeavor with Marco was coming to its conclusion. For the most part, she had been waiting for him to come to terms with the fact that he needed to keep her.

He needed a model for his line, and she was his model. He had all but created her.

It seemed a waste to let all that go after only a few short weeks.

She flipped back and forth about Marco every other minute, but she couldn’t deny his genius. He was the most successful talent that had arisen in the fashion industry during this generation, and she was a part of that. She thrived under his influence like she never had before. Her whole world moved too fast and out of control. It seemed to have a life of its own. The entire experience was an adrenaline rush on steroids. She hadn’t had that feeling from anything other than partying in a long, long time.

Partying used to be that escape for her.

She could escape into the dancing, nightlife, alcohol, and men that floated through her existence like a traveling circus. It was a world within a world—a world where she felt more at home than in reality. She became addicted to it—not the alcohol but the feeling of release.

She was as much afraid of that feeling as she reveled in it. What if she went back to her life and it all felt lifeless in comparison? How would she ever be able to escape?

So, she was waiting, waiting for him to make up his mind. She wanted to choose for him, but when it came right down to it, she didn’t know if she would choose him or not. She didn’t know if she would choose this life for herself. Perhaps in the end, it was only a novelty that would wear off with the passing of time like everything else had.

With conflicted thoughts, Chyna turned her attention back to Cassandra.

“I would like to offer you a job,”

Cassandra repeated slowly.

“Oh.”

“You are very good, and you don’t even quite know it yet. I think you would fit nicely into our collection,” she told her confidently.

After headlining Glam Ball, this woman wanted her to go be just another girl in her collection. Was she mad? She wanted…no, she needed to be showcased.

Chyna craved it now. Marco had spoiled her, and at that moment, she knew it.

“I’m sure it doesn’t sound like much to you,” Cassandra continued eyeing her as if she had dealt with a thousand other divas.

“However, I believe if you’d consider it, you’d

realize

it’s

a

wonderful

opportunity.”

“Um…yes…well, thanks,” she said, finishing off her Champagne. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not sure what I’m going to be doing this fall…if I’ll even be modeling.”

“You’ll be modeling,” Cassandra said as a matter-of-fact.

Chyna didn’t even bother asking her how she knew. She hardly stuck with anything long enough, even when she had loved many, many things. Perhaps modeling would die out for her as well.

Though, the thought felt like a lie even when she was thinking it.

“I appreciate your confidence, but I just haven’t decided about this fall yet.”

Cassandra tilted her head to the side as if she didn’t understand. She looked half like she wanted to laugh and the other half like she was taken aback. Her reaction was perplexing to say the least. Chyna had been modeling for all of a month and a half, but she had been around it her entire life. She had never heard of a Cassandra in the fashion industry. It didn’t mean that she didn’t exist. It just meant that she wasn’t important.

“Well, I can’t say I’ll save a spot for you, but if you change your mind, do give me a call,” Cassandra finally told her.

“I’ll do that,” Chyna said dryly.

Cassandra did laugh this time. At what, Chyna had no clue. Cassandra turned on her heel then and slowly began to slink back to where she came from.

“Wait!” Chyna called, glancing around to make sure she wasn’t disturbing anyone. “You didn’t tell me how to reach you.”

Cassandra turned back to face Chyna without a trace of laughter left in her eyes.

“Just ask Marco.”

“Great,” she muttered under her breath as Cassandra walked away. She had all but turned down a job offer without a consolation prize from Marco, and the only way she knew how to get in contact with this odd Cassandra woman was through the one person who would want to keep her away from anyone else. Not that she had any intention of taking some lame collection-modeling gig. She could do better than that, and she would.

When she glanced back up, she found Marco striding in her direction. She placed her empty Champagne glass on the tray of a passing waiter and braced herself for impact.

“My little star,” he murmured softly as soon as he reached her. “You’ve been gone much too long.”

“Hardly any time at all,” she corrected.

“You had company,” he stated plainly.

Somehow, she heard the threat in his voice.

“Everyone wants to marvel at your genius. It seems you have had another successful event,” she said, playing to his ego when all she wanted to do was bruise it.

“Of course it was, but what were you doing talking to her?” he asked, grabbing her arm and pulling her out of the center of the dance floor. He leaned in closer, so they wouldn’t be overheard.

“She was talking to me,” Chyna said, trying to pull out of his grasp.

“Why would she talk to you in the first place?” he growled, his brown eyes boring into her.

Chyna glared back at him, wanting none of this attitude right now. “What does it even matter? No one can talk to me?”

Marco laughed lightly at her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous,” she said, turning her chin and facing the other direction. She was tired of the game, and she just wanted to know what was going to become of all of this. Was he going to offer her the job or not? If only she could just ask him.

“You’re getting all worked up. While I like that, it is entirely unnecessary in this situation, and you should maybe hold on to that energy for later. You’re going to need it,” he said, running a hand down her arm.

“I’m not the only one getting worked up,” Chyna responded.

“Nor will you be later.”

“So, why shouldn’t she be talking to me?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

Marco laughed again at her ignorance.

“Don’t you know who that is?”

Chyna hated admitting her lack of knowledge, but she shook her head.

“She kept her maiden name despite her marital status,” he said, clearly enjoying drawing this out for her. “Cassandra Corsa.”

Cassandra Corsa.
Chyna was floored, destroyed, and totally dumbfounded.

“She is Clarice Corsa’s granddaughter and the owner of the Corsa fashion line.

She’s one of the wealthiest women in the world.”

And, Chyna just turned her down for a job.
Fuck!

MARCH FOUR MONTHS EARLIER

“Why?

I

don’t

understand

Mr.

Whatever-His-Name-Is at all,” Chyna repeated for what felt like the tenth time.

“Does this have to happen every time I get called into work late?” Adam demanded, pushing his hands into his pockets deeper and deeper.

She knew he was frustrated. He had it written all over him, but she couldn’t stop.

Why was he always the one who had to go in? And, what did they need him to do at ten o’clock at night at an architectural company? Wouldn’t the buildings still be standing the next day?

“Because you
always
have to go to work late,” she reminded him. “Why don’t you ask someone else to go for you?”

“It’s a small company. I’m the only other person working on this building, and there’s a deadline. Mr. Anderson is an old man. He doesn’t get the graphic architectural design aspect as well as he should, and he trusts me,” he said, looking down at the ground, shuffling his feet.

“What would you say?”

She knew what she would say! The same thing she had been saying to him all along: Why even bother with this company? Why bother with an old senile man and a company going nowhere in today’s market? It was a dead-end job with shit hours. She wished he could see that, but she couldn’t say that to him. Not today. He looked too heartbroken to even consider turning down Mr. Whatever-His-Name-Is, and she figured he liked his job.