More Than Fashion (4 page)

Carla pulled some sort of organic vegan gluten-free low-fat blah blah blah energy bar out of her purse. “Here, eat this.”

“I’d rather sit here and suffer.”

She shrugged. “If that’s your choice.”

She unwrapped the bar and took a bite and chewed…and chewed…and chewed. My god, was she ever going to stop chewing? And it was so freaking loud, with all that crunching. Who knew chewing could be so damn noisy? It made the pain in my head crank up to max.

“Please, for the love of all that is good in the world, stop that.”

“Stop what? Eating?” She took another bite.
Crunch crunch crunch
.

“I hate you a little right now.”

She pointed at me with the offensive thing. “Hey, I didn’t make you stay up all night drinking and sexing it up.”

“It was worth it. No one looks back and remembers the nights they went to bed early.”

To distract myself from her noisy eating, I gazed outside my window at the city scrolling past us. I’d never been to New York before, although I’d always secretly dreamed of moving here, and I wanted to soak it all in. Sidewalks overrun with people in suits and black clothes rushing to work. Tourist shops with
I <3 NY
T-shirts and snow globes with the Statue of Liberty. Pizza places that all claimed to be the best in New York. Skyscrapers towering over us, gleaming in the sunlight.

A grin broke out on my face as I craned my neck up to glimpse the Empire State Building. I was really here. In New York. Going on
Behind The Seams
.

Forget last night. Today was the beginning of my new life. I knew exactly where I was going, and I was never looking back.

The car pulled up outside a brick building with no signs or other identifiers on it. Our driver got out our luggage, while a brunette with chunky blond highlights bounced out to meet us, exuding perkiness.

“Hi! You must be Julie Hong! And Carla Jackson! I’m Kelsey—with a K—and I’ll be your handler!” She spoke in a high-pitched voice at a mile a minute and seemed to use an exclamation point after every sentence. Or every word.

“Shoot me,” I muttered to Carla.

“That’s us,” Carla said to Kelsey, nudging me in the ribs.

“Great! It’s so wonderful to meet you both! Please follow me!”

I gave Carla a
please make her stop
look, but she rolled her eyes at me.

“You know, it’s unheard of for designers to have met their models before the show starts,” Kelsey-with-a-K continued. “We usually pair them up randomly, but in your case, we made an exception! How great is that?” She beamed at us, like this was the most amazing thing she’d heard all day. I wanted to tell her to lower her voice and calm the fuck down. Excitable people and hangovers did not mesh.

“We’re very grateful we can work together,” Carla said.

“There’s just one teensy little thing we need to discuss first,” Kelsey said, still sporting her giant smile. “We would prefer it if you didn’t tell the other designers that you two knew each other in advance. It’s not a big deal if they do find out, but we don’t want the other contestants to think Julie has an unfair advantage.”

Honestly? It
was
an unfair advantage. Knowing Carla was going to be my model gave me a huge confidence boost. After all, I’d designed or modified clothes for her plenty of times. But it made me uneasy knowing it was a secret we had to keep for the next few weeks. If it got out, it might turn the other designers against me. Then again, I wasn’t going on the show to make friends. I was there to win. 

Whatever it took.

“Not a problem,” I said, and Carla nodded.

“Great! I knew you’d understand!” Kelsey said, as she led us inside the building. “We’re going to have so much fun this season!”

I didn’t trust myself not to say something bitchy, so I stayed silent as I took in the lobby of the building they used for
Behind The Seams
. It was super modern, all tarnished metal, sharp angles, cement walls, and exposed ceilings. Like the people who designed it had been screaming,
“Look how cool and edgy we are!”

Despite my pounding head, excitement surged through me, mixed with the prickling of nerves. Further inside, I would meet the other designers and see where I’d be living for the next few weeks. And then we’d get our first challenge. How soon would it be? Right when we got in? I hoped not because I could really use something to eat and drink. And a shower. And a nap.

Kelsey had us sign some paperwork at the front desk, then clapped her hands and flashed that giant smile at us. “Great, we’re all set! Carla, please wait here and someone will take you for photos and to get your measurements. Julie, come with me and we’ll get you set up for the show!”

An assistant took my luggage, and I felt a sudden rush of panic. This was really happening now. No turning back.

Carla gave me a hug, and even though she was about a foot taller than me and I got a face full of boobs, I appreciated it. And, to be fair, they were damn nice boobs.

“Good luck,” she said.

“You too.”

“You’re going to be amazing.”

“I know.” I gave her a confident smile. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? “And you already are.”

Kelsey and I headed down a hallway. To my dismay, she continued her perky chirping. “First up, I’m taking you for photos and a quick interview! Then you’ll join the other designers for a quick reception!”

I wanted to throw up. And not just from my hangover. “Are the other designers already here?”

“Some of them. We’re staggering the arrivals so we don’t get overwhelmed, since there are fourteen of you to start. Oh, and you’re the youngest designer this season! Isn’t that cool?”

“Um, sure.” That definitely fueled my already-large ego, but it also meant everyone else would have more experience than me. All those doubts crept back in, that nagging voice that said I didn’t belong here, but I forced them to the back of my brain.

Fuck that noise. I was meant to do this.

Kelsey pushed open a frosted glass door and led me into a room with a backdrop with the
Behind The Seams
logo. Bright lights were fixed on a metal stool in the middle, with a camera crew set up in front of it.

Kelsey directed me to sit and then stood back so she wasn’t in view of the camera. A guy came over and added more makeup, slapping powder on my shiny forehead, while a girl ran a brush through my hair. I was tempted to apologize to them for looking like such a hot mess, but just gave them each a weak smile. Anything more was too much effort at the moment.

Once they decided I looked decent, the cameras began to roll and Kelsey rattled off questions. They were all pretty basic and expected—about my childhood, how I started designing clothes, why I wanted to win the show, and what my design aesthetic was. I somehow made it through them all without throwing up, but when it was over, I had no idea what I’d actually said. I prayed they could work some editing magic to make me sound halfway coherent.

Kelsey led me into another room, where I smiled and posed for promotional photographs, while mentally kicking myself again for drinking so much last night. After that, Kelsey slapped a name tag on my chest, and a cute sound guy fitted me with a portable microphone. He showed me how to turn it off and on, stressing that I should turn it off during downtime so the battery lasted longer. Then he attached the battery pack to my ankle before hiding the tiny mic inside the bust of my dress. On any other day, I’d be all over a hot guy with his hands inside my clothes, but today all I could do was concentrate on not throwing up on him.

“You were so great in your interview!” Kelsey said as she led me to an elevator. “I wish I had time to give you a full tour of the building, but the reception has already started. As you saw, this floor has the lobby, along with the theater for the runway shows and the production offices. The third floor is what we call the Loft, where you’ll be staying with the other designers for the next few weeks. There’s also a lounge area on the roof. And right now we’re going to the second floor, where you’ll find the design room, the fabric room, and the hair and makeup rooms. Most of the other designers should be waiting there already!”

Acid rose up in my throat. The show was starting
now
. From here on out, just about every moment of my life would be filmed. Eating. Sleeping. Working. And even worse, I was about to meet my competition for the next few weeks while looking like a total wreck.

I tried to use my phone’s camera to do one last quick check of my hair and makeup, but Kelsey held out her hand with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, but I’m going to have to take your phone. You’re not allowed to have them while you’re on the show.”

I already knew this, but a shot of terror hit me at the thought of not having my phone for weeks. Contestants were completely cut off from the rest of the world, banned from leaving the building or having any outside contact—including Internet or TV.

I checked my email and texts and everything else real fast for that one last fix, then reluctantly handed my phone over to her. Immediately I considered grabbing it and making a run for it, but no—I was doing this. Even if giving up my phone felt like losing a chunk of my brain.

Once on the second floor, Kelsey led me past the closed doors of the design room to an adjacent breakroom. From the open doorway came the low buzz of conversation, but before I could get a glimpse of my future, Kelsey gave me a hug and wished me luck. I hadn’t realized we’d progressed that quickly in our friendship already, but hey, I could use all the luck I could get.

I peered inside the room, which was done in the same modern style as the lobby. It had a lounge area with charcoal gray couches on one side and a dining area with three groups of four-person tables on the other. Along the wall, a table had been set up with an assortment of appetizers and champagne. Normally I’d be down for champagne at 10:00 AM, but alcohol was just about the last thing I needed right now.

The other designers stood around the room, chatting with each other, while cameras and crew filmed everything, our hidden microphones recording it all. I scanned the crowd, a diverse group of both men and women. Most seemed to be in their late twenties or early thirties, but there were a few who were older. The variety of clothes they wore ranged from preppy to goth to hippie chic.

Head high, I walked through the doorway. Everyone in the room turned to face me, probably as anxious as I was to size up the competition. I offered the best smile I could with my head pounding and my pulse shooting through the roof.

And then I froze.

My smile fell.

I was pretty sure my heart stopped, too.

Because in the middle of the group stood my one-night stand with the glorious hair, sexy tattoos, and English accent—looking just as shocked as I was.

Gavin.

CHAPTER FOUR

T
his could not be happening to me. Nope. Not possible. No way in hell.

How could Gavin be
here
? On the show. Standing in the middle of the designers. Drinking champagne.

Wait, wait, wait. Hold the fuck up. Was he a designer, too?

No. Freaking. Way.

His HELLO MY NAME IS read
Gavin Bennett
, so yes, it was really him. Today he wore a black-and-gray plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his tattoos, and jeans that hugged his body in all the right ways. His dark hair still had that sexy tousled look. I wasn’t sure how it was possible, but he was even hotter now than he’d been last night.

Memories flashed in my head. The way he’d looked between my legs. The way he’d
felt
between my legs. How I’d made a fool of myself in front of him. And how he’d disappeared in the middle of the night without a word.

Now I had to spend the next few weeks with him. In close quarters. On camera.

Fuuuuuuuuck.

I never in a million years would have pegged him as a fashion designer. Sure, his clothes had been well made and he’d said he was an artist, but I just couldn’t wrap my head around him being
here
, of all places. When you hooked up with a guy from a different country, you weren’t supposed to ever seen him again, after all.

He stared back at me, and his mouth twisted, like he wasn’t all that thrilled to see me either. Well, he could go straight to hell because I wasn’t leaving.

Maybe he’d get kicked off the show early. I could only pray he wasn’t very good.

A woman I guessed to be in her sixties with big hair, a pink pantsuit, and a kind smile approached me. “You look a bit overwhelmed.”

You have no idea
, I almost said. I tore my gaze off Gavin and turned to her. “A little, yeah.”

“Don’t worry, we all are. I’m Molly, by the way.”

I shook her hand. “Julie.”

She introduced me to a couple other people standing near us, who I barely registered meeting and whose names I instantly forgot. As we made polite small talk, all I could see was Gavin, talking to a girl with dark purple hair and the sides of her head shaved. He laughed, but then his eyes slid back to me, like he knew I was watching him. Heat rushed through me, and I quickly looked away.

Out of all the guys I had to pick up in a bar,
of course
it ended up being a guy on the show. Yes, I probably should have considered the possibility since we were staying at the same hotel and all…but to be fair, I’d been pretty drunk last night. And if it weren’t for this fucking hangover, maybe I’d be able to figure out how to handle this whole mess.

I snatched a glass of champagne off the table and took a sip, hoping that hair-of-the-dog thing would work. But as the cool, bubbly liquid slid down my throat, I nearly gagged. Food—that was the solution. I grabbed a cheese puff and took a small bite, but my stomach twisted as soon as it hit my tongue. Ugh. Maybe food wasn’t such a good idea either.

“Aren’t the appetizers yummy?” Molly asked, smiling at me.

“I love the mini-quiches,” added a pretty girl in a loose floral dress. Her name was something fitting like Summer or Sunny, but her long, golden hair hid her name tag.