“I don’t know what you want me to say. This is what Harman left before going to happy hour.”
“You’re in fashion. Do something fashion-y.” Jasmine flails her arms in the direction of the model, who seems unphased by the chaos.
“And risk my job by redoing one of Harman’s looks? I’m good. I busted my ass for this internship.”
Jasmine looks like she’s about to bite his head off, jaw clenching and fists balled at her sides. But she lets out a long-sustained breath and calls out to the room, “Can anyone help me get this girl into something else?”
My first instinct is to look for Marty. He’ll be able to help put together a new look. I spot him off to one side, sipping his latte, just as Liam says, “Henri can do it.”
“This is a bad idea,” I say as Liam holds my hand, guiding me through the main floor of theSpitfireoffice. “I’m not qualified to help Jasmine find a new outfit for the model.”
I really should tell him he doesn’t have to grab onto me every time I need to go somewhere; I’m plenty capable of following him on my own. Though, maybe I can bring that up later. After he takes me wherever we’re going.
And it’s probably for the best because I’m completely distracted by our surroundings. I keep looking back over my shoulder at the central wall covered with material that is probably top secret.
“You style yourself for dates, have the biggest closet out of anyone I know, and sew your own clothes,” he says with a firm certainty as we turn the corner into a hall. “Those sound like great qualifications to me.”
I can’t believe he still remembers all of that from the two hours we spent together weeks ago.
“You could get . . .”In troubleis what I was trying to say, but the words die on my tongue when Liam pushes open the door to heaven. Or at least my version of it.
Because, yes, a room full of hundreds of thousands of dollars of designer clothes is exactly where I hope to go when I die.
Liam lets go of my hand and I float inside. Hangers clink as I run my hand over the clothes. I only pause when my fingers land on a dramatic floor-length, pure-white fur coat that looks like it could have been stolen from an old Hollywood starlet. Mink, from the looks of it. I slide it off the hanger and check the label details. Faux fur, but an impressive imitation.
“This,” I say. “Vintage glamour would be perfect.” My gaze snags on a pair of iconic Kate Veau Velours Louboutins and grab them from the rack. “And these with some thigh highs attached to a garter belt? Almost a pin-up vibe.”
I pause, finally catching myself. I shouldn’t be doing this. The burden of the heavy coat is lifted from my arms as Liam grabs it from me. When I meet his eyes, the look on his face is nothing short of proud.
“What else do we need?” he asks.
“You’re sure?”
“I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t believe in you.” There’s not even the barest hint of doubt in his words.
“I guess Jasmine is in a rush,” I say and give in to the need to finish selecting items for the look I’ve conjured up in my head.
Continuing to pull items, I put together two more looks for Jasmine to choose from so she can also choose between red or black. Still, I keep with the classic theme, imagining the model as Vera-Ellen or Rosemary Clooney inWhite Christmas.
When I exit my velvet-and-silk-induced fugue state, Liam is still watching me, now armed with a sturdy clothes rack to carry the clothes.
“What?” I ask, noting the soft smile on his mouth. He’s seated on a circular stool at the center of the room, arms propped at his sides to keep him upright. “Don’t tell me this is interesting for you.” Iris refuses to go shopping with me because I can take up to an hour deciding on a single item of clothing, before getting to the register only to change my mind again.
“Oh, I’m irrefutably enthralled.”
“Fancy words.”
“Don’t you know, I get paid to use fancy words,” he counters. “Have you ever considered doing this professionally? I mean you’re in New York, this is the place to pursue fashion.”
I shake my head, adding a shawl to the rack. “I don’t want to make money off it. Commodifying the one of the only things I can say I enjoy is a one-way trip to start hating it or getting burnt out. This is fun and all, but it’s too important to turn into a job.” I’ve thought it through. The lack of stability. The stress that would come with it, how it would warp my passions into something I resented. Money has a way of doing that, and I refuse to let that happen. “If I can get licensed as a counselor, then I can clock in and clock out, but also feel like I’m making a difference. What I do now is help for a day or two. I want to do more. I know what it’s like to feel alone and helpless and if I can help others through that, I want to.” I slam my mouth shut, surprised by my own candor.
“Smart girl,” he says, voice low and gravelly, scraping over me before settling in my stomach. “Are you ready?” He cocks his head to the door.
“Could you take it down?” I ask, hesitantly.
“Don’t you want to see what Jasmine chooses?”
“I will when it’s posted, but watching her pick over it would be like listening to my voice in a recording, in front of an audience.” I shiver at the thought. “I’ll just wait up here for you to get back.
