The strident toneof my cell breaks into my thoughts on how to accessorize one of Schiaparelli’s runway gowns for my client. I’m not mad about it, since my mind was taking me in a direction that wouldn’t fit this client’s vibe.
Maybe I should save this dress for someone else.
Putting a mental pin in that idea, I pick up my cell and smile when I see the name of the caller. “Alle, hi. Please tell me you’ve got an event coming up, because I saw a gown that’s perfect for you.” And I’ll lean on the designer to get it if I have to. Allegra Martin is one of my favorite people, and not just because she’s a wealthy philanthropist who throws charity fundraisers that my clients clamor to attend. She’s also down-to-earth, has a wicked sense of humor, and took a chance on me when nobody else would. I privately think of her as my big sister.
“No, I don’t—wait. Was it Gaultier? No, never mind,” she continues before I can reply. “We can talk about that another time.”
I frown. She sounds a little harried. “Everything okay?”
Her sigh echoes down the line. “I swear, Damian, I love my kid, but sometimes I want to strangle him.”
That makes me grin. Charlie’s not a kid anymore—he’s twelve years younger than me, and I just turned forty, so he’s got to be twenty-seven or -eight—but Alle’s been alternating between saying how great he is and that she wants to strangle him since I first met her. He works with her now, and from what I’ve seen he’s damn good at it, but there are times his enthusiasm gets the better of him. “What did he do?”
She hesitates. “You can say no and there won’t be any hard feelings, okay? I wouldn’t even ask except he was going to call you himself.”
I straighten. Charlie’s known for being a soft touch when it comes to doing favors, but this sounds like he wants to ask me for something. Something Alle thinks is crossing the line. “If he wants to go to the fall fashion shows, you know I’m happy to take him.” The kid’s got a good eye, and he’s entertaining company. I could get him invited to one show, at least.
“That’s not it, and I’m not telling him you said that. He doesn’t deserve it after this.”
How intriguing. “Alle, I’m dying of curiosity. Please tell me what Charlie was going to call me about.”
“You can say no,” she repeats. “I’mexpectingyou to say no.”
“Allegra.” The word comes out on an exasperated laugh.
“He and some friends ran into Kane Fortney last night. I’m not entirely sure how it happened, but apparently they told Kane he needed a new stylist and offered to feel you out about taking him on.”
I sit back. “Hm.”
“Charlie wanted me to make it very clear that he brought your name up and made the offer. Kane didn’t ask. But like I told Charlie, he should never have offered to begin with. Now I’m going to tell him you said no?—”
“Hold off on that for a second.” I turn the idea over in my head. My client list is full, and there are a lot of people who’vealready told me that they’d like to be considered if a place opens up, but I’m not a doctor. I don’t have a waitlist, and I don’t take on everyone who asks. I need to have a vision for the people I work with, and we need to have the same goals for them. There’s no point in me working with someone when they see themselves going in a different direction than what I envision for them. So yeah, my list is full, but that wouldn’t stop me from taking on a new client if my muse called for it.
Kane Fortney… There’s no confusion about why he’d need a new stylist. This year his ensembles went from unremarkable and completely off-radar to outright terrible, and his media exposure has flipped to match it. The criminal part is, he’s got so much to work with for any stylist who hasn’t locked their mindset to what the ideal Hollywood leading man should wear.
It would be a challenge to turn his current negative press around. Even more of a challenge to bring him up to the headline-grabbing best-dressed status my clients inevitably attain. After the ridicule he’s gotten lately, designers aren’t going to want to be associated with him. He’s not a huge name, and unless he turns his publicity around, it’s going to be a long time until he gets there. I have a full workload already, and the last thing I need is to add someone who’s going to be a lot of work for not a lot of payoff.
“Damian?” Alle asks, and I get the feeling it’s not the first time.
“Give me his number.”
CHAPTER THREE
I takea deep breath and try to make myself get out of the car.
“Have you done it yet?” Tami asks in my ear, and I shake my head before remembering that she can’t see me. I should have FaceTimed her instead of a regular call.
“No. I just need a minute.”
“If you take too many minutes, you’re going to be late for your appointment,” she points out practically. “Why are you so nervous anyway?”
“I’m not convinced this is real,” I admit. When Charlie Martin said he’d call Damian and see if he might be interested, I figured I’d be an idiot to say no, but that he wouldn’t really do it. That it was just one of those things people say that they don’t actually plan to follow through on.
But even if Charliedidfollow through, I thought for sure Damian would laugh in his face. Damian Ward’s name is synonymous with red carpet success, but the everyday looks he puts together for his clients are just as good. Celebrities dressed by Damian go viral for pictures of them having lunch, for fuck’s sake, just because people are commenting on their outfits. He works with A-list names and the mega wealthy. I never had achance of getting on his list even before I turned myself into a fashion don’t.
Which is why I almost died of shock when I got a call from a very professional-sounding woman who claimed to be the receptionist at Style Me, Damian’s company, telling me that Damian would see me for an initial consult on Tuesday at ten.
Damian. Would. See. Me.
