“I’mnot,” he insists. “I’m justaskingif this is the best option. You’ve been talking my ear off all week about rebranding me and making a statement. You’ve restricted me to home and work only until you can get me clothes that you approve of, and I’m going out of my damn mind stuck here with nothing to do, but I figured you had something up your sleeve that would make a big impact. Dior, or—or one of the other big-name designers.”
I hold back my chuckle, since he’s clearly not in the mood to be laughed at, but it’s cute the way he has zero clue about designers.
“I just didn’t think you’d pick a no-name for my first red carpet dressed by you,” he finishes, sounding despondent.
Leaning back in my desk chair with my phone to my ear, I say, “But you agree that I, the person who actually knows the names of fashion houses, am the one who should make this decision?”
He sighs. “Sure. Yeah. It might not be what I was expecting, but at least I know nobody will laugh at me after.”
I sit upright. It’s one thing for him to feel unsure about my choices, another entirely to lack confidence in the success they’ll create. “Trust me on this, okay? Bluntly, if we went with one of the major houses, they’d only come to the table because of my name, they wouldn’t offer their best for you, and they’d use it as leverage against me down the track. Your rebrand would go from being about you to being about me.”
He's quiet for a minute. “So you think going with an unknown designer—what was the name, again?”
“Phallacy. They’re not unknown; they’re young. But a lot of people are watching them right now, Kane, and talking about what they might be able to do. I’d know, because I was one of them, and I’m ready to put my name on the line to back them.”
“My name,” he mutters. I ignore him.
“I like what I’ve seen from them this year, but I was waiting for the right client. That’s you. Most people haven’t heard of Phallacy yet, but theywill. I’m sure of that. In thirty years, actors like you will be begging to wear their designs on the red carpet.” I don’t normally make statements like that—after all, I’m a good judge of fashion but I can’t manage someone else’s business for them. Who knows if the owners of Phallacy are capable of growth on the scale they’ll need? Kane needs to hear confidencefrom me, though, and Iamconfident that this is the right direction to take.
“You’re saying this is going to make me a trendsetter?” Doubt is heavy in the question.
“You and Phallacy are both trying to make a name for yourselves, and you’re going to boost each other to the next level,” I assure him. “One day, someone will make a documentary about how Phallacy got started—you know, one of those ‘birth of a fashion empire’ things—and the archival footage and pictures they use will be of you.” It’s a little heavy-handed, but celebrity egos need that sometimes.
He sighs again. “I guess your name is going to be on this, too.”
My face twitches with the effort of holding back my laugh. So much trust there. “Come with me to meet Phil and Calla,” I suggest impulsively. “I’ve already talked to them about the vibe I want for this event, and they have your measurements, but it’ll make you feel better to meet them before the fitting.”
“Phil and Calla? Those are the designers’ names?”
“Phil does most of the designing,” I confirm. “They own the company jointly. Are you free Thursday?” I grab my mouse and click over to my calendar. “At two?”
His chuckle is unamused. “You know I am, since you have me on house arrest.”
“I’ve got a few things for you already, and I’ll have more by Thursday,” I promise. “Enough to get you out of the house over the weekend, anyway.” It doesn’t normally take me this long to put together a basic wardrobe, but since Kane’s getting a complete rebrand, I’m being a lot pickier. I’ve already had Amina leak the news that he’s joined my roster, so the next time he appears in public, even if it’s just for lunch with friends, his look has to be perfect.
“Really?” He sounds much brighter at the prospect. “Okay, fine. Thursday at two. Let’s go to Phallacy.”
A knock on my door draws my attention to the wall of glass. Griff, one of my stylists, is standing there with a tablet and a raised brow. I gesture for him to come in.
“I have to go, but trust me, okay? Phallacy is the way to go, and when the other luxury brands see how the new you is going viral, they’ll be breaking my door down to dress you. We’ll be able to get exactly what we want from them.”
He still doesn’t seem completely convinced, but he sounds happier as he says goodbye. I drop my phone on my desk as Griff takes a seat opposite me.
“You’re so good with clients when they rebel,” he says, sounding envious. Griff’s got a natural eye for putting the right look together for his clients, but zero patience. Most of his client list is made up of no-bullshit types who don’t give a crap what he puts them in and how blunt he is while he does it. He does really well with macho types who think designer fashion might dent their masculinity. After all, if Griff, a six-foot-three tank-wide ex-Marine who grunts hello on the phone says it’s okay to wear Valentino, then it must be manly.
The idiocy of those people knows no limits.
“I wasn’t always,” I reply, which is partly true. “Besides, this one isn’t rebelling. He just needs his hand held.” Which I’m more than happy to do. “What’s up?”
He passes over the tablet. “I’m stuck on the accessories for this. What I’ve got isn’t working. What do you think?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Tellme again why you’re going there?” My car’s speakers make the skepticism in Tami’s voice seem so much clearer. Or maybe that’s just me projecting.
“Damian thinks it’ll make me feel better about wearing one of their suits to the premiere week after next.” I don’t need to tell her which one—she’s coming too. We decided to go together, and our publicist agreed. The fact that our characters are besties on the show and that we’re such close friends in real life is great publicity, and people love it when we go out in public together. We’re almost always guaranteed to see those photos go semi-viral. If I wasn’t gay, I’m sure our publicist would have suggested that we fake date just for the headlines.
“Is he right?”
