Sure, Xayden’s made it work. Jake too, when the mood strikes him. But the rest of us? We don’t fit the mold. We don’t do fancy. We don’t do designer.
Not like Ashlyn. She’s draped in it. Every inch of her polished, expensive, untouchable. Everything about her screamsperfect.
And everything about us screamsthe opposite.
“And that requires working with you?” West asks, his voice low.
We already know the answer. She’s here. Shelley left her behind. It’shershow. But still, we all wait, watching her, waiting to see what she’ll say.
“Will that be a problem?” she asks, her tone clipped as her posture straightens, her shoulders going rigid.
The stick up her ass must’ve only grown since she chose something other than her pack. The Ashlyn I knew would’ve snapped right back at West, throwing his question back in his face with all the fire and attitude she used to wield like a weapon.
Now? She’s all stiff formality, hiding behind that polished mask.
And part of me wants to rip it off, expose who she is beneath it. Push all her damn buttons until she breaks.
But I don’t. Instead, I sink slowly into my chair, folding my arms across my chest, letting the silence stretch and suffocate. Let her squirm.
She doesn’t. Her chin lifts, her gaze sweeping over each of us, daring us to say something.Anything.
“No,” Xayden says finally, breaking the tension with a lazy smirk. “No problem here. Long as you can keep up, princess.”
Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t rise to the bait. Damn shame. “Good,” she says coolly. “Because like it or not, we’re stuck with each other for this.”
West makes a low sound in his throat, something between a laugh and a scoff, but he doesn’t press it.
Jake flicks the ash off his cigarette, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees again. “Fine,” he says, his tone laced with mock indifference. “Let’s hear it, then. What’s the grand plan, Ash? You’ve got us here. Might as well make it worth our time.”
Her lips press into a thin line, the faintest crack in her polished exterior, but she doesn’t waver. “Like I said already, the next theme for the show is built around your music—aroundyou.We need your take on the styling, the mood, the creativevision. The models are meant to capture your energy, your essence, your vibe and bring it to life on the runway.”
Jake snorts, a crooked grin pulling at his lips. “Ourvibe,huh? You mean the part where we look like we rolled out of bed after a three-day bender?”
“Speak for yourself,” Xayden chimes in, his grin widening as he rakes a hand through his dark curls. “I like to think I bring a certainje ne sais quoito the table.”
West doesn’t bother to hide his eye roll, and Jake shakes his head, muttering something under his breath.
Ashlyn doesn’t flinch. “Whatever you want to call it, that’s what we need. Your authenticity. The raw, unpolished truth of who you are.”
The words hang in the air, heavy and loaded, and I can’t help but wonder if she hears the irony in them. Because authenticity? Truth? That’s the last thing she ever gave us.
“Fine,” I say, my voice coming out rougher than I intended. “We’ll play along. But don’t expect us to sugarcoat it.”
Her eyes flick to mine, and for a moment, something sparks there—something raw and unguarded. But just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by that damn mask again.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she says, her voice steady, her expression unreadable.
And damn it, part of me hates how much I still want to tear it all down.
CHAPTER 4
Ashlyn
The crisp springair feels like a slap to the face when I step out of the studio, the coolness doing little to soothe the heat simmering under my skin. We set up a time to meet to go over plans, and I just hope I’m ready to face them again tomorrow.
My steps are quick, purposeful, the sharp click of my heels ricocheting off the concrete as I weave through the crowds. I need to get away—away from the studio, away fromthem. Away from the past that refuses to loosen its grip.
The scent blockers are starting to fail. I can smell it. The faint sweetness of strawberries and cream begins to creep into the air around me, clinging to my skin.The scent blocker was supposed to cover the cracks, to hold the mask in place, but now it’s betraying me. Probably because I would need a super strength pill to work around them. I wipe at the back of my neck, as if that will make a difference, as if that will erase the scent seeping from my pores.
