CHAPTER ONE
GRIFF
JUNE
Awards season is finally over,but that doesn’t mean I can take a break. Not with summer blockbuster movie premiere season fast approaching. Three of my clients have films releasing in the next few months, with associated press tours and multiple red-carpet appearances around the world. Only one is giving me headaches, though—the one where my client’s agent failed to negotiate wardrobe control for the tour. I try to work with studios and producers to ensure their vision for the project’s publicity and my client’s aesthetic are in the same ballpark, but as far as I’m concerned, the final decisions need to be the client’s... and mine.
I’m staring at my computer screen, wondering whether replying to the latest ridiculous email with “fuck off” would be worth the shitstorm of trouble it would bring down on me—Damian, my boss, wouldunderstand, but he’d also probably still murder me for forcing him to deal with the disaster that followed—when a message pops up from Amina, our receptionist.
Katie for Margaret Haywood on line 3. Yes or no?
Sighing, I swivel my chair toward her desk. She’s looking at me, eyebrows raised, and I nod, reaching for the handset on my desk. Probably better that I take a few minutes to calm down, and Margaret’s one of my easiest clients.
“Hi, Katie. Still enjoying the sunshine?” One of the first things Damian told me when he took me under his wing nearly a decade ago was to be nice to the personal assistants, even if the clients aren’t. They know everything and they talk to each other and other service providers. That’s a network nobody can afford to get on the wrong side of.
I don’t normally like small talk—some of the other stylists joke that I’m bilingual, fluent in English and Grunting—so befriending a bunch of strangers was a chore I didn’t want to take on. Instead, I stick to my Networking Strategy. I make a point of always saying hi, using their names, and memorizing at least one other thing about them. In Katie’s case, it’s the fact that she went to college in Seattle and was thrilled to move back to California and its high number of sunny days per year.
“Every day,” she replies with a smile in her voice, and then, proving that my strategy works, she adds, “She didn’t say what this call is about, Griff, but she’s been in a quiet mood lately.”
The hair on my arms stands on end. Margaret isn’t a loud person, but her introspective moods are usually followed by big changes. That’s only affected me once—when she decided to boycott a designer because of the way he treated his staff, and I suddenly had ten days to find her another red-carpet gown. Doable, but not how I usually like to work. Since she’s one of the clients with a publicity tour coming up, I’m suddenly very nervous.
“Thanks for the heads-up. I better see what she wants.”
“Good luck!”
I reach for my coffee while I wait for her to transfer the call, but the cup is empty. Fuck. When did that happen?
The line clicks, and Margaret’s rich, modulated voice says, “Griff?”
“Hello, Margaret. Perfect timing on the call—I’m just putting together the last of your accessories for the tour.” I don’t think she’s calling to fire me, but just in case, better to remind her that there are projects being actively worked on.
“Hm. Yes. I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”
Fuck. I glance around and catch Amina’s eye across the office, then hold my cup up with a pathetic grimace. This has all the signs of being a long and not-fun call, and I’m going to need caffeine.
“Oh?” I manage as Amina shoots me a thumbs-up. “Did you change your mind about wearing heels for the press interviews in Sydney? It’s no trouble to swap them out—your black Ferragamo flats will go great with the skirt and blouse we pulled for you.” Please let it be that.
“No, I—well, maybe. That’s not why I’m calling, but I might consider it.”
Great. I’ve just added to my to-do list.
“I want to revisit my image.”
I freeze. “For the tour?”
“Yes, but also… in general.”
I wait, but that seems to be it, leaving me wondering exactly what she means. Is she firing me? Does she want to get a haircut? What?
“Could you be more specific?” I reach for a pen, then brace myself when she sighs. It’s never a good thing when a client sighs like that.
“I’m tired of being ‘stately,’ Griff. I’m tired of always being described as ‘elegant’ or ‘timeless’ or ‘classic.’” She practically spits the last word, and I take the fresh coffee Amina brings me with eager gratitude and gulp the first mouthful. “I want the press to get excited about what I’m wearing.”
It’s an effort not to choke. This is unexpected… and potentially could still result in me being fired. “When we started working together, you were very clear about what your aesthetic is,” I remind her. “You said you specifically chose me because?—”
“Yes, yes. I remember what I said. I’m seventy, not stupid,” she interrupts. “Please don’t mistake me, Griff—I’m not unhappy with your work. My image was already set in stone before I met you, and you’ve done wonders in elevating it. Since you started dressing me, I’ve only had positive press coverage about my clothing.”
I resist the urge to grunt. Fuck yeah, she has.
