Tyler waved me inside. “I bet you say that to all of your clients.”
I chuckled awkwardly, hoping he wouldn’t notice my lack of response. I was determined not to lie to him.
He was excited about the house and wanted to give me a tour. Sunlight pierced through every window and bounced off the cream furniture. The swimming pool, off the living room, was shaded by a row of palm trees. The house belonged to family friends, who had offered it to him while he was in Cannes. Tyler didn’t see the point of taking up a room at the Martinez when he could enjoy a reprieve from the hustle and bustle of the festival.
Highly successful people baffled me sometimes. They could afford to carelessly reject things that the rest of us would kill to have.
“Shall I get us something to drink?” Tyler said, leading us back to the living room via the all-white kitchen. My hotel room could have fit in it twice over.
“I’d rather get to work.”
In a panic, I pointed at the garment bags I’d brought with me, which I’d laid down on one of the couches as I walked in.
He looked flustered, but only briefly. “Sure. Down to business.”
I hadn’t meant to sound so cold. What waswrongwith me? Aside from, well, everything.
“You should get something; I’ll wait.”
“It’s okay.”
I couldn’t stand the tension and dared a glance toward the kitchen.
“What do you have?”
Tyler headed there to find out. I exhaled, my shoulders releasing ever so slightly. Maybe it was a mistake, working for such a handsome guy. I didn’t know how to be around people like him.
I heard the fridge open and close.
“Everything you can think of,” Tyler said. “And the liquor cabinet is pretty well stocked, too.”
“Coffee?” I said.
Coffee was neutral. Coffee wouldnotget me in trouble.
“Yeah, they have this mean espresso machine. Give me a couple.”
I used the time to breathe. I was the stylist to one of the rising stars of his generation.That’swhy I was here. My other client, Julie Lillie, was on her way to Cannes, though she was—how would you put it—of a different caliber. While Tyler Charles was an A-list actor in the making who was paying me real money—or at least his movie studio was—Julie Lillie was a middling social media influencer invited by a brand sponsoring the festival. She had only agreed to a measly fee for my services, swearing the exposure would be the true payment. I didn’t believe it, but I needed her. One client in Cannes could be construed as a fluke. Two was a business. It was me, rising from the ashes of a fire I’d lit all by myself.
The coffee was, indeed, mean. I drank it in two greedy gulps, ignoring Tyler’s perplexed look. He’d made one for himself too but was savoring it.
“So good,” I said, a way to excuse my behavior. “Whatcan’tyou do?”
He glanced at the garment bags. “Pick an outfit?”
***
In his gigantic bedroom, I unzipped the first bag. I’d called these pieces over from up-and-coming designers whose names were circling around the fashion world.Hi, I’m Constance Griffin, Tyler Charles’s stylist. I wouldloveto put him in this suit. It’s for Cannes.I was still getting used to being able to throw Tyler’s name around, to witnessing the power it yielded. It made me feel like I was turning my life around, like maybe I hadn’t destroyed everything.
I handed Tyler the pants. They were made in a rich navy velvet, but surprisingly lightweight. He undressed so quickly, without warning, that I forgot to turn around.
“What?” he said.
I was staring. Again, what waswrongwith me?
“Nothing.”
I helped him into the black leather vest that came with it and buttoned it up. Tyler smelled like sea salt and hair gel, the luxury kind. I stepped back and studied him from a more appropriate distance.
