Which I am.
Lately, it makes me feel manipulative. I believe in my brand, and I love the creative process of conceptualizing something and watching it come to life, but I want it to be less about me, and more about the people I built it for. Iwant my designs to empower people and telltheirstories. What makes me so special? Whenever I’ve attempted to broach the topic with Maxine or investors, they all balk at the idea of me stepping away from a front-facing role, suggesting I scale back on the design side, and going as far as to suggest ghost designers instead. The conversation that followed that suggestion was tense, and the only resolution we found that kept me in their graces was to continue on as I had been. Overworked, and at a stalemate.
It was no wonder I felt less and less enthused to plaster my face all over socials to talk about the new Jaded Double Breasted Tartan Blazer: only two hundred dollars, and you can look like me, dear foolish consumer! Maybe it was the overconsumption to compete with other brands that was burning me out on a thing I used to love—or maybe I’ve just outgrown it.
Maybe that’s why I’ve jumped headfirst into things with the rugby team. It wasn’t about me, it challenged me on every front, and every day, I felt alive because I never knew what was in store. Even still, guilt gnawed at me for not giving my all to my other businesses. Dropping the ball on them was not an option, or I’d find myself unable to pay everyone on the Legends payroll—or worse, I’d be at the mercy of Lawrence Chapman. I would rather saw my arm off with a rusty nail file than give that man the satisfaction.
“You’re right,” I say to the screen filled with tiny rectangles housing a dozen frustrated people who look to me to keep everything running. “I’ve been a little swamped, but that’s no excuse. I’ll call my photographer and schedule some time this week to get content done for this season’s collection. I think it could work to our benefit to have London as the backdrop. People love an international angle, gives it more mystique.”
Top of my to-do list now: find a photographer.
I jot down a note as we wrap up our meeting. My placations are likely only putting a bandage on the bullet wound that is their faith in me.
My dogmatic attempts to control everything are now coming back to bite me in the ass, but all I can do is deal with it and organize my time better from here on out. I’ve been getting distracted. Too many nights drinking wine with Aanya on my couch, too many nights out listening to live music, too many wandering thoughts about a six foot four rugby player with dimples framing a mischievous smile and sinful hands.
Hands I’ve seen take down two hundred pound men like it was nothing but were also so gentle as he tucked the hair behind my ear last night.
Stupid.
It was so fucking stupid to go to his house last night, even more idiotic to ask Aanya to ask Myles for his address. She didn’t even hesitate, saying she loved that I was“getting my tits out and being adventurous”before making a lewd gesture with her hand. If Myles asked her why she was suddenly asking for his best friend's address, she didn’t let on. It was a gross abuse of resources and friendship, one Tieran didn’t even second guess before inviting me inside.
I’ve been trying to comb through my brain, figure out why, after all my protestations surrounding him, I somehow ended up on his doorstep. Why couldn’t I stay away from him? There was too much at risk, and every day, I found myself walking a tightrope between what I should do and what Iwantto do. And last night, I wanted to see him—needed to.
His last text after the match had left me unnerved.
It wasn’t premeditated… I certainly didn’tintendto wind up on his doorstep, bag of food in hand, with the sole intention to make sure his night ended on a positive note.
I just…I could hear the disappointment in that final text, and it kept needling at me—how hard he was trying to act unaffected when he was carrying the weight of that loss on his shoulders. It turns out, he’s been carrying more than that, too scared to let anyone see he’s struggling.
Maybe we have more in common than I thought.
Nevertheless, I’m at an impasse. I need to stop seeking him out, need to stop letting him get under my skin, need to stop thinking about every touch—gentle or rough—but my control is a fraying thread waiting to snap.
Because Tieran Stone isn’t just someone I’m lusting after—he’s someone Ilike, and that is more dangerous than anything else.
My phone rings, blissfully distracting me out of my conflicting thoughts.
I answer without looking, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear while I start to organize some of the ledgers and documents on the desk in front of me. “Hello?”
“You’ve been slacking on your responsibilities.” Maxine’s cool voice comes through the line. A sigh slips through my lips, and I pinch the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger. “You think they’re buying what you said during that meeting?”
“I handled it.”
“You pat their head to make them feel better, but they won’t forget. You need to stop messing around out there in London and come back home. Yourrealjob is here.”
My manager has never hidden her distaste for my abrupt decision to fly across the world and have a slight career shift. I’m less accessible here, a point I enjoy and she detests. If she had her way, I’d be on the first flight back to L.A., where she can continue to exploit my google calendar and line her own pockets. The more I dance for the world, the more money she makes.
“I got a little distracted. It’s fine.”
“You’re unfocused and uncommitted. You assured me when you left that you would keep a tight ship, but from where I’m standing, it seems like everything is veering off course. I can’t get a hold of you, you’re zoning out in meetings, you’re turning down brand deals—easymoney. You’re not staying on top of your content. CEOs don’t get free time, Jade. Your fans are going to lose interest if youdon’t stay relevant. Brands will move on to the next hot thing if you under perform.”
“I have more faith in the community I created than that.” My attempt to fight back feels feeble, and I feel like a child being chastised for being curious.
“Don’t be so naïve.” The words are vitriolic. “You know how this world works—no one will care about you if you don’t give them something to care about. They want to love you or hate you; it doesn’t matter which one, as long as it's your name coming out of their mouths. Fading into the middle isn’t an option.”
The shrapnel of her words flies through the air and slices at my skin. A million invisible cuts pepper my body, and a sense of powerlessness oozes from the wounds. She’s not wrong. I hate that she’s forcing me to come to terms with the fact that I’m just a commodity to people, a dollar sign to corporations—even my own. It’s a bitter pill to swallow.
Tieran’s words from yesterday float through my mind.I’ll become a real human to them.
