"Over a photograph of you looking happy with a man you're dating. Jesus Christ, what decade are we living in?"
Despite everything, I found myself smiling slightly at my friend's indignation. "Thanks for being angry on my behalf. It helps."
"Of course I'm angry. This is ridiculous. What are you going to do?"
I looked over at Julian, who was watching me with an expression of barely controlled fury as he gripped his coffee in one of my mismatched mugs. "I'm going to try not to let them win. And I'm going to enjoy the day with my boyfriend, who cleared his entire schedule to spend time with me."
"Good for you," Lydia said fiercely. "Don't let the bastards get you down. I'll call you later with any gossip from the teacher's lounge."
After we hung up, Julian reached for me and I let myself sink into his arms to just process the whole thing all over again. Twenty-four hours ago, I'd been excited about my job, passionate about my students, secure in my career. Now I was balancing on a knife’s edge, potentially to be unemployed, all because I'd fallen for the wrong man.
Except Julian wasn't the wrong man. He was complicated, yes, and his world came with challenges I'd never anticipated. But he was also kind, talented, passionate about his work, and more genuinely caring than anyone I'd ever been with.
I squeezed him tight before letting go, ready to get to the exciting part of the day.
The drive to Julian's studio gave me time to process the morning's events. Less than two hours ago, I'd had the rug ripped out from under me from the job I loved. I should be devastated, should be calling lawyers or writing appeals or doing something productive to fight the injustice.
Instead, I was following my boyfriend to his workplace so we could go on a motorcycle ride together.
Maybe Lydia was right—maybe I needed to stop being so responsible all the time and learn to live a little.
The studio district looked different indaylight, less industrial and more artistic. I could see why Julian had chosen this area—it had the kind of creative energy that would inspire innovation while still maintaining the professional atmosphere necessary for serious business.
I parked next to Julian's bike and followed him through the glass doors into the lobby I remembered from last week. Roy looked up from his desk with surprise, then something that might have been relief.
"Mr. Thorne! I wasn't expecting you today. I thought you'd cleared your schedule."
"I did," Julian confirmed. "We're just here to pick up something, then we'll be gone for the day."
Roy's eyes shifted to me with curiosity and what looked like genuine warmth. "Ms. Ellis, good to see you again. How did you enjoy the photo shoot on Saturday?"
"It was incredible," I said honestly. "Watching Julian work was fascinating."
"He's quite something in creative mode," Roy agreed with obvious fondness. "Is it still the plan for me to hold all calls for the rest of the day?"
"Unless it's an emergency," Julian confirmed. "And Roy? If anyone from the media calls asking about my personal life..."
"I'll refer them to your publicist, who will tell them to mind their own business," Roy finished smoothly. "Standard protocol."
As we walked through the studio, I was struck by how different the space felt without the controlled chaos of a photo shoot. The morning light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminated workstations where sketches were pinned to boards, fabric samples were organized by color and texture, and dress forms displayed works in progress.
"This is where it all starts," Julian said, leading me to his private office. "Every collection, every piece, begins with an idea and a sketch."
I moved closer to study the drawings scattered across his drafting table. Even in rough pencil strokes, I could see the elegance and innovation that made Julian's work distinctive. These weren't just clothes—they were statements, stories, works of art that happened to be wearable.
"These are for fall?" I asked, noting the heavier fabrics and richer colors depicted in the sketches.
"Fall and winter," Julian confirmed, moving to stand beside me. "I've been working on the concept for months, but lately..." He paused, his hand finding the small of my back. "Lately I've been thinking about incorporating some new ideas."
"What kind of new ideas?"
Julian reached for a sketchpad I hadn't noticed, flipping it open to reveal drawings that were clearly inspired by me. Not literal representations, but pieces that seemed designed for my body type, my coloring, my style. The sketches showed flowing lines that would complement curves, necklines that would flatter my collarbone, hemlines that would make my legs look endless.
"Julian," I breathed, studying the drawings with amazement. "These are..."
"Inspired by you," he said simply. "By the way you move, the way you carry yourself, the way you look at the world. I've never designed for a specific person before, but you've changed that."
I felt tears prick at my eyes. In a morning that had started with devastating professional news, this reminder of how Julian saw me—as a muse, as an inspiration, as someone worth creating beauty for—was overwhelmingly touching.
