“Forget a fling in Milan, I’m just excited about being four thousand miles away from the single men inthiscity. Maybe even more than fashion week itself,” I tease.
The Men of New York seem perfect until you discover their one fatal flaw:
He’s a hot lawyer, but he represents the oil industry.
He has a hobby, but it’s trolling people on the internet.
He loves his mom, but he loves her a little bittoomuch.
I spin the vibrant yellow silk scarf around my neck. “Although, the most frustrating man in New York will be tagging along.”
Peyton raises her eyebrows. “Giovanni again?”
My cup hits the folding table next to me with a bit more force than I intended. “Who else?”
Esme’s eyes—green as her iced matcha—peer over her camera for one last shot. She sighs and lets the camera hang loosely around her neck before tucking her pink shoulder-length hair behind her ears and settling in for what she knows will be a long-winded rant. Even the model relaxes, ready for the tea.
I groan. “When I asked him to alter the hem of a gown with white thread, he went to the back room and brought out twenty-five different shades of white, and then proceeded to read the name of each one just to slow me down. Now, I need a triggerwarning before someone says the word ‘eggshell.’ He’s ruinedeggsfor me.”
Esme bites the inside of her cheek, trying not to smile at my theatrics. Peyton fails miserably, a loud laugh escaping her lips.
“And don’t get me started on his digs about my lack of experience. One time, Giovanni overheard me talking about my fashion school showcase—which was my first ever ‘collection,’ and said that he was shocked my formal training started so late. When I asked him what he meant by that, he told me thathetailored his first collection at the ripe age of ten. So, naturally, I asked him if all the pre-industrial hand sewing was the reason for his arthritis.”
I sigh. “I swear to God, Pey, it brings him joy to mess with me.”
A smile spreads across Peyton’s face. “Hand sewing aside, have you thought any more about branching out to move on from the grunt work Lamont has you doing? If you got a promotion elsewhere, you wouldn’t have to deal with Giovanni.”
“I can’t even get a Staff Designer role withLamont, and I’ve been a Junior the longest out of anyone,” I admit quietly. Going somewhere else would be like starting back at square one.
Her head tilts to the side. “But your design just got selected for Milan Fashion Week. That means something.”
“Maybe. But I’ve gotten selected for domestic shows before, and all it’s meant is giving Lamont more of my best ideas and getting the same menial tasks in return. Plus, he doesn’t make big decisions without Giovanni’s support, and… Well, Giovanni doesn’t—” I cut myself off, not wanting to reveal too much. “We just don’t see eye-to-eye, I guess.”
Esme appraises me with a motherly look. “Oh, Tessa.”
“Staying at Lamont is the sure thing anyways. The industry is so volatile. At this point, starting my own fashion house one day feels like a pipe dream.”
“Tell me, was it Christian Siriano who said ‘this feels like a pipe dream?’ Or maybe Coco Chanel,” Peyton teases.
I snort. “Either way, I can’t think about leaving right now. Maybe after fashion week, I’ll put some feelers out. A successful fashion week would make dealing with Giovanni Cattaneo totally, probably, worth it.”
“Speaking of… Damn, he’s good.” Esme turns her camera around, showing me a detailed shot of the lapel embroidery in the viewfinder. The beadwork complements the muted coral color of the suit perfectly.
I nod, begrudgingly agreeing with her. The intricate gold beading is the highlight of this look. Despite how frustrating I find him, I feel a swell of pride that the collection will look so cohesive.
Checking my watch, I’m shocked to find that it’s been a couple hours since we started the shoot. “The morning is going by super fast. Usually weekend shoot days feel like a year crammed into a few hours.” I risk one more appreciative look at the photo capturing Giovanni’s expert craftsmanship, hoping no one notices.
Peyton yawns. “Notallof us are used to getting up at the crack of dawn. I, for one, am exhausted. I have a date tonight, and I’ll probably fall asleep halfway through.”
“Given every New York man’s propensity to monologue about their employment history on a first date, that’ll happen regardless.”
She blushes. “He’s an actuary.”
“Theinsuranceindustry? Enjoy your nap, sister.” I give her a little salute.
Giggling, she playfully shoves me, and I pretend to stagger backward.
Esme picks up a pair of loafers off the floor. “Okay. We need to focus before Lamont gets here. Tessa, do you mind takingthese loafers back to the closet and grabbing the studded heels? Personally, I think they’ll overwhelm the look, but Lamont wanted a shot of them.”
