“Yes,” I said without hesitation.
“And there she is, a flash of the real Alicia, not the Stepford Wife you portray. Congrats, darling,” Saska stated from a couch.
“What is this?” I asked, confused, looking around.
“A penthouse Aaron bought for us here. Jude owns the building, though. We call this our clubroom,” Winona explained.
“And you all meet here?”
“Yes, whenever possible. Now come and sit, and I’ll fetch drinks. Alicia, you have beautiful hair; let it down, darling, that style must be giving you a headache. Girl, we need to take you shopping,” Zinnia stated. Moments later, Winona undid my hair, letting it fall freely.
“That has to feel better,” Winona stated.
As loath as I was to admit it, it did.
“Did you bring the designs? Is that what’s in there?” Rebel demanded.
“Yes, I brought them, but I wouldn’t want to waste your time,” I replied. I was on edge and out of my comfort zone. For two cents, I’d rather be at home with Oliver, but he needed this.
“Gimme.” Zinnia made grabby hands.
I handed over the case reluctantly, and Zinnia unzipped it. She took a book out and began flipping through it. Anxiety rode me as I watched, but I was unsure why. The designs were a beginner level.
Saska brought over a glass of Coke, which she knew I had been drinking from last night. Zinnia had a frown as she flipped through the first few pages of my sketchbook and then stopped. She went back to the beginning and studied each one in detail. Her lips pursed, and I wondered what she was thinking.
“Here,” she said, passing the book to Winona. Zinnia reached in, grabbed several other books, and handed them out. For half an hour, I sat there, uncomfortable and almost squirming, as they checked the images.
“How many sketchbooks do you own?” Winona inquired.
“Over one hundred,” I murmured, unsure of what answer they wanted.
“There aren’t that many here,” Winona mused, looking in my case.
“No. I left loads at home.”
“And they’re all full?” Saska asked with her gaze on a page.
“Yup.”
“There’s thousands of designs then?” Zinnia inquired.
“I’ve been designing since I was fourteen. Some are very childish,” I replied deprecatingly.
“True, some are a little dated, but a quick review would update them. If I’m correct, you’ve twelve years of designs?” Rebel quizzed.
“Yes. But they’re so… amateurish. I don’t need telling,” I murmured with a blush.
“Darling, I hate to tell you, but someone has fed you bullshit. These are brilliant. The clean lines, eye for colour, and attention to detail. This evening gown, I’d die for,” Saska said. “It’s young, modern, racy without being tacky; I’d easily wear that to anawards night. In fact, I know you can sew. Make this for me. As you’re new and unknown… Alicia, I’ll pay five thousand for it, after costs.”
I swear my eyes bugged out. A nervous laugh escaped, and I shook my head. “You don’t have to do that. Saska, I’m aware these aren’t great.”
“Again, someone is lying and undermining your talent. These are amazing. And I want this evening gown. Actually, several others caught my eye, but that one… yeah, I have a big event in a few weeks. Honey, make that please,” Saska demanded.
Upset, I shook my head. “Please, I don’t deserve to be teased. And I certainly don’t enjoy it.”
“Who told you your designs are shit?” Winona asked bluntly.
I bit the inside of my cheek. Oliver had. He’d laughed at them when I left college and called them pedestrian, suitable for the high-street working-class shops. Had Oliver been wrong? He told me they would be great at making the everyday person appear attractive. But for Eliganz, they were unacceptable.
