"How stupid do you think I am?" He slams the design on the desk and lets the rest of the portfolio fall to the floor carelessly. "Do you really think I don't know what's going on here?"
Inevitably, I cross my arms in front of my chest. "What do you think is going on here?"
"You didn't trust me to design the winning dress for the competition, and you secretly hired other designers to provide you with something." His eyelids narrow to slits. "When were you planning to come clean, hm?"
Given his words, I'm so dumbfounded that I can only stare at him. How did he come up with this absurd idea?
"You know what, foolish Sky?" He curls his lips downward contemptuously and points his index finger at me. "Do your crap on your own."
What does that mean? Does he...?
"You'll see how far you get with this ridiculous doodling," he growls in frustration.
Ridiculous doodling. The words pierce my heart like a thousand needles.
"What a disappointment you are," Kahlo fixates me with such disdain that a cold shiver runs down my spine.
Suddenly, I feel so small that he could easily crush me with the index finger he still points at me. Darkness surrounds me. Dark and cold.
Not only because Kahlo has completely misinterpreted this situation but also because he finds my designs laughable. Heaven, I should have realized that Kjell is not capable of evaluating my designs. How could he know what's good? And I, a foolish, lovesick fool, simply believed him that they were worth something. For a moment, I even thought that a designer was hidden within me.
As I continue to slump further, Kahlo looms larger before me. "Gustav is right to be ashamed of you."
"Please, just listen to me," I beg him. But this attempt to salvage the situation also fails.
"No,youlisten now!" he shouts loudly. "I quit!" With a flushed face, he turns on the spot and rushes to the door. Once there, he turns to me. His upper body trembles so intensely that his fine hairs quiver. "Goodbye."
I don't understand what's happening here. Who will design the Oscar dress? Who will finish the next collection?
"Please let me explain," I find myself pleading with him. I reach out my hand toward him. "Touch av lyxneeds you."
"Why?" His expression turns ice-cold. "The label has you. And besides, you're not alone."
That's true. The staff is behind me. They will support me, and I'm grateful for that. But without him...
Now his lips curl into a malicious grin. "After all, you have your journalist friend, don't you?"
Journalist friend? Whom is he referring to?
"Oh, you don't know?" His eyebrows raise. "What anyone else could figure out with a little goodwill," he adds sarcastically. "Poor little foolish Sky." He shakes his head as if he pities me.
What is this? I don't have...
"Poor. Little. Foolish. Sky," he mutters again, then turns away and disappears from my field of vision a fraction of a second later.
Oh man, he doesn't mean...
An unprecedented panic overwhelms me.
I sprint to the desk. Open the browser.
Type in the search term with trembling fingers:Kjell Mattson.
Enter.
