Page 28 of Wardrobe Malfunction

A handsome, super-hot, mean jerk.

I stop in Starbucks on the way to the studio and grab a caramel latte, needing some caffeine before I speak to Alex. Then, I make the call.

“Alex Larson speaking.”

“Hi, Alex. It’s Charly. From wardrobe.”

“Oh, hey. It’s my new favorite girl, Pins.” He chuckles.

Pins?

Ugh.

That’s what Vaughn called me right before I flipped him the bird yesterday. Shit, I forgot I had done that as well.

“Yeah, it’s, uh, me.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Well…” I bite my lip. “I still need to fit those clothes for Vaughn—not the pants,” I’m quick to say. “Just shirts, a few vests, and some suit jackets.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Would he be able to come in for a fitting today, as they’re needed for shots tomorrow?”

“He’s got meetings all morning, and then he’s running lines all afternoon.”

“Oh.” Shit.

“Does he not have any space at all to fit me in? I’ll only need thirty minutes, max. I can come to him, wherever, to save him the journey.”

“Okay, come to the hotel at six p.m. You remember his suite number?”

“Yes.” Not forgetting that anytime soon. “Thanks, Alex. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Anytime.”

“Alex…will he be okay with me coming to fit him?”

He laughs. “Guess we’ll see when you get here. See you later, Pins.”

He hangs up, and I stare down at the phone, feeling a little sick.

Oh well, I don’t have any other choice than to go. I have a job to do. I’ll just apologize—again—for yelling at him, calling him an asshole and a jerk, and giving him the middle finger. I won’t let him rile me up. And I definitely won’t be taking him any more I’m-sorry gifts; that’s for sure.

Charly

Six p.m. sharp, I’m standing outside Vaughn’s hotel room with his clothes hanging over my arm in a garment bag, my sewing case in my hand.

I’m wearing my dark blue distressed skinny jeans, an oversized beige sweater that falls off the shoulder, and my leopard-print Christian Louboutins that I found in a secondhand charity shop in SoHo. I swear, I nearly cried with happiness that day; they were practically brand-new. I like to think they belonged to a celebrity who was clearing out her last-season items. I now make it a point to visit that charity shop every chance I get. Hanging from my shoulder is my knock off Gucci Dionysus GG Supreme mini bag. I love her. If only she were real. My hair is tied back in a sleek ponytail. My eye makeup is light. My lips are painted red.

I look good. I feel good.

I push my shoulder back, take a deep breath, fix a smile on my face, and knock on the door.

You can do this, Charly. Yesterday was yesterday. Today is a new day.

I hear footsteps approaching the door, and it swings open, revealing someone who’s not Vaughn.