Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
“You want me to come with?” Tucker offers. He and I are only a year apart, his thirty-three to my thirty-four. We practically shared the same crib, our mamas said. Our mamas were best friends, too, and died together in a ‘copter crash when we were nine and ten. For some reason, Justice women never last. It’s a curse. We get all the money we can ever want, but our brides are doomed. It’s why we’re all single, I suppose, although none of us have ever said this out loud. We’d rather ignore it. Talking about it gives the curse substance, moves it from superstition to reality.
“Nah. You hate the city as much as I do. I’ll take Cane. He knows his way around.” I clamp my hand on Cane’s shoulder.
“You going somewhere?” Sterling, the eighteen-year-old, appears at the bottom of the stairs. His errand of seeing Lawyer Mason off is complete.
“Into town to fetch the diamond girl,” Blake explains for me.
“You?” Sterling points at me with wide eyes.
I drop the cigar to the ground and crush it with my boot heel. “Don’t send anyone else to do your dirty work, kid. No matter how filthy it is, you gotta do it yourself or no one is going to follow you.”
Chapter Two
Birdie
I stare at the models in front of me and know this isn’t going to work. They are beautiful but not exactly what I’m looking for. They might as well be mannequins with how plain they are. Most designers want beautiful faces but for them to still be somewhat ordinary.
They don’t want anything to take away from the clothing they’ve designed. I get it, but it’s not what I’m going for. I want my clothes to go with the people wearing them. To accentuate their personalities.
Fashion has always been wearable art to me. I want people to see a dress or sweater I’ve made and think that it's perfect for them. I want to be able to pull that from all different types of people. Not every design is going to work for the same person. But I feel as though there is a piece in my collection for everyone.
I knew I would have to personally handpick the models because of that reason alone. The agency I’ve been working with promised to send all types of models. I guess by that they meant all brunettes.
“Let’s have them put a few of the items on,” Frederick suggests. I know he can feel my growing anxiety. He knows me better than anyone in this world. Not only have we been friends for a long time, but he’s been my biggest cheerleader along the way.
“No.” I shake my head. I don’t want to waste anyone's time.
“Birdie,” Frederick tries again.
“I can’t do this.” I turn to give the room my back. I know it’s not the models’ fault, so I try not to let them see my frustration. Why did I ever think I could do this?
I can see my dreams of having my own line slipping through my fingers. It’s not only about the money. Which I’m slowly running out of but the need to feel like I truly belong in this space.
“Breathe.” He slips his hand into mine. Frederick was the first friend I made outside of boarding school. Without him I’m not so sure I would have made it through the first year of college. I close my eyes and suck in a deep, long breath.
“I don’t want to force it. It’s not just my anxiety. Something isn’t right.” I drop my head.
“Okay,” he agrees, surprising me. “You can’t force art or creativity. Let’s take a break.” This is why he’s my right-hand person and the best friend a girl could have. “I’ll finish up with the models.”
“Thank you,” I whisper before we turn back around. Frederick claps.
“All right, girls, why don’t….” Frederick trails off suddenly.
All the models are staring toward the door to the big conference room the hotel had given me. Staying in the penthouse obviously has its perks. Well, it might not be considered staying at this point. I’m all but living there.
“Can we help you?” Frederick asks the giant man standing in the doorway.
“I’m here for Birdie Rodgers.” He steps more into the room. His eyes are already locked on me. I swear my heart does a little flutter. Something about him is familiar, but I can’t place it.
“That’s me.” I paste a smile on to my face.
So many people think I love attention. I am a socialite, after all. I play the part really well because I know it helps me get closer to my dreams. I figure if everyone is always staring and whispering about me then they are looking at me and what I’m wearing. I’ll take all the free advertising I can get.