Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
She’s truly thought of everything. I rub the soft fabric between my fingers, nearly in tears over the hard work I put into every piece of my three collections. It was hard to leave them behind, but I had to. “How’d you get this?” I whisper, looking around as if Jacqueline Corbin herself might barge in and snatch it right out of my hands.
“I stole it.” Molly’s matter-of-factness doesn’t surprise me. Hell, she probably walked out with more than my one dress. “Put it on. We have a reservation.”
“Thank you,” I tell her tearfully as I hold the dress to my chest.
I step behind a screen in the model area and change. The dress isn’t the same as it was on Jeanette, but I feel good in it, as if something valuable did come from the shitshow at House Corbin.
I learned that I’m a damn good designer.
When I walk out, Clay and Molly are standing by his desk, their heads together as they whisper. I know they’re talking about me, but I can’t be upset. They’re my friends and they’re worried about me. It’s sweet. I just wish there wasn’t a reason for them to worry.
Clay and Molly both rave over how good I look, to the point of ridiculousness.
“Can I deep dive in that crack?” Molly asks, pointing at my cleavage.
Clay twirls a finger in the air. “Spin for Daddy.”
“Ew, gross,” I tell Clay. To Molly, I say, “Ask me after a few drinks when stupid ideas sound more reasonable.”
I force a grin so she knows I’m totally kidding. I’ve taken an oath of celibacy and a vow of solitude. I’m done with men for a long time, a very long time. I might never fully recover from Simon.
Molly takes me to R Lounge, which is known for its scenic view of Times Square. She orders for us, and shortly after, the waiter brings us a cheese board and two rose sangrias. I sip my drink, looking out the window at the spectacle of lights and people.
“Cheese for your thoughts,” Molly offers.
I glance over to find her holding up a piece of cheddar, which I take with a heavy sigh. I nibble at it, telling her, “Once upon a time, this life was my dream. I thought I would have everything I could ever want right here.”
I point out the window, not really meaning Times Square itself, but all of New York. It was such a big deal for me to leave home and move here, but now . . . I don’t know. I don’t want to go back to Massachusetts, I know that much. I can hear Mom saying ‘I told you so’ in my head. I don’t need to hear it for real.
But New York seems less exciting than it was before. Less fulfilling. Like Clay, the city hasn’t changed, but I have.
“And now?” Molly ventures quietly.
I shrug, not knowing how to put what I’m thinking and feeling into words.
After a stretch of silence, Molly says, “Did you hear that Beatrice won? She’s supposed to get an internship with Bitch Corbin.”
“No, I hadn’t heard, but other than the obvious betrayal, she deserved it. Any of us did. We’re all great designers.” It’s hard to admit but absolutely true. Beatrice fucked me over, but she is a good designer, and if things were different, I would be thrilled to wear any of her pieces. Or Molly’s, Yori’s, and Katarina’s.
Molly snorts out a sardonic laugh. “I thought you’d be ready to bitch slap Beatrice, ranting about how she should’ve been disqualified, or taken out into the streets and publicly humiliated. I was excited to tell you that I gave her a big ol’ chunk of my mind before things were over. We had it out. There were tears—hers, not mine, of course. So what’s with this pageant girl ‘we’re all deserving’ shit?”
I truly laugh a tiny bit for the first time in days, which is exactly what I hoped hanging with Molly would do. She’s such a supportive friend and a great hype girl, you can’t help but believe her and have fun with her. Even in the worst of times.
“I just feel . . . disappointed. In Beatrice, I mean.” I’m not touching the other topic— Simon—with a ten-foot pole right now. I’m not ready, not with Molly. Claire was sympathetic, Nora and Clay patted my shoulder and gave me hugs. Molly? She’ll plot and plan out Simon’s untimely death by ‘accidental’ car crash, and likely follow through with it. “I’m grateful for the opportunity because I learned a lot, especially about myself as a designer. And I got to reconnect with you and meet the other designers. But I’m disappointed in how it ended up.” Tears spring to my eyes. “I love you, Mols. Thank you for coming.”