Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75481 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75481 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
He wrinkled his nose. “I can’t drink this.”
“Let me get you a fresh one from another truck.”
I gritted my teeth the entire way down. It was my fault, really, thinking he wouldn’t notice the difference. I should’ve known better by now with Mr. High Maintenance.
After I handed him the new cup, he took a sip like he was doing one of those snooty wine tastings. “Much better.”
Thank God Rowan Abernathy was satisfied.
It was a Thursday, and there were two final shows being recorded for the week. You’d think he’d be more relaxed knowing Fridays were usually laxer—well, at least there wasn’t a live audience—but he freaked out about everything anyway. Especially if the makeup crew encroached on his time to dress Kendall or her guests.
I organized things on my desk, listened to messages, and read some emails, then walked back to the area where Rowan was deciding on Kendall’s outfits.
“I need these tops steamed as backups in case she changes her mind,” Rowan said to the room, meaning me. As soon as I helped him prep for the first show and it was well on its way, I could get back to finalizing the schedule and listening to him bitch about one or the other.
I glanced at the two silk blouses he’d hung near the steamer. “I thought she didn’t like the one with the zebra print. You’ve tried before, and she—”
He waved at me dismissively. “This is why you’re not the stylist.”
From what I could gather, Kendall’s taste ran more traditional, or as Rowan liked to call it, classic. But every now and again, he slipped something in that was on trend, and she went for it because she didn’t want to be seen as boring or old-fashioned.
“You’re right. I’m not. I’m enrolled in a marketing class, so not even close.” He knew I was taking the course and was actually decent enough to let me leave on Tuesday nights to get there on time.
“Yes, and you remind me every day with your wardrobe,” he replied in that dry timbre.
“It’s not like designer trends make much sense.” I took a large sip of my coffee. “Take your shirt, for example…or is it a sweater? Vest? Svest?”
His cheek quirked, but he turned away, hoping I didn’t notice. I could see Anita grinning out of the corner of my eye.
“It was on the Balmain runway, thank you very much,” Rowan said in a condescending tone.
“Still doesn’t mean it’s not oversized and ridiculous,” I replied, flipping on the steamer.
“My father always said if people aren’t talking about your clothes, you’re not doing it right.”
That might explain his outfit choice yesterday—a white ruffled shirt under a sweater so that the collar and sleeves were sticking out and exaggerated—that had left me scratching my head. “Did he mean making fun of them or admiring them?”
He grew serious, which surprised me. “Guess you don’t truly know until they sell out, or you have to wait months because it’s on back order.”
“And by that time, it’s passé,” Anita said as she crossed the room with some hangers.
“Then why bother at all?” I asked as I ran the steamer head down the front of the fabric. Pressing out wrinkles could be boring as hell, but I would never admit that it was also somewhat satisfying, like checking something off a to-do list.
“Because for most of us, design is innovative and exciting,” Rowan answered absently as he considered the heels he’d brought over to the table. The ones with the red bottoms were all the rage and exorbitantly expensive.
“Why didn’t you go into design?” I asked suddenly. I apparently felt like pushing the envelope today. Maybe I had a death wish—or I secretly hoped he’d fire me so I didn’t have to quit.
Anita’s back stiffened before she moved toward the hangers in the storage closet, as if trying to get as far away from us as possible. In fact, the whole room seemed to have grown quiet, but it could’ve been my imagination.
By now, I knew certain subjects were off-limits, and his father was one of them unless he brought him up, so a double standard right there. The only way I heard any information at all about Rowan’s life was either through gossip or a tidbit or two on his more generous days.
My shoulders slumped. I’d hoped that Rowan and I would grow closer, but he kept his boundaries firmly in place. It was an unfair relationship because of that whole oversharing thing I had going on.
When he continued ignoring me, I said, “None of my business. Got it.”
“Bingo,” he said, and then his face broke into a smile that was so not for me. “Ah, here you are!”
“Makeup’s all set, so I’m ready when you are.” Kendall gave him air kisses on each cheek. Another strange celebrity practice. “I spotted Jonathan Rebar in the green room, Shae. Just as handsome a human as he is a vampire.”