Curves

by Tessa Vidal

  “There’s a fun little themed café down the street. I thought we could try that.”

  A fun little themed café with all eyes on us... I nodded and followed her out the door. Everyone in the office stared, or maybe I just imagined it as heat prickled up and down my spine. They had the good grace not to whisper, but I knew they were awed or horrified. Probably a mix of both.

  Once we were in the elevator, Dylan leaned over and said into my ear, “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

  I shuddered, wishing I had her cavalier attitude. “Fun isn’t exactly the adjective I was thinking of.”

  “Come on.” She elbowed me. “You don’t have to be so shy. People are going to look and it’s okay to enjoy it. We’re together. The Models got used to it, so our co-workers will, too. It’s not a big deal as long as we don’t mix business and pleasure.”

  Logic. I really couldn’t argue with that, especially since I was the one who’d made it clear that I didn’t want to be just another notch on her belt. If we were going to have a relationship, I had to be as invested as Dylan in its success. And if I could recognize the effort on her part, what the hell was holding me back from going all-in?

  The café she’d suggested definitely qualified as fun, with an 80s theme and music. Even the servers had big, teased hair with sky-high bangs. The menu offered the kind of simple comfort food I usually craved. The clientele, however, was anything but comforting. It looked like the magazine industry had decided this was the place to be, because I recognized women from both Dylan’s publication and mine at the tables.

  “Everyone’s going to know about us after today.” I blew out a breath and picked up my Reuben. There was nothing like a warm, toasty sandwich to get the mind off other things. My stomach didn’t seem to mind once I took my first bite.

  Dylan winked at me and picked up her coffee cup – good old-fashioned coffee, not some fancy, blended latte – and said, “Good, because I still want you to be my plus one at the anniversary party. Plans for it are going well. It’ll be here before you know it. Have you made up your mind yet about attending?”

  Oh, right. We’d left that matter hanging without resolution. I put off my answer by taking another bite of my sandwich. There were too many factors at play there. Yes, industry people would attend the anniversary party. It wasn’t one of the huge ones, like their hundredth, but still... Staff from other magazines, except their own worldwide publications, generally didn’t go to these things.

  I knew I’d have to answer her sooner or later. Otherwise, Dylan would pursue the topic more aggressively. Maybe not push me to attend, but she’d at least want to have an answer. I washed the bite of sandwich down with water and took a deep breath.

  “I want to go. It would be fun, but I don’t want to be out of place or unwelcome. I certainly don’t want to make you look bad.”

  “Here’s the thing – I appreciate your concerns, but I’m looking for a plus one and you’re the person I chose. I don’t need to bring someone to impress anyone or anything like that. It’s just a big deal and I want to be with my girlfriend that night, instead of alone or with some random chick. No one will judge me for dating you any more than they’ll judge me for all the models I’ve been seen with. I’m not giving away trade secrets or betraying my magazine. You’re my girlfriend, the end. I don’t want to be seen with anyone but you and if anyone else doesn’t like it, tough.”

  Her little speech lifted my heart and something deep inside me said, Do it! Before my logic could catch up with my emotions, I heard “Yes, I’d love to go with you” come out of my mouth.

  Dylan grinned, leaned across the table, and kissed me on the cheek. “Fabulous. I’m going to have the best date there.”

  “Why do you say that?” Her words made my stomach flutter, though that also could have been the already-present dread, not to mention the delicious combination of rye bread, pastrami, and swiss still waiting for me to finish it.

  “Because I’ll have one that actually cares about me. How many times have we heard that love is dead, especially here in New York? Maybe we can prove it’s not.”

  I left the café with Dylan, thinking, Maybe she’s right.

  But as I walked back into my office without her, I saw the unasked questions in everyone’s eyes. The How could you?

  Maybe she was right that love wasn’t dead, but whether or not it could last in our cynical, competitive world was another matter entirely.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dylan

  Between Sara’s confirmation that she would come to the big event and party preparation going smoothly at work, I couldn’t ask for a better week. The final details didn’t need much help from me, except one last review of the dress the most feared woman in magazine publishing wanted to wear. It had to be the perfect combination of class and style, and who better than me to make sure the designer delivered?

  I saw my boss’s signature bobbed haircut as she paused outside my office to eviscerate some poor assistant. Not literally, thank goodness, but I was glad I’d learned her moods, wants, and needs over the years. Working for her wasn’t easy for anyone, but we all learned how to survive here if we wanted to stay in this business.

  “Dylan, I do hope you’ve already messengered the dress to my house. It turns out I don’t have time for another fitting here.” Thank goodness I’d already anticipated her last-minute request.

  I nodded and said, “Messengered earlier today, and I asked Richelle to accompany it, so you can do the fitting at home. I think it’s perfect, but Richelle wants to be sure.” Short and to the point worked best with my boss.

  “Why are you always thinking ahead? Thank goodness for you.” Something close to admiration appeared in her eyes.

  “I learned it from the best.” My grin told her who I meant. She loved that kind of flattery, as long as it wasn’t effusive.

  She turned on her heel without so much as a thank you and strode toward the door. Good thing I didn’t expect anything more from her, though I wasn’t surprised when she stopped and turned back. Her next words, however, threw me off.

  “I hear you’re seeing some beauty editor from over at Hearst. What would possess you to do such a thing?”

  Of all the things Sara had expressed a fear of, this was the one I was sure was unfounded. Ridiculous, even, to think anyone at either of our offices would care that we were dating each other. But maybe not so ridiculous, after all.

  I refrained from letting my nerves show, even though it was a struggle not to clear my throat. “It’s rare for two people to find love, especially in this city. Sometimes, it happens where we least expect it.”

  “Yes, well, don’t let this little romance of yours turn into a big problem. You have to decide if you’re serious about your relationship or your job.” Her gaze raked over me, no doubt trying to hone in on some imperfection or other reason to berate me. I held my breath until the storm had passed and I was alone again.

  For a moment, anyway, before Kaitlyn thrust her head into the office. “I knew that would happen, sweetie, once word got around about your girlfriend. Bad luck for you.”

  “And why’s that?” She was easier to ignore than the almighty editor-in-chief. I didn’t bother looking at her, instead finding my place again in the article I was reviewing. Back in the 80s, there’d been deodorant ads with the tagline “Never let them see you sweat.” I’d adopted it as my personal motto when I learned about it, and now was one of those moments. Even though my stomach flipped and my skin prickled, I wasn’t about to let Kaitlyn — or my infamous boss — rattle me.

  “Because the moment she starts doubting you is the moment she decides you’re replaceable.” Kaitlyn turned on her heel and sashayed away, flipping her hair back over her shoulder for good measure.

  I stared after her, fists propped against my desk for longer than I would have liked.

  ****

  ON THE NIGHT OF THE party, I waited outside the apartment like a virgin prom date, pacing back and fort
h, hands folded behind my back. Apparently, there was one person I’d let see me sweat — my driver. He wasn’t the kind you saw in movies who was older, wiser, caring, and understanding. But he was paid to do his job and keep his mouth shut.

  A low male voice said, “Have a good night, miss,” and I snapped to attention as the doorman held the door for Sara.

  She was dressed in a raspberry red midi dress. The cap sleeves, V neckline, and fitted bodice with floral embroidery accentuated her gorgeous breasts, while the tulle skirt fell delicately to just above her knees. She glowed like a flower in bloom herself, and I wanted to pick her. To get under those layers of tulle, find her center, and drink her nectar. How much fun would that be later tonight, after the party?

  She smiled and I wanted to kiss her, but I knew it would ruin the lipstick she’d taken the time to coordinate with her dress. Sara gave a little twirl under the streetlights, the skirt flaring out from her just enough to tease me with a glimpse of her thighs.

  “Do you like it?” she asked, a coquettish tilt to her head. She fluttered her dark eyelashes at me, flirting without taking herself too seriously. Everything about her was heart-stoppingly adorable.

  “I like the dress, but I like something more than that.” I reached out to take her hand. This was the moment I had to say it, to make sure she knew how I felt about her. Everything was perfect – the lighting, the way we were dressed, even the usual buzz of city noise had subsided to a gentle hum. This was the moment to say it. “I love you.”

  She caught her breath and stared at me. For one long, tense half-minute, I thought she was going to say something like, “That’s nice, dear,” like my parents whenever they deigned to come home to check on me throughout the year.

  Instead, Sara’s face lit up once again and she squeezed my hand. “I love you, too.”

  All the tightness drained from my body. This was nothing like my family, my parents who couldn’t stand each other to the point that they both had to avoid me, as well. Sara had chosen me and I had chosen her.

  Tonight, I wanted the world to see that.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sara

  I tried to ignore my roiling belly as we walked into the restaurant where the magazine’s anniversary party was being hosted. Everything about the night set my heart fluttering. The moment I saw Dylan looking as handsome as ever in her black silk shirt, black slacks, and a rose gold tie draped loosely around her neck, I’d wanted to take her by the hand and lead her upstairs. We’d have a much nicer evening together if it was just the two of us.

  But then she’d said those three little words, the ones every woman wanted to hear. The ones I knew she’d probably never said to another person outside of the family that’d dumped her like hot garbage. I knew then that she’d chosen me out of all the women she could have had. This wasn’t a fleeting thing. I had to trust that she would stay by my side and we would get through this event together.

  Almost the moment we crossed the restaurant’s threshold, Paige and Eve approached us. There was a flurry of French-style greeting kisses and not-quite hugs as we leaned in to say hello. After that, it was like a tidal wave of models took over, each one coming to greet us warmly. That should have set my mind at ease, to know we were accepted by the women who appeared in the pages of this magazine, among so many others.

  Paige caught my eye and then flicked her glance across the room. I followed her gaze. My heart lurched into my throat when I saw her. The most well-known woman in fashion publishing. Almost seventy and she still looked impeccable, fashionable, formidable. Every woman I worked with had once dreamed of working for her.

  All I wanted to do now that I was in the same room as her was run and hide.

  “Have you ever wanted a job at the Holy Grail of magazines?” Dylan whispered in my ear. “Now’s your chance.”

  “No thank you,” I whispered back. “If it comes with half the stress I’ve been told to expect, I’ll stay right where I am.”

  Dylan nudged me, but she didn’t confirm or deny my words. She didn’t have to. There was enough gossip in our industry for me to know the truth. We were both better off right where we were, thriving in our respective jobs, under the bosses we had.

  “Incoming.” Dylan’s breath tickled my ear and, once again, I focused on her editor-in-chief. Except, that woman wasn’t moving. She was having a conversation with a man in a vivid purple suit.

  I turned to Dylan for clarification, but before I could speak, an unfamiliar voice said, “How delightful that we finally get to meet the famous girlfriend.”

  “Kaitlyn, trust you to notice these things.” Dylan’s hand curled around my elbow to guide me toward the woman in question. “Sara, this is Kaitlyn, our beauty editor.”

  “Hi there.” The beautiful brunette extended her hand, fingers curled slightly down. Not so much inviting a handshake as a... Uhh...

  Uncertain of how to meet the limp gesture, I gave her hand a slight jostle with my fingertips. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Of course it is, because we both speak the same language. Lipstiiick,” she trilled.

  I let out a snort of laughter and then pressed my lips together. Kaitlyn was either about to become my best friend or my worst nightmare.

  “Let’s be honest, though, it’s the mascara I’m in it for. It’s the only thing that gives my face a lift. What do you think?” Kaitlyn blinked at me and I bit back my response. All I could focus on was the visible glue line to which her fake lashes were attached.

  Clearing my throat gave me a chance to think on my response. “I think I’m a lipstick girl, no doubt about it.”

  “Well, you rock it with those gorgeous lips of yours. I love the confidence you have to wear brights, even with a body like that. You go girl.”

  Nightmare, clearly. I knew I couldn’t let her see that she was getting to me. Some women had an obvious M.O. With that remark, Kaitlyn fell into that category. Now I had to decide if I was going to give as good as I got or take the high road.

  I bit back the first, self-deprecating remark that sprang to my throat. No need to say something pathetically funny about loving carbs or how all that mattered was landing Dylan. For once, I had to stand up for myself and say what I thought and felt.

  “You’re right. I do have gorgeous lips, not to mention curves these women can never have. I might as well enjoy every inch and have fun.”

  Dylan jiggled my arm and when I glanced at her, she was doing some kind of excited little dance. Kaitlyn’s strange little smile didn’t fade as she turned on her heel and walked away from us without a parting shot.

  “Oh my gosh, I am so glad you said that. She’s such a pain in the ass,” Dylan confided. “And you know what? You’re right. These girls would kill for your curves. Instead, though, they suffer to fit into a size zero and maybe a few of them are truly happy. But I can’t tell you who that would be. Anyway, let’s go. There’s food and drinks and some legitimately cool people I want you to meet.”

  The next hour passed in a blur of introductions, delicious hors d'oeuvres, and fashionable drinks. Everyone I met, from writers to designers, was gracious, even fun. It wasn’t until the person I least expected to meet approached us that I realized how easily I’d let my guard down.

  Dylan’s editor stepped into our conversation with one of the writers without apology and said, “Introduce me to this lovely young lady.”

  The writer turned on his heel and left us alone to exchange glances. Somehow, Dylan’s body remained relaxed next to mine, so I tried to take a cue from her. Deep breaths, I told myself, even though that awful stomach-lurching sensation had returned.

  “This is Sara Davis. I’m sure you already know all about her.”

  “I do, except no one told me what exquisite style she has.” Dylan’s boss extended her hand to me in a firm handshake that still managed to be ladylike. “Dylan, won’t you get me a drink? I haven’t had a moment.”

  “Of course.” Dylan stepped away from us, e
ven though I willed her not to. Her touch lingered on my back for a few seconds before she departed. Now there was no keeping my composure, left alone with the woman who dominated fashion publishing.

  “I think,” she said in that soft-spoken British accent of hers, “that I don’t need to make it clear that Dylan is out of your league. She’s chosen you and that’s wonderful for you. I’ve had my share of unfortunate relationships and I don’t wish it on anyone at all. Furthermore, I’m sure I don’t need to repeat anything these women have probably already said to you as an interloper here.”

  My hands curled into fists, even though I didn’t want them to. Adrenaline rushed through my veins, making me sick to my stomach, and all I wanted to do was leave. No one here had made me feel truly unwelcome, except Kaitlyn and now this person. Everyone else seemed perfectly happy to see me. So, what the hell was her point?

  “What I do wish is that you make sure you don’t take advantage of it. There’s no way your magazine is in our league and if you aspire to rise there by using my best editor, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” She turned away without gauging my reaction, but that didn’t matter.

  Her words had their intended effect. I wanted to leave the party and never return. Despite that, I refused to run. At least I wouldn’t give her, or any of them, that satisfaction. Instead, when Dylan came back with the drink, I took it from her and handed it off to some random model passing by.

  “Let’s go home,” I told her. “I need to get out of here fast.”

  “What did she say to you?” Dylan’s brows twitched as if about to draw together, but she kept her features smooth and her eyes on me. Ms. Poker Face. I loved her for it right now. It was as if she knew what’d gone down the moment her back was turned and wanted to protect me from anything else.