by K. A. Linde
Chyna set her glass of wine down on the table and looked back up at Cassandra. She wore the strangest smile on her face. In a way, Chyna wasn’t even sure if you could call it a smile. It was just her face.
“I wanted to talk to you about that job offer. You mentioned that you were looking to add me to your collection, and I just needed to contact you. So is that spot still available?” Chyna asked, finding that she was rambling more than she had thought. Why was she so nervous?
Cassandra reached forward across the table and touched Chyna’s hand. Chyna looked down at it. She was a little surprised that Cassandra would touch her. It seemed out of place.
“What happened?” she asked.
“What are you talking about?” Chyna responded. She was getting irritated for no reason. It seemed like Cassandra was trying to sympathize with her…or pity her. Not only did she have no idea why Cassandra would do that, but it also wasn’t the appropriate response when asking about a job offer.
“With Marco. You were at the height. You were the center.”
“You offered me a job, and he didn’t. Plain and simple,” she said. Nothing about it was plain and simple, but it was the truth. She hadn’t given Marco the opportunity to get that far.
“But, why? What happened? He should have offered you that job. I saw the spread,” Cassandra reminded her.
Why was she reminding her though? Why was she digging? Everyone had seen the spread! Every fashion designer in the world knew what her picture looked like at this point. What did that have to do with anything?
“I don’t know,” she spoke flatly. “He just didn’t.”
“Huh,” Cassandra said, releasing her hand and leaning back in her chair. “You don’t know?”
“No,” Chyna lied. She knew damn well what had happened. She had walked out on him. She had ruined it. “But, Marco doesn’t have anything to do with this meeting. I just came to talk to you about the job you offered me.”
“I know, but unfortunately, Marco Moretti has a whole hell of a lot to do with this meeting,” Cassandra said, tipping her glass back and finishing off her first glass of wine.
Oh, no! Oh, no, no, no! This could not be happening. What did Marco have to do with this? What had he done? She could feel the vibrations on the train tracks, but she couldn’t move. The train was coming whether she wanted it to or not, and she couldn’t stop it or slow it down.
“Why?” was the only thing she managed to get out. She was pretty sure that she looked shocked.
“You really don’t know,” Cassandra muttered softly. “Interesting.”
“Care to enlighten me?” she asked dryly.
“You’ve been blacklisted across all design markets. You’re unhirable.”
Chyna’s head swam, and she rested her hand on the table to keep herself from spinning. Blacklisted. All markets. Unhirable. Her throat ceased. She didn’t understand those words, especially not all together in relation to her. She…she couldn’t be. She just couldn’t be.
He wouldn’t do that. She had been on top. She had been everything. Then, one fuck up—leaving him—and that was the end? That couldn’t be the end!
This was what she wanted! He couldn’t steal the one thing that she wanted. It’s not like she had taken anything from him except the break up. She would gladly go back to Italy and let him end it if it meant that he would change this.
She didn’t even know that he could do this. How could he blacklist her? What did he have on her that would justify murdering her career before it had even officially begun?
And, Cassandra was somehow going along with it. After offering her the position at the Glam Ball, Cassandra was now…retracting her offer. Was a blacklist so disruptive that even someone who had already made her an offer could recant the statement?
“So…he didn’t tell you,” Cassandra said.
That was pretty fucking clear!
“Did you come to this meeting just to find out if he had?” Chyna asked her desperately, surprised she still could form words.
“To be perfectly honest, I assumed that you would try to talk me out of it. I thought it might be worth a shot to hear you try. I didn’t expect to be the one to break the news to you,” she said plainly.
She was a plain woman. So plain. Why was she fortunate enough to not be on a blacklist? How did one even get on there?
Chyna was pissed. She had given up so much to go, wanting to find her piece of greatness. And, she still managed to lose it. She lost everything that ever mattered to her.
“Did he say…why?” she asked, clenching her teeth to keep herself together. She was ping-ponging between uncontrollable, fierce anger—the rip-your-throat-out kind—to hyperventilating, soul-crushing depression—with big, fat ugly tears.
“You don’t want to do this,” she told her warningly. “If it were me, I’d let it go and find a new profession. No one in this town or the next is going to hire you.”
“So, he said why,” she muttered, wondering how far he had dragged her name through the dirt to make her unhirable. What did it take?
“He did,” Cassandra confirmed. “But, it might be best if you—”
“What were his reasons?” she snapped, cutting Cassandra off. She could never work for the woman. Who cared what manners looked like when she needed nothing from her? What was she going to do…keep her from a job? Oh, wait…
“Breaking-and-entering and theft mainly, but also, you apparently quit the modeling contract two weeks early without a word, causing him to have to rework his entire layout and lose money,” Cassandra told her flatly. “I don’t know what to think about the first two, but losing money in our business, in any business, will be a good enough reason for most designers. You must have done a real number on him.”
“He’s totally fucked-up!” she told him. Of course! It all made sense now. Theft—she had a one-of-a-kind million-dollar dress tucked away in her closet as they spoke right now. Not to mention, she had confiscated the sex tape and modeling pictures from his apartment before departing. And, she had ended her contract early. The breaking-and-entering was just icing on the cake, but everything else he had said was true. He was trying to make her out to be the worst kind of scum.
What was worse…was that it was working.
“So, you’re not going to hire me?” Chyna asked, just wanting to clarify.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Seriously? Because of one man?” Chyna scrunched her eyebrows together.
“It’s more than that. You don’t understand how the blacklist works.”
“But, I certainly know that you’re following a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Chyna spat at her, furious with Marco for what he had done. “And, you’ll regret it.”
“Why would I regret it?” Cassandra asked plainly.
“Because I’m the best.”
“Every model thinks that.”
Chyna scoffed. “Go back and look at that spread. The only reason he put me on that list is because he can’t have me,” Chyna said, pushing her chair back, “and he doesn’t want anyone else to either.”
“That may be,” Cassandra conceded. “But, in your position, I would just be glad that he’s not pressing charges,” she said softly. She actually looked a bit sad.
“And, isn’t that strange? I mean, all things considered,” Chyna snapped, knowing it was a better defense than denying the charges.
“It is,” Cassandra admitted.
“Right,” she said, popping the t at the end of the word, as she rose from her chair. “I would think about what I said. You’re the one letting him win.”
Cassandra slowly stood, too. She extended her hand toward Chyna who reluctantly shook it. Chyna was surprised she was even receiving this much hospitality. It wasn’t quite the warm welcome she had received at the Glam Ball.
“I’m sorry about Marco,” Cassandra finally said.
“Don’t be,” Chyna said viciously, trying to pull her hand back.
“I think he was
madly in love with you,” she whispered, staring intently into Chyna’s green eyes.
Chyna’s mouth popped open in surprise. She was not expecting that. “Then, you don’t know the first thing about love.”
Cassandra sighed and shook her head, releasing her hand. “I wish you did.”
She wrenched her hand back from Cassandra. How dare she! What a nosy little bitch! She had no right to presume anything about her or Marco. She certainly had no right to dash her dreams and then shove the stupid L-word down her throat. How would she even know if Marco loved her? He was a player, and she wanted to be played. When she didn’t want to be played any longer, she left. There was no added complication and no secret devotion between them. They were just two people who wanted to be fucked as they tried to get ahead.
Chyna grabbed her purse off the ground, took one last fleeting glance at Cassandra Corsa, and then left the restaurant with her last shred of dignity. She was barely keeping it together.
By the time she made it out of Barneys, Chyna thought she was going to combust. Her hands were balled into fists and shaking. Her jaw was set, and she thought she might scream any second. Short angry bursts escaped her mouth, and people passing by glanced at her nervously. She let out a string of expletives, cursing everything under the sun for her existence today. More people stared, but she didn’t care. She was seeing red.
She took a seat on an empty bench and pulled out her phone. Alexa would make it better. She would understand…except Chyna hadn’t told her everything that had happened. They had breezed over the details when she had landed at her door. Of course, she knew about the cover spread, but that was what she had been in Milan for in the first place. Not that she was trying to hide it from Alexa. She had told her about Marco, but Alexa had assumed, as most people would, that it was a just a fling. Nothing more. She just hadn’t gone into the details.
Plus, Alexa was leaving for Atlanta today. Another harebrained idea to deal with her men. Why couldn’t either of them manage relationships?
Chyna figured that at least she had one person left whom she could always vent to. Pressing Frederick’s number, she waited for him to answer.
“Sugar, it’s been a while since I’ve heard your sweet voice,” Frederick crooned into the phone.
“Hey,” she said, her voice lacking her normal pep. “Can you talk?”
“I’m at work but sure,” he said, kind of taken aback by her somber tone.
She usually took her lows to Alexa, but she couldn’t right now. Maybe she just wanted him to call her a bitch and be done with it.
“I can’t sugarcoat it,” she said, swallowing. She had cried once before, and the crumbling of her dreams should have warranted the same emotional breakdown. But she would not cry over this. At least this time, she found her anger. “I really fucked up.”
“What else is new? Tell me?” he said.
She could hear him adjusting the phone, likely holding it up against his shoulder while he reupholstered a couch or sewed a pillow or wherever his interior decorating skills took him.
“Where to start?” she grumbled. “I fucked Marco Moretti.”
“Shut up!” he cried.
“He likes it kinky.”
“Shut up!”
“I let him chain me to the bed naked, photograph me, and make a sex tape.”
“Shut the fuck up, you dirty little slut! Can I have your life, please?!”
“Please take it,” she told him, trying hard to keep breathing properly.
“What could possibly make you want to give that shit up?” he demanded.
“That’s the thing…I did give it up. I stole a million-dollar dress, the pictures, the sex tape, left him, and came back to New York,” she whispered the whole explanation. It sounded less and less believable every time. How had she actually gone through with that?
“You…what?” he asked, nearly dropping the phone.
“He’s ruined it all. He’s blacklisted me across the entire design market. I’ve been termed unhirable. I had a job offer for modeling in the fall, and they retracted it! They actually retracted the fucking offer!” she cried, unable to believe what she was saying. How could he be so cruel?
“I hate to say this,” Frederick said, suddenly serious, “but…he didn’t ruin it all. You did, baby girl.”
“What?” she asked, standing straight up off of the park bench in astonishment.
“You walked out on him after all of that? Sweetheart, I’d do way worse!” he told her honestly. “If he’s going through the effort to fuck you over so thoroughly, he had it for you, and he had it bad. I’d go through hell and high water to make sure you were miserable without me.”
“Fuck!” she cried angrily. “Can’t you just fucking sympathize with me? Why do you have to be so logical?”
“Look, bitch, if you can’t take the heat, get out of the fucking kitchen!”
“Fine! I will!” she yelled through the phone.
“Whatever. You’ll come crawling back for more. I’m the only man you ever keep coming back to.”
She felt that like a slap to the face. She needed to remind herself never to fight with Frederick again. He fought dirty, and she was too sensitive right now. What he was saying hurt! And all she wanted to do was stop feeling.
“Just wait until you see what I do to my apartment,” she growled into the phone.
“Find another designer to clean up your mess!” he snapped, the double meaning clear in his words. He hung up before she could get the last word in.
Of all the things she had been expecting from Frederick, anger and judgment were not among them.
Without him, whom else could she talk to about this? How could she make them understand that she had lost something special to her…something that had really mattered to her? People didn’t think anything mattered to her besides drinking and random hook-ups. How could she prove them wrong now? The industry wouldn’t let her stick with modeling, and it would all look like just another thing that Chyna quickly got tired of.
She sat back on the bench, her anger seeping out of her like sand through a sieve. There was one person. One person who would understand what she had given up to get to where she was in modeling. One person who would understand what she was losing by giving it up.
Her hands were trembling as suspense stole her stomach. This shouldn’t be so difficult. She used to talk to him every day.
She waited for the line to click over to voicemail. He wasn’t going to answer. Just another disappointment. She heard him clearing his voice before anything else. It was so familiar that she nearly smiled.
“Hey,” he muttered into the phone. “Now really isn’t a good time. Can I call you back?”
She sighed. “Can we talk?”
“I…uh, do you…think that’s a good idea? We kind of…” he trailed off.
“Please,” she begged. “I’m not asking for much, just some of your time.”
He paused, releasing a sigh that said he was going to give in. “When you didn’t call after you got back, I thought it was over,” he said softly.
“Isn’t that what you want?” she asked, her desperation palpable.
“How could you think I wanted that?”
“You ended it.”
“You were leaving.”
She sighed, thinking about everything that had happened since she left New York. A lot of it was pretty fucked-up, but a lot of it wasn’t. She loved modeling. Wasn’t it better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all? Even if it hurt like hell?
“I’m glad I did,” she finally responded softly, “but not that I lost you in the process.”
There. She had admitted it.
CHAPTER 12
PRESENT
Chyna watched Alexa walk away from her town car toward the airport. After her conversation with Adam earlier, she had felt a lot better about what had happened to her. She had wanted to tell Alexa about what had happened with Marco, Cassandra, Frederick—with all of them
—but she had so much else to deal with right now.
Going to this wedding was a terrible idea, and as much as Chyna had tried to talk her out of it, she couldn’t reason with Alexa. If Chyna had unloaded all of her problems on Alexa today, that would have been really bad for her friend. Chyna wanted to tell her, but timing was key. It could wait until she got back. It was just one week.
Plus, Alexa was hiding things from her anyway. She wouldn’t tell her whom she had been secretly seeing. She thought she was so clever, but Chyna saw it all over her that she was into someone new. Eventually, she would get it out of her, but perhaps, that was a conversation for later as well. After that godforsaken wedding.
Adam would be off work soon, and he had promised to come over to talk. She was picking up Chinese food, his favorite take-out. It felt really normal, and she kind of liked it. She needed some normal in her life after the whirlwind that had taken over.
Carl drove her back to her place, and a weight seemed to settle on her shoulders as she took the elevator to the top floor. She’d had to keep it together for Alexa, but she couldn’t keep the act up. What had happened was eating away at her slowly but surely.
She had officially hit rock bottom.
Before this, she had never really known what it felt like. She had lost Adam of her own volition. Hope still sprung up between them, but she didn’t know what would happen once they started talking. Would the old feelings blossom again? Or, would he realize what she had known all along—that she wasn’t good enough for him? It seemed fitting, considering everything else.
She had lost Marco. She had lost the Corsa contract. She had lost modeling all together. Frederick was mad at her, not that she thought that would last.
Chyna hated sounding like the poor, little rich girl, but she had never put herself out there before long enough to let everything fall apart. It was an eye-opening experience to…fail.
She heaved in a deep breath and entered her apartment. She stopped in her tracks at the living room. How had she forgotten that she was tearing the place apart? She and Frederick had gotten into a lover’s spat last week, and the place was still only halfway back to normal. She had threatened to take it back to its earlier form of distaste, but now, it felt dramatic. Staring at her messy apartment only made all the fresh memories wash over her.