by C. L. Stacey
“What do we know?” I ask as soon as Daniel steps into my office, gesturing with my hand for him to take the seat in front of my desk.
He settles in and informs me that, “She hasn’t found anything yet.” He keeps it brief and straight to the point.
I’m disappointed for Lexi, but I’m not exactly surprised. Even with her impressive transcripts, finding a job in this city without the right connections can be brutal. Which is why I handed her my card, consequences be damned, but she ended up rejecting me at the end of the night.
“Anything else going on I should know about?”
Daniel shakes his head. “She’s been sticking to her routine, for the most part.”
“Still going about it alone?” I express some concern.
“Mostly,” Daniel says with a nod. “She’s alone when she runs in the mornings, but she occasionally lunches with her family in the afternoons, and she likes to spend some of her evenings with her friend.”
“Harper Nichols,” I say knowingly. Daniel nods to confirm it.
I rest my weight against the cushioned back of my chair and stare up at the ceiling as I try to come up with a solution to Lexi’s problem.
“What exactly is it that Ms. Nichols does for a living?” I ask him to remind me.
“Works for a big marketing firm here in the city,” he promptly replies.
Another dead-end.
With my connections, I can help her, but that would raise suspicion. People will talk, and she’ll soon find out where the job came from. She wants nothing to do with me, she’s already made that perfectly clear.
If only I had friends I trusted enough, but everyone I know are mere acquaintances. A business venture.
“How do I help someone who doesn’t want to be helped?” The question hangs between Daniel and I.
Unsure of whether I’m actually expecting an answer to my semi-rhetorical question, Daniel stalls for a beat. “I, um…” He clears his throat.
“Speak freely,” I permit him, because I’m borderline desperate.
“Well, based off how forcefully she reacted to you the other night…” he speaks carefully. “I don’t think she’d take too kindly to your help, if she were to ever find out.”
That’s what I thought.
“So what do you suggest I do?”
“Well, I will continue to shadow her, like I have been,” he offers. “But as far as the job goes, I say it’s best if we let her do this on her own, sir.”
On her own…
For me, doing nothing is a lot harder than it sounds, but Daniel makes a valid point. I need to pull back a little, I’m way too close to this… to her. I need to stop being so reckless.
I consider his advice with an agreeable nod, and Daniel’s shoulders visibly sag with relief.
Lexi was right. What a lonely life I live, indeed. I keep the family I have left at arm’s length, I have no friends, and the one person I regularly interact with lives in constant fear of me.
As Kellan promised me three Saturdays ago, Stephanie ended up calling that following Monday morning.
The woman’s intense, fast-paced. I couldn’t tell if she was excited to talk to me or just in a rush to get to the next item on her agenda. Either way, two Mondays later, I have a thirty-minute slot in her busy schedule.
Thirty minutes to prove I can do this job. Whatever it is.
I Googled Stephanie Bowen as soon as I got off the phone with her, and the search engine came up with tons of results. I visited each page I thought would work to my advantage; stopping by the company page, her Facebook, Twitter, Instagram… I stumbled upon so many different images of her with a variety of A-list celebrities, shootings she worked, outfits she coordinated for some major events, and some were of her just out and about.
Like anyone in my position would do, I got straight to work. For the past two weeks, all I’ve done was study her preferences, her clientele, colors and styles she likes to work with, etcetera. I was pleased to find that our tastes are very similar, making for a pretty simple and quick research period.
I feel confident, for the most part. My main concern now is making an impression during the interview, to make myself stand out more than the other candidates.
Working for such a high in demand stylist like Stephanie will definitely open some doors for me in the future, if I manage to tough it out with her for a little while. I need this. I can do it. I know I can.
The doors to the elevator open up to my father’s floor, and I step off with a smile.
Mary, my father’s assistant, greets me right away. “Lexi!” she chirps from behind the desk.
“Good morning, Mary.” I smile back at her, pointing a finger in the direction of my father’s office. “Is he in?”
“Yes, he sure is! He’s in there with Mr. Cooper right now. Would you like me to let them know?” she asks as she picks the receiver up from its cradle.
I shake my head, placing a hand over hers to stop her from calling anyone. “No need. I’ll just walk right in.”
This is my dad’s office, and he’s not in with a client. I hate being announced, I’m not the freaking president or anything, I’m his daughter for Christ’s sake.
I step away from Mary’s desk, knocking twice against his door.
“Come in,” my father answers, and I do.
I giggle when my father’s face lights up with joy, the way it always does whenever I pop in for a visit. “Lexi-belle!” He gets up from his seat to greet me with open arms.
“Papa.” I match his grin with one of my own and step into his arms for a proper hug. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
He dismisses my question with a wave of his hand. “Nonsense, I always have time for my baby girl.”
When I step toward Kellan, he wraps an arm around me and plants a quick kiss against the side of my head. “We were just going over a few things, but we pretty much covered everything. I’ll leave you with your dad.”
“Actually…” I take Kellan’s hand to stop him from leaving. “I came here for you,” I admit.
“Me?”
I turn toward my father, and with a soft pat against Kellan’s chest, I ask, “Do you mind if I steal him for a little bit, Papa?”
“Not at all.” He shakes his head.
I turn to look up at Kellan again. “Is that okay with you?”
Kellan’s arm tightens around me when he answers, “Of course it is. I’ll take you to lunch.” When I nod my agreement, his eyes lift to look over my head at my father. “I’ll be back in about an hour, Stephen,” he informs him.
My father shoos us away when his office phone begins to ring. “Take good care of my little girl, Kellan,” he says in his best stern fatherly tone before taking the call.
“So, to what do I owe this lovely surprise?” Kellan asks as we walk hand in hand to the elevator.
“I have my appointment with Stephanie today,” I remind him.
Kellan runs his fingertips along his chin, the spot just under his smile; a charming habit of his I picked up on a long time ago. “I know, I didn’t forget,” he says.
The doors slide open and he pulls me in behind him.
“That’s why I’m here. I’m buying you lunch as a thank you.” I beam up at him.
“You’re one of my best friends, Lex. You know I’d do anything for you, but I didn’t do much. All I did was pass your information along, it’s up to you to wow her,” he points out.
“I will.”
“I know you will.” He grins. “But you’re not buying me anything.”
“But—”
Kellan takes my hand again when the doors open back up, and I argue with him all the way to the car.
“Do you think she’ll like me?”
“She’ll like you just fine. Be yourself,” Kellan advises.
“Is she as squirrelly in person?”
In all the years I’ve known Kellan Cooper, I’ve never heard him laugh as hard as he did just then. He draws everyon
e’s attention with his boisterous laughter, and I can’t help but laugh along with him.
Kellan holds a hand up in apology to the surrounding patrons, and he leans just a smidge over the table. “Lexi, whatever you do, don’t call her that when you meet her in person.” Then he adds, “But, yes, she is.”
The moment I recall that specific part of our conversation, a silly grin breaks out across my face. Which just so happens to be at the exact moment Stephanie looks up from my resume.
I’m in the middle of my interview, and my head is somewhere else completely. I probably look like a crazy person.
Now, she’s frowning at me.
She
Is
Frowning
At
Me
Shit.
I hold my smile, hoping to get away with it without having to explain. But I fail. Because what explanation could there be for my random Cheshire cat grin?
“Can I ask what you find so amusing, Lexi?” she asks. I cringe.
Anyone who knows me knows that I’m not easily flustered, but I am now. I’m fumbling for the right thing to say, for some ingenious comment I can make, but nothing.
“You scare me,” I practically whisper.
“So you smile?” she questions further, her flashy green eyes piercing into mine.
Gut instincts are not something to ignore, because they’re usually right. You get them when meeting someone for the first time, typically within the first few seconds.
What’s so scary about Stephanie is that upon meeting her, I got nothing. The thing with this tiny human is that she’s extremely hard to read.
Like right now, I can’t really tell if she’s offended or intrigued.
Want to know the trick about reading someone? It’s through their eyes. It’s the freaking window to their soul, right? But it’s hard to maintain eye contact with Stephanie for too long because I’m afraid that she’ll suck my soul right out of me.
I have no way of reading this person, if she is indeed a person.
Doesn’t matter what she is, because I really want to like her. I want her to like me, too. I want this job more than I’ve ever wanted anything, ever… even if it means working for the scariest person imaginable.
Toughen up, Lexi, I tell myself.
“Smiling’s the best form of defense, isn’t it?” I say, and then I pray, but not before I hide behind another one of my stupid smiles.
Stephanie’s head tilts in a thoughtful way. “Is it?” she asks.
“It threw you off, didn’t it?” I counter, my voice just shy of a squeak.
Her face relaxes back into that scary I-can’t-tell-what-you’re-thinking way again. I pray some more. And then she bursts into giggles.
All the words in the written language could never do this moment justice. I am beyond relieved to find that Stephanie has a healthy sense of humor. Praise the gods above.
Stephanie takes another gander at my resume, and without looking up she says, “I think I like you, Lexi Moore.”
My heart gushes with pride, and finally, I’m gifted with a gut feeling about Stephanie Bowen. “Shame, because I know I like you.”
Her eyes look up from the paper, sea green eyes meeting my ocean blues, and they narrow slightly when she studies me.
Suddenly, I feel naked. No longer afraid, but exposed.
“Your transcripts are excellent,” she notes. I nod. I’m the one who worked for those credentials, I should know. “And you worked closely with one of Runway’s designers, Lena Durev, in your time out in New York?” she points out. I nod again. “How’d you like it?”
“Loved it,” I answer without any hesitation. “I was lucky to have landed that opportunity, she and I got along great. She was a perfectionist, truly passionate and lively, much like yourself.”
Stephanie offers me a genuine smile, my first one since I walked through her door. “And you’re okay with the transition from shadowing a designer to styling?” She regards me with an uncertain look.
I nod, vigorously. “I need to get out of the house. I need to work. And honestly, at this point, I really don’t care where. I understand that I need to first prove what kind of team player I can be, but in order to do that, I need to start somewhere. Whether that’s as someone’s stylist, assistant, or in the mailroom, is up to you. I’m ready and willing.”
“Oh, you’re far too pretty to be shoved in the mailroom.” Stephanie disagrees with that idea right away, shaking her head before getting to her feet again. “Get up, let me look at you.” She waves her hands in an upward motion to accompany the order. So I do. I stand, straight and tall.
The way she circles me reminds me of the way a vulture circles roadkill. It’s very unsettling at first, but I remind myself that there could be a job waiting for me at the end of this interview, and I quickly get over it.
“How tall are you?”
Her question pulls me from my thoughts, and I promptly answer, “Five-nine.” She answers with a whistle, and I bite back a smile.
“Have you ever considered modeling?” she asks, catching me by surprise. “Caleb would love you,” she adds. I blush.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Why not? It’s good money,” she remarks.
I shrug. “Never crossed my mind, I guess.”
Stephanie’s rounded me for the seventh time before she stops in front of me. “What do you think of this client’s preferences?” She hands me a folder full of menswear samples.
Black.
More black.
All black.
“Boring,” I say.
Her brow arches, and her mouth morphs into the shape of an amused smile. “Wonderful! He’s your test client.”
My heart jumps in my chest at the sound of those four words. “My w—He’s my what? Are you giving me a job?”
“Let’s see how you do with Jackson first,” she says, tapping the file I still hold in my hand.
The name she spoke just then leaves me speechless. The gears in my brain seize to rotate any more, and the world just sort of stops. She handles high-profile clients, but this can’t be the same Jackson… or can it?
I didn’t come across any pictures of Jackson during the research I did on Stephanie these past few weeks.
Then again, Jackson doesn’t really peg me as the type to pose for selfies. The thought alone is laughable. Jackson posting status updates on Facebook, live tweets on Twitter, picture uploads on Instagram? They all sound ridiculous for a man with mainly one expression, broody.
Instead of asking her flat out, I flip to the first page and find the name of her client. Jackson Anderson.
Fuck me…
No.
I clear my throat. “Ms. Bowen…”
“Stephanie,” she corrects me.
“Stephanie,” I revise. “If you have any other clients, literally anyone at all, I could prove myself to you, I swear—”
“My girls won’t go near Jackson Anderson. They fear him an unnatural amount, and I can’t very well tend to him every single time. I have other clients, Lexi. Is there a problem?” she asks, and I want to say yes, but I don’t want to miss out on my chance at this in.
If I make a mistake during one of these calls, he will have me fired. That’s just how things work with him. I know this because I’ve had the luxury of witnessing it firsthand.
“I just…” I shake my head, not knowing what to say or do.
Stephanie regards me with a blank stare, appearing bored during my moment of panic. “Listen,” she sighs. “He’s not that bad once you learn to tune him out. Only a thick-skinned individual can tolerate this man, and I’ve got a strong feeling about you. You don’t strike me as weak.”
“And the other girls that work for you are weak?”
Her face screws up at the sound of my question. “One got so scared and trembly, she poked him with a needle during his fitting. A needle, Lexi. The girl drew blood. Another one brought in the wrong suit, and he made a comment about her
incompetence, sending her out of there in tears. And there was another girl of mine who wore a specific type of perfume that made him sneeze uncontrollably, and he made me swear to never send her again.”
“Jesus Christ…” I mutter under my breath as I flip through the pages in his file again.
She waves her hand around as if she were trying to physically wipe the memories from her mind. “I’m running out of girls, Lexi. This will help me determine just what to do with you. If you survive, I know I have special use for you. If you don’t, I’ll just have to find use for you. Either way, I like you, and I’d really rather not start you from the bottom.”
This helps boost my confidence.
“He’s a huge client,” she goes on. “Tough, but he brings in the big bucks.”
I grit my teeth together and scan over Jackson’s information, pretending to mull it over—when we both already know what my answer will be.
Bottom line, I want a job. That’s it. Simple. I’m in no position to be picky, not anymore.
This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. I’m no coward. I can do this. I will do this!
I close the folder and meet Stephanie’s expectant gaze. “I’ll do it.”
Her face splits into a grin, and her tiny hands grip me by my shoulders. “Atta girl!”
Traffic is heavier than normal this afternoon. My eyes fall to the face of my watch and I see that I will be running at least ten minutes late, so I make a call to Stephanie to let her know.
“Go for Stephanie,” she answers on the second ring.
There’s a lot of background noise on her end, from gushing wind to blaring music, and she mutes it right before I speak.
“Stephanie, this is Jackson,” I tell her as I stretch my neck to look out the windshield. “I’m still stuck in traffic right now, so I’m going to be a little later than our said time.”
“That’s fine,” she replies right away. “I was actually able to send one of my girls to your penthouse, and she’s been well-informed of what to do. She’ll probably be setting up by the time you arrive. It’ll be fine, no worries.”
There’s a reason I sent the other girls crying to Stephanie, they were just utterly incapable. So to say that I am displeased to hear of the sudden change in our plans is a severe understatement.