“What happened to you?” Vanessa asked me, her abrupt appearance in her living room scaring me enough that I gave a pathetic squeak.
“Ah! Vanessa! I didn't—when did you get back?”
“Just now,” she said flatly, setting her purse on the couch, squinting at me distrustfully. “Seriously though, you have paint all over your face, what were you doing?”
Blinking, I pressed my fingers to my skin, making the smudges worse. Turning, I looked out the open doors, and she followed my gaze. “I'm sort of... painting something, if that's alright?”
“What are you making?” She moved around me, leaning outside to look over my work in progress. Standing there, her head in the shadows of the evening, her body in the warm lights of the apartment, I couldn't read her expression. But, her voice, it sounded surprised. “That's coming along really nicely, Leah.”
“Thanks,” I laughed, scratching the side of my neck uneasily, spreading the smears of color again. “I'm doing my best, you know?”
“Where did you get everything to make it?” She shut the glass doors carefully, keeping the chill of the night from seeping inside. Her eyes fell on me, not at all threatening, yet still, I hesitated.
“Um, Deacon gave them to me.”
“Oh,” was her simple answer. As she looked away, emotionally shutting me out, I had to resist the urge to grab her shoulders. Moving to the kitchen sink, I hurried to scrub the paint from my hands, twisting to stare at her behind me.
“Vanessa,” I started, not positive how to even begin, “listen, about last night. Can we talk about that?”
She only shrugged, still finding her feet more interesting than me.
Drying my palms on a paper towel, I stood as near to her as I dared, almost able to make her look at me by virtue of our height difference. “Vanessa, I'm serious, please, I want to talk.”
“I know,” she huffed, the muscles on her neck visibly tensing. “I know, I know. I just... I don't know what to say, I don't know how to fix this.”
“What?” I wrinkled my forehead, hands smoothing my hair behind my ears. “What do you mean, fix what?”
“This!” Her shout sent wintery spikes up my spine, making me step back. “This, fix all of this!” She flailed around her, voice cracking. That was when I noticed the puffiness under her wild eyes, the pallid taint to her skin.
Has she been crying? She looks so drained!
“Vanessa,” I said, fighting to keep the fear out of my voice. Calm down, remember, she isn't Owen... and you deleted his email today, you're tougher than you think! “It's okay, everything is okay. Please relax, okay? Okay?” I knew I was repeating myself, but I pressed on. If I waited, if I thought on this too hard, the sickness in my stomach would flow upwards, make me so afraid I'd start trembling, incapable of finishing. “Just talk to me, tell me what's really going on.”
She stared at me, shaking, reminding me of one of those tiny dogs when they would get cold. “I'm worried. I'm worried that you're going to stop being my friend, that you'll stop hanging out with me.”
“What?” The word exploded from me in surprise.
“I can already see it happening,” she said, eyes threatening to spill over with tears. “You want to hang out with my friends more than me, you're gone all day, then you don't answer my calls...”
“Wait, wait,” I cut her off, “it isn't like that! No, Vanessa, I just—I'm trying to start a new life out here!”
“Then why doesn't that include me?” She sobbed, burying her face in her hands. “First Tim, now you, and I can tell Greg is on the verge of leaving me, too!”
She's so scared, she's really, honestly scared that I'm going to stop wanting to be around her.
Circling her waist with my arms, I pulled her close, tried to calm her with soothing sounds. “Shh, no, Vanessa, please... that's not going to happen. I promise, so please, just take a breath! Shh...”
The situation was surreal, I didn't remember Vanessa being so fragile. What happened to her since we were kids? I knew I had changed, so perhaps it shouldn't have been so surprising. Still, my memories of my friend were fond things, perhaps some teenage angst, but nothing more.
In my embrace, Vanessa shivered, though the vibrations died out noticeably. Holding her upper arms, I leaned away, meeting her watery eyes. “Things have been really crazy these past few days. This is all new for me, too. But I promise, I'm not going to abandon you or something.”
She watched me, unblinking and stoic. “You really promise?”
“Yeah, I really do.” I gave her arms a squeeze, saw the first hint of a smile.
“Even if you start dating Deacon?”
My mouth opened, but no sound came out. In my chest, my heart stalled, fighting to decide if it wanted to feel fear or excitement. “About that,” I mumbled, “um, he sort of did ask me on a date.”
“Really?” She didn't sound surprised, her tone was defeated. “When?”
“Tomorrow night,” I explained, my nerves budding with new anxiety from the narrowed shape of her eyes. Oh god, after telling her I wouldn't abandon her, I just told her I'd be going out without her tomorrow. “If that's not a problem, I mean, I didn't think we had any plans or—”
“We don't. But... in five days,” she said quickly, sounding both sad and optimistic somehow, “I have a fashion show downtown. I'm showing off a collection I've been working on.”
“That sounds amazing!” Standing back, I propped my hands on my hips, laughing. “That's so exciting, I can't believe I'll get to see that!” Pausing, I furrowed my brow. “I mean, if I can, that is. Not trying to assume anything, just—”
“No no!” Vanessa grinned, clasping her hands together in delight. “Of course I want you there! That's why I'm bringing it up. I'd love for you to see what I've been putting together! But what I was going to actually ask you, Leah, is... well. The night before that, would you mind helping me out? If you're not, well, too busy.”
That's passive aggressive if I ever heard it. Tilting my head, my eyes squinted with interest. “Yeah, sure, but help out how?”
“I'm going to need someone to help pack my car up the night before, I'm supposed to bring all the outfits and such to the event building by eleven in the evening. That way, when I come back the next morning at noon, it'll all be there, ready to be set up by the crew. Also, I'd love to get your opinion on the collection before it goes down the runway. So...” She trailed off, giving me a pleading look.
Giggling, the tension flooding from my muscles, I clapped my hands. “Yes! Yes, for sure, not a problem! Anything you need, I'll help.”
“Promise? You'll be here that night?”
“I promise, you can trust me.” Smiling, I felt a flush of warmth, my brain remembering how Deacon had said something similar to me earlier that day. Vanessa's long arms coiled around me, hugging me until I coughed. After everything we'd been through, the slow decline of our friendship since I'd come to California only a few days ago, this situation was an immense relief.
Embracing her back, I closed my eyes, thinking about how everything was finally going my way.
I guess things had to start looking up eventually. From here on out, everything has to keep getting better. It just has to.
Chapter 10.
––––––––
Vanessa was exhausted, so after we ate a big meal of delivery pizza, laughing over how I thought it was delicious, but she found the quality to be awful, she collapsed in her bed and promptly passed out.
I was too hyped up by the feeling I had fixed everything with her, too excited about my impending date the next night, to be so lucky. Instead, I turned on the outside light, going back to work. Painting away at the canvas, my mind fell into a concise state. My strokes were elegant, my decisions sure, ultimately my confidence had been boosted.
Everything is so amazing right now! Brisk October air, the sound of crickets, just me and my art.
I didn't know what time it was when I finally started yaw
ning, but I did know one thing.
I'd finished my piece.
Dazed, foggy with exhaustion, I washed my brushes, washed myself, before falling on the couch and heading into the peaceful land of sleep.
I don't think I dreamed at all.
The scent of coffee woke me before my eyes even opened. Sultry, intoxicating, I made myself sit up on the couch, fists rubbing my face. The crust of sleep didn't want to break, but I wanted that dark drink too badly to care.
“Morning,” Vanessa said, my bleary eyes spotting her leaning around the kitchen corner. Sitting up, I covered my mouth to muffle my yawn.
“Morning, yes, is that what this is?” After how late I'd gotten up yesterday, woken by Deacon as I had been, this seemed satisfying. “Are you making coffee?”
“Made. I made coffee, come have some.” I hadn't seen Vanessa so cheerful, not since the day she'd picked me up at the airport. Standing, I cracked my back, the sound a rapid firecracker explosion. Stumbling into the kitchen, my sight fell on the full pot of java.
Now, that is a welcome vision if I ever saw one.
Pouring it out, inhaling the scent, I sat at the small table and watched Vanessa at the stove. She was stirring a pan of eggs, my stomach arguing loudly at the scent. “Hungry?” She asked, smiling knowingly.
She doled out two plates, then sat across from me, handing one my way. “Thanks, this is great,” I mumbled through large bites. Washing it down with the hot coffee, I felt myself coming back to life. The muscles of my neck and lower back ached from painting for so long, I wished I'd slept another few hours to recover more.
“No problem.” Sipping from her mug, she watched me over the rim, looking far better than she had last night. “So, listen, your uh, date thing, that isn't till tonight right?”
“Mnhmn,” I nodded, my stomach feeling suddenly fuller at the reminder.
“Well, I was wondering, would you want to come with me to work today, then?”
I halted my fork at my mouth, watching Vanessa with clear confusion. “Uh, work?”
“Yes, work, money. Did you think I didn't have a job?”
“Honestly, since you hadn't gone since I'd been here, well...”
Laughing, she chewed another bite of food, shrugging. “My schedule is a little random, I'm only at the physical building maybe two, three days out of the week. The rest of the time, I can work on projects here.”
“This will sound dumb, but what exactly do you do? I get that you're a fashion designer, but otherwise?”
Swirling her spoon in her drink, she gave me a tight smile, seeming to consider her words. “Yeah, I'm a fashion designer, but it's not exactly easy to just be one of those out here. I work for Pale Blue, they're almost entirely runway model based. I design outfits for clients there, but I'm on contract, so things fluctuate.”
Nodding like I understood, though I didn't entirely, I finished my breakfast, standing to wash the plate in the sink. “Either way, I'd love to see this place. So sure, let me get changed, and you can give me a tour.”
“Hurry up then, we need to leave in fifteen minutes.”
“What?” Turning, I hurried to grab some clothes, shouting as I ran into the bathroom. “Why didn't you wake me up sooner?”
“I tried,” she laughed, calling to me as I slammed the door. “You didn't budge until the coffee was done!”
I had no comeback, so I bit my tongue, preparing for the unexpected excursion in a silent rush.
****
Pale Blue was, literally, a pale blue building.
It sat in Hollywood, which, Vanessa informed me, was apparently 'strange' for a fashion store of any kind. I listened to her explain the reasons, but ultimately my eyes glossed over, my neck hurting from nodding so much. I knew nothing about fashion, to the point that, as we stepped out of her car, I glanced at my friend and thought she was over-dressed.
In dark blue designer jeans, fancy leather flats of some name brand I couldn't absorb, and a blouse that apparently cost more than my laptop, Vanessa led the way to the parking lot elevator. Her clothing made me feel severely out of place in my sales rack pants and purple tank top.
When we got to the main floor of her building, I wondered if they would even allow me inside.
The place was brightly lit, opal walls and floors, I felt like I was inside a giant snowball. The receptionist sat behind a modern, angled desk, her hair just as sharp. She glanced up when Vanessa and I approached, her painted lips smiling wide at us both.
“Hey there, Jazz,” Vanessa waved, nodding her head at me, where I was busy trying to melt into the floor. “I brought a friend with me today, she's from across the country, wanted to see what we do here.”
“Of course,” the woman, apparently Jazz, answered. Digging into her desk, she offered me a small square on a rubber band. “Just wear this visitor pass on your wrist, please.”
“Uh, thanks,” I chirped, attaching it, fiddling with the lamination. It had a little silvery 3-D image that said 'Pale Blue' when you turned it at the right angle. How much does just this thing cost them to make? Looking up, I hurried to follow my friend, feeling awkward and small next to her long legs.
Every person we passed seemed to be a model, the girls young, fresh, pointy and perfect. It was a world of people who reminded me of cranes, waifs who bobbed, swayed, posed. They made me self-conscious.
Ugly, wow, I feel ugly and stumpy.
Sweating nervously, I almost bumped into Vanessa when she pulled up next to a room of long racks of clothes. “In here we have completed designs, things for photoshoots, that kind of stuff.”
Nodding my head, I peered in at the different colors, once more blown away by the quality. Deeper, we walked down a curving hall, finally stepping into a wide room covered in posters, papers, and mannequins. The dolls were all one size, which, eyeing the different drawings on the walls, thinking of the girls we had passed, wasn't too surprising.
“Let me show you what I'm working on,” she gushed, hurrying around to a table stacked in cloth and thread. There were a few other people in the room, all bent over sewing machines or sketching on pads of paper. “Here, this is part of the collection I'm doing in a few days,” she said, lifting up a short jacket the color of marigolds. The shoulders were puffed, the style something inspired by the 1920s.
“You made that?” I remembered the dress she had let me borrow, my hands reaching to brush the material. “Can I touch it?”
“Of course!” She held it out to me, so I took it in my fingers, rubbing the hem.
“This is so nice, it's soft, like butter.”
Behind me, I heard a startled laugh, twisting to find an older man dressed in the sharpest of suits. He had the fine lines of someone who'd seen many things, his eyes clear, clever, blue as the building we were inside. “Forgive me,” he apologized, nodding his head at me, then Vanessa. “Is this a friend of yours?”
“Yes,” she said, laying the jacket on the table, glancing at me sideways. “This is my friend, Leah Rook. Leah, this is my boss, Marcus Sable.”
He looks kind of familiar, why is that?
Noticing I was staring, and that he had his hand poised for a greeting, I blushed furiously, gripping his palm for a brief shake. “Um, hello, Mr. Sable.”
“Call me Marcus. Leah, was it? Leah Rook? You have a lovely name, do you play chess, by chance?”
“I've never even tried it, actually,” I said, looking at Vanessa for help. She seemed uneasy as well, her smile forced, twitching at the edges. “I hear it's tough to get good at.”
“Like anything worth learning, yes, it is hard to master.” Marcus peered over my head, casting a curious look at Vanessa. “Is everything going well for the show? Will you be ready in time?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” she stuttered, smoothing her shirt. “Everything is coming along great, sir. Leah is actually going to help me some.”
“Really?” He sounded surprised, running his strangely intrusive eyes up and over me. “You're n
ot from around here, are you? Are you a fashion designer, Leah? Did you and Vanessa go to school together?”
“Oh, uh no,” I said, flustered, unsure how to respond to all his inquiries. “I um, I'm not so great with sewing or fashion. I like to draw and paint, though.”
“Well,” he spread his arms wide, indicating the room while he spoke, his voice baritone, rich. “You should consider applying here, we actually have an opening for a paid intern, if you're interesting in interviewing for it?”
Stunned, I looked at Vanessa, trying to read her nervous face. Could I do it, could I get a job here? That'd solve so many of my problems, if I could make some money before I run out! “I... I'd love to interview for it, yes, Mr. Sable!”
“Marcus,” he reminded me, grinning so that the crow's feet by his eyes showed. “Then it's settled, I'll pencil you in for tomorrow at one, if that's not too soon?” He didn't wait for me to answer. “Oh. And dress nicely, please.” He squinted at me meaningfully.
Sheepishly, I played with my shoulder strap. “Um, yes, of course. See you then.” He nodded, his slick hair catching the glaring lights above when he turned away. Abruptly, he spun back, and I struggled not to jump. “It was nice to meet you, Leah.” Then, he left, moving with an exaggerated strut.
The instant he was out of sight, I breathed out loudly. “I just got a job interview!”
“I know,” Vanessa laughed, sounding less enthusiastic than I expected.
“But who the heck was that guy, your boss, you said?”
“Yeah, he's pretty important,” she frowned, forehead shining from perspiration. “Also, kind of intense.”
“I'll say. I don't know why, but he looked really familiar.”
Vanessa chuckled, her attention shifting to the floor, then back to me. “It's funny you noticed. That's Tim's dad, actually.”
Tim... Tim... wait, she means...
Staring openly, my voice echoed around the room. “Your ex-boyfriend, Tim?” The people working looked up, so I covered my mouth, wincing. Vanessa just sighed, her long fingers shuffling some papers on the table.
Tangled: A New Adult Romance Boxed Set (12 Book Bundle of Billionaires, Bad Boys, and Royalty) Page 92