by K. A. Linde
Her eyes instinctually found Marco in the crowd. The reporters were hovering over him like moths to a flame, trying desperately to get the next interview. He was engaged with a particularly attractive blonde at the moment. Chyna wasn’t even surprised that the woman was basically molesting him or that he was letting her. They weren’t together. Their arrangement had nothing to do with that. It was only about lust, need, hate, and passion, and she liked to keep it at that.
Still, there was some kind of draw she felt to him—that she had always felt to him. It was strangely magnetic. It made her want to claw her way out of her clothes one minute and then slap him clear across the face the next minute…before letting him tie her to the bed and tease her until he forgave her. It was a never-ending cycle—lusting after a man who had the power to break her and knowing half of the time she wanted him to.
“He is extraordinary, isn’t he?” someone asked from behind her.
Chyna made the mistake of swiveling in place, twisting the train up around her ankles and nearly sloshing her Champagne on the priceless one-of-a-kind dress. She teetered in place, rearranging the skirt in her mile-high shoes before glancing up at the woman who stood before her.
She was plain in a way that made Chyna wonder if she had modeled when she was younger. Makeup, smiling eyes, and a camera could cover up plainness real quick. Wearing a molded burgundy mermaid gown tapered to a deep V in the back, she had the taste of someone accustomed to high fashion. Her only accessory besides her shimmery gold clutch was one long strand of white pearls that hung from her slender neck. Chyna would recognize the swirly Corsa logo on the clasp anywhere; after all, her mother had worked for them.
“Who?” Chyna asked, smiling sweetly at the woman.
“You know who,” she said, slinking forward slightly.
Chyna glanced back at Marco who was speaking confidently into a tiny microphone.
“He is,” Chyna answered her initial question.
“With, if I might add, impeccable taste,” she said with a smile that didn’t quite match her face.
“Why, thank you,” Chyna said, wondering who the hell this woman was. She recognized quite a few of the faces in here, at least all the ones that really mattered. Yet, this was not a familiar face.
“Excuse me, I’m being rude. Cassandra,” the woman said, holding out her hand.
“Pleasure,” Chyna responded.
“You’re American,” Cassandra commented.
Chyna didn’t know if it was a negative or positive feature. The woman’s expression gave away nothing. Chyna never knew how people did that.
“Very.” She smiled wider and took a sip of her Champagne.
Cassandra chuckled softly, eyeing her flute of champagne but not taking a sip of it. “However did he find you? Have you ever even modeled before? You seem like a natural. Maybe he didn’t even need much time to mold you.”
It was a bit presumptuous. All right, it was very presumptuous, but Chyna could appreciate that. In fact, it was a breath of fresh air in the crashing sea she had been wading through all summer.
“Forgive me,” the woman said in a way that made it seem as if she had no reason to be forgiven. “I continue with my rude behavior.”
“Seemed all right to me. Did you want something?” Chyna asked, trying to get to the point.
“I believe so,” she said, surveying Chyna. “Yes, I believe I do.”
All Chyna wanted to say was that she wasn’t all that into chicks because this woman was looking at her like she was deciding whether or not to take her home. Chyna didn’t know what to make of it. Was she flirting with her or just being odd?
“I’d like to offer you a job,” Cassandra told her finally.
“Excuse me?” Chyna asked, staring back at the woman as if she were a martian. She hadn’t decided on what she was going to do now that her summer endeavor with Marco was coming to its conclusion. For the most part, she had been waiting for him to come to terms with the fact that he needed to keep her. He needed a model for his line, and she was his model. He had all but created her. It seemed a waste to let all that go after only a few short weeks.
She flipped back and forth about Marco every other minute, but she couldn’t deny his genius. He was the most successful talent that had arisen in the fashion industry during this generation, and she was a part of that. She thrived under his influence like she never had before. Her whole world moved too fast and out of control. It seemed to have a life of its own. The entire experience was an adrenaline rush on steroids. She hadn’t had that feeling from anything other than partying in a long, long time.
Partying used to be that escape for her. She could escape into the dancing, nightlife, alcohol, and men that floated through her existence like a traveling circus. It was a world within a world—a world where she felt more at home than in reality. She became addicted to it—not the alcohol but the feeling of release.
She was as much afraid of that feeling as she reveled in it. What if she went back to her life and it all felt lifeless in comparison? How would she ever be able to escape?
So, she was waiting, waiting for him to make up his mind. She wanted to choose for him, but when it came right down to it, she didn’t know if she would choose him or not. She didn’t know if she would choose this life for herself. Perhaps in the end, it was only a novelty that would wear off with the passing of time like everything else had.
With conflicted thoughts, Chyna turned her attention back to Cassandra.
“I would like to offer you a job,” Cassandra repeated slowly.
“Oh.”
“You are very good, and you don’t even quite know it yet. I think you would fit nicely into our collection,” she told her confidently.
After headlining Glam Ball, this woman wanted her to go be just another girl in her collection. Was she mad? She wanted…no, she needed to be showcased. Chyna craved it now. Marco had spoiled her, and at that moment, she knew it.
“I’m sure it doesn’t sound like much to you,” Cassandra continued eyeing her as if she had dealt with a thousand other divas. “However, I believe if you’d consider it, you’d realize it’s a wonderful opportunity.”
“Um…yes…well, thanks,” she said, finishing off her Champagne. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not sure what I’m going to be doing this fall…if I’ll even be modeling.”
“You’ll be modeling,” Cassandra said as a matter-of-fact.
Chyna didn’t even bother asking her how she knew. She hardly stuck with anything long enough, even when she had loved many, many things. Perhaps modeling would die out for her as well. Though, the thought felt like a lie even when she was thinking it.
“I appreciate your confidence, but I just haven’t decided about this fall yet.”
Cassandra tilted her head to the side as if she didn’t understand. She looked half like she wanted to laugh and the other half like she was taken aback. Her reaction was perplexing to say the least. Chyna had been modeling for all of a month and a half, but she had been around it her entire life. She had never heard of a Cassandra in the fashion industry. It didn’t mean that she didn’t exist. It just meant that she wasn’t important.
“Well, I can’t say I’ll save a spot for you, but if you change your mind, do give me a call,” Cassandra finally told her.
“I’ll do that,” Chyna said dryly.
Cassandra did laugh this time. At what, Chyna had no clue. Cassandra turned on her heel then and slowly began to slink back to where she came from.
“Wait!” Chyna called, glancing around to make sure she wasn’t disturbing anyone. “You didn’t tell me how to reach you.”
Cassandra turned back to face Chyna without a trace of laughter left in her eyes. “Just ask Marco.”
“Great,” she muttered under her breath as Cassandra walked away. She had all but turned down a job offer without a consolation prize from Marco, and the only way she knew how to get in contact with this odd Cassandra woman was through the one pe
rson who would want to keep her away from anyone else. Not that she had any intention of taking some lame collection-modeling gig. She could do better than that, and she would.
When she glanced back up, she found Marco striding in her direction. She placed her empty Champagne glass on the tray of a passing waiter and braced herself for impact.
“My little star,” he murmured softly as soon as he reached her. “You’ve been gone much too long.”
“Hardly any time at all,” she corrected.
“You had company,” he stated plainly.
Somehow, she heard the threat in his voice.
“Everyone wants to marvel at your genius. It seems you have had another successful event,” she said, playing to his ego when all she wanted to do was bruise it.
“Of course it was, but what were you doing talking to her?” he asked, grabbing her arm and pulling her out of the center of the dance floor. He leaned in closer, so they wouldn’t be overheard.
“She was talking to me,” Chyna said, trying to pull out of his grasp.
“Why would she talk to you in the first place?” he growled, his brown eyes boring into her.
Chyna glared back at him, wanting none of this attitude right now. “What does it even matter? No one can talk to me?”
Marco laughed lightly at her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridiculous,” she said, turning her chin and facing the other direction. She was tired of the game, and she just wanted to know what was going to become of all of this. Was he going to offer her the job or not? If only she could just ask him.
“You’re getting all worked up. While I like that, it is entirely unnecessary in this situation, and you should maybe hold on to that energy for later. You’re going to need it,” he said, running a hand down her arm.
“I’m not the only one getting worked up,” Chyna responded.
“Nor will you be later.”
“So, why shouldn’t she be talking to me?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.
Marco laughed again at her ignorance. “Don’t you know who that is?”
Chyna hated admitting her lack of knowledge, but she shook her head.
“She kept her maiden name despite her marital status,” he said, clearly enjoying drawing this out for her. “Cassandra Corsa.”
Cassandra Corsa. Chyna was floored, destroyed, and totally dumbfounded.
“She is Clarice Corsa’s granddaughter and the owner of the Corsa fashion line. She’s one of the wealthiest women in the world.”
And, Chyna just turned her down for a job. Fuck!
MARCH—FOUR MONTHS EARLIER
“Why? I don’t understand Mr. Whatever-His-Name-Is at all,” Chyna repeated for what felt like the tenth time.
“Does this have to happen every time I get called into work late?” Adam demanded, pushing his hands into his pockets deeper and deeper.
She knew he was frustrated. He had it written all over him, but she couldn’t stop. Why was he always the one who had to go in? And, what did they need him to do at ten o’clock at night at an architectural company? Wouldn’t the buildings still be standing the next day?
“Because you always have to go to work late,” she reminded him. “Why don’t you ask someone else to go for you?”
“It’s a small company. I’m the only other person working on this building, and there’s a deadline. Mr. Anderson is an old man. He doesn’t get the graphic architectural design aspect as well as he should, and he trusts me,” he said, looking down at the ground, shuffling his feet. “What would you say?”
She knew what she would say! The same thing she had been saying to him all along: Why even bother with this company? Why bother with an old senile man and a company going nowhere in today’s market? It was a dead-end job with shit hours. She wished he could see that, but she couldn’t say that to him. Not today. He looked too heartbroken to even consider turning down Mr. Whatever-His-Name-Is, and she figured he liked his job. Why else would he keep going back when he could do better? She wondered that about a lot of things with him.
“I’d tell him that I couldn’t work tonight,” she finally answered.
It was the best she could do. It wouldn’t work. He would still go in, but she couldn’t hold it back. She couldn’t lie to him.
Adam sighed and looked off across the room, not meeting her eye. He looked as if he knew that she was going to say that. “Do you want me to call him back?” Adam asked dejectedly.
Chyna looked at him very closely. Was he serious? Would he actually try to get out of work for her? God, he looked like he actually would. She groaned. “Noooo,” she sighed, annoyed. “I don’t want you to call him back.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, his hazel eyes meeting hers. “I would, you know.”
She hmphed. “I know.”
“Chyna,” he said, looking up at her.
“No, it’s fine. Go into work,” she told him.
“Hey,” he said, pulling his hands out of his pockets, reaching for her. “You’re not going to be angry, are you?”
“No,” she said sullenly, playing the part of the upset girlfriend wonderfully.
“I told you I would call in,” he said, uncrossing her arms and pulling her into him.
“I know,” she began.
“But?”
“But, you’re only doing it because I asked you to.”
Adam looked at her baffled. “Of course, I’m doing it because you asked me to.”
“Do you think I should have to ask?” she questioned him, frustrated. They had plans tonight. She wanted to spend time with him. Why did it feel like she had to fight her way into that time?
“Chyna, I don’t get you sometimes,” he said, releasing her. “You tell me you don’t want me to go into work, so I tell you I’m going to get out of work. Then, you get angry with me for deciding to get out of work. I can’t win. How do I win?”
She sighed. He had already won.
“I don’t know,” she conceded. She looked down at the ground, hating this conversation as much as he did.
“Well, when you figure it out, will you let me know?” he asked quietly, reaching for his jacket.
“Are you leaving?” she asked, her voice raising an octave.
“I have work,” he reminded her.
“But, you’re leaving now? After we just fought?”
Adam closed his eyes and shook his head. “Did I miss something?”
“You’re not going to have make-up sex with me?” she demanded with a giggle. She was so getting gypped in this situation.
He burst out laughing. “Am I supposed to?”
She nodded her head adamantly. “Of course.”
“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” he said, still laughing softly to himself. “You astound me sometimes.”
“At least I’m good for something,” she murmured.
“You’re good for everything,” he said, pulling her close again. “And, I’d have make-up sex with you if I had time.”
“Right here? Right now?” she asked, shimmying against him in the middle of the kitchen.
“I like the bedroom. A bit more spacious, don’t you think?” he asked with a goofy grin.
Chyna rolled her eyes. “How romantic. Do you want me to close the door and turn off the lights, too?”
Adam leaned forward and brushed a kiss on her lips. “Shut up,” he murmured softly. “I never hear any complaining when that door is closed.”
She smiled against his lips. “So, let’s go then.”
“When I get home…or tomorrow,” he amended, clearly thinking it would be a late night.
“Fine,” she groaned before he kissed her again.
“I’ll text you when I’m done,” he said, grabbing his big sketchbook and walking toward the door. “Are you still going out?”
Chyna shrugged as if it was an actual question. She had nothing better to do, and she and Adam had been planning to go out that night anyway. She might as well hit a
club while the night was young. Maybe when she was thoroughly sloshed, Adam would be home, and she could jump his bones. It sounded appealing.
“I figured,” he said, wrenching the door open. “Maybe you can meet up with John later tonight. I know he was supposed to be hanging out with some friends from work, but I’m sure he’d like the company.”
“Have you always babied him?” Chyna asked with a smirk. Really, she wouldn’t mind hanging out with John.
“He’s too busy for many friends, Chyna, and you have all of New York City.”
She shrugged. Point taken. “How will I find this brother of yours?”
“I’ll give him your number. Maybe you can pick him up, so he’ll actually loosen up a bit,” Adam told her.
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll just wait for his call,” she said, pushing down any and every thought she had about his brother.
“Please be safe. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. You’re far too precious.”
She smiled warmly at his telltale good-bye. “I’ll be as safe as always,” she responded.
His smile caught her right in the gut at his exit, and she remembered why she had fallen so hard for him.
As soon as the door closed, she retreated to her bedroom to change. She stripped out of the navy skirt and sweater she had been wearing all day and pulled on a black minidress over her head. It was sleek and form-fitting. She knew it would draw attention, especially when paired with her favorite leather Manolos.
She didn’t know who was going to be out tonight. It was still too early to find her friends, if she even wanted to call them that. They rarely frequented the clubs until well past midnight. She didn’t care though because she was certain to know someone wherever she went. Either way, she just wished Adam was going with her. He wasn’t the biggest party animal, but sometimes when she was with him, she didn’t even need it. She could stay home, wrapped up in his arms, watching a movie, and just be.
Throwing her black hair out of her face, she took a deep breath and shut down her brain. This had always been her thing. She had always been the party girl, and she liked that. She wanted to keep it that way.