Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
As I open the gate, Simon calls out, “Who was it, Princesse?”
“Bitch trying to sell me a second chance,” I answer, knowing that’ll stop him from scrolling through our budget to look up and see what I’m talking about.
“Second chance what?” he says. “Oh.”
He leans back in his chair, scrutinizing Jacqueline and her entourage through narrowed eyes. Finally, he gets up and approaches. I want to block him, protect him from whatever Jacqueline has come here to do, because I’ve seen how much pain and hurt he carries around deep inside.
But instead of Jacqueline, Simon offers Tobias a handshake that turns into a bro hug. “Good to see you, man. How’s my little guy?”
Tobias smiles warmly but confesses, “He’s an absolute pain in my ass. I don’t see how you keep him around. All he does is eat and demand affection. It’s like having another one of myself in the house, except he’s kicked me out of my own bed at this point.”
Simon laughs, and even I have to grin a little at Xerxes’s antics. I do kinda miss the cute demon-possessed monster’s yips.
“Where’s he at now?” I ask.
“Pet bed and breakfast,” Tobias answers with an eye roll. Glancing at his watch, he adds, “I believe it’s about time for his nighttime spa routine before he’s tucked into his faux fur-lined, feather-filled bed.”
I don’t think he’s exaggerating, given how much Simon spoils Xerxes.
“Ahem.” Jacqueline clears her throat, garnering our attention. “I hoped we could discuss an idea I’ve had.”
Simon and I look at each other, unspoken communication of a united front passing between us. “Sure. Over here.”
We sit in folding plastic chairs at Simon’s folding plastic table after he closes his laptop. In the awkward silence, I can hear the loud buzz of a drill every few seconds as the crew hangs new drywall.
“What’re you up to, Jacqueline?” I’m not doing niceties or waiting for her to launch into a practiced speech. I want to throw her off, make sure she knows that we’re not under her thumb and have no problem calling out her game play. She’s come all the way here to talk about something, after all, so may as well not delay.
She presses her lips together in response but gives in. “The reactions to the fashion shows have been quite exciting. Perhaps you’ve heard?”
I don’t look at him, but Simon stays quiet, and something Jacqueline sees in his expression must give her pause because her nostrils flare.
“Or maybe not. But the media buzz has been quite positive. For House Corbin and the designers themselves. Seeing as two of the designers are from America, and New York City’s fall fashion week is soon, I propose that we do a showcase presentation of the three shows’ collections from all five designers, sponsored by House Corbin.”
“Have you lost your ever-fucking mind?” I snap. My hands flail about as I rant, pointing at her, myself, and then her again. “No way. I own my designs. I’m not letting you get one more bit of recognition from showing them after the way you treated me professionally, and Simon and me personally. You’d rot in your own ancient designs until they disintegrated into tatters around your cold body before I’d work with you again.”
I hope that makes it clear exactly where I stand.
Jacqueline takes a sharp breath, her eyes hard marbles as she glares at me. No one speaks to her this way. But I’m not no one, I’m Autumn Fisher of Autumn Fisher Designs, and I’m not doing a damn thing that’ll make Jacqueline Corbin feel I should be indebted to her for whatever success I work for.
“How . . . graphic. And also, valid,” she allows. “But hear me out. These will be your designs, your creations, and your control . . . much like the previous shows.”
I raise an arched brow and ask dryly, “Did you seriously just say that?”
“Other than the last show, I’ll admit,” she says with a reluctant grimace. “The show would simply be sponsored by House Corbin but would highlight the five designers as exceptional individuals in the industry. All recognition would be your own. If you get buyers from the showcase, the orders and customers would be your own. No credit or percentages due to House Corbin.”
“Why?” Simon asks. He’s shrewd and well-versed on the behind-the-scenes industry norms. “That’s a shitty deal for you.”
For you. House Corbin.
He’s not only left his aunt and her company, but he also truly doesn’t feel associated with it anymore. He’s part of Autumn Fisher Designs, through and through. He’s the business director and unofficial emotional support cheerleader when I have freakouts about not being good enough.
“Perhaps I’m not looking for credit or money. I’m looking for something else.” Jacqueline’s eyes go soft, almost pain-filled, as she looks at Simon.
Simon
I’m confused about what my aunt is saying. She’s doing something that’s not for credit or money? That’s completely unlike her.