Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75481 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75481 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Have fun,” Tony said with a smirk as he left the room.
Rowan still kept me on edge, but I was learning to anticipate his moods—for the most part. I was clumsy as ever, though, and as I rushed toward him, I nearly stumbled over several pairs of heels someone had left on the floor.
I followed him to the green room, where he greeted a female guest and introduced me as his assistant. I was getting better at remaining humble and professional, something Rowan insisted on when interacting with stars. In other words, keep your gushing to yourself. It was easier to fawn less if I didn’t recognize the celebrity, and though I’d heard her name mentioned before, I’d never seen any of the movies this particular actor had starred in.
“Shae will be prepping your outfit, and I’ll be on hand to help style you before your appearance.” Rowan dressed guests when their own stylists weren’t available. But it was a surprisingly small field, so Rowan had reached out to her assistant to inquire about outfit ideas. “I have the crepe pants your stylist requested, along with the blouse and jacket. Would you prefer heeled boots or pumps?”
“Whatever you think looks best,” she said with a smile. Well, that was refreshing. Normally the celebrities were as particular as Rowan when it came to appearances. But after seeing the front pages of too many gossip magazines, I also understood why.
He nodded. “Probably the Louboutins. We’ll decide after you’re dressed.”
I followed him back to the wardrobe room and over to the rack of outfits he’d had me organize for the show’s guests that day. “I can retrieve the beige Louboutins.”
“Nude, actually.”
“Excuse me?”
“The color is called nude, and you’d do well to remember that.”
I just nearly kept from rolling my eyes or cracking a joke, for that matter. Beige, nude, tan—they all looked the same to me.
He retrieved the crepe trousers delivered from the designer showroom yesterday and frowned. “These aren’t hemmed,” he said, lifting a pant leg and inspecting the bottom. “You gave them her measurements?”
My stomach bottomed out. “Yes, of course.”
Hadn’t I? Suddenly, I was second-guessing myself.
He scoffed. “You didn’t notice the length? Even the heels we pulled won’t help. They’ll need to be shortened an additional three inches.”
“Well, crap. I didn’t think to even…sorry about that.” My pulse throbbed. Not only because I’d fucked up but because I’d disappointed him. Rowan Abernathy was a hard man to please, which led to some restless nights. “How can I fix it?”
“You’ll have to hem them, obviously,” he said with an arrogant sniff as if it were that simple. And to anyone else in this industry, it would’ve been.
“But I…I only watched Anita’s demonstration once. That time when the stylists were altering all those costumes. Is there any way for you to show me?”
His pointed look said, in no uncertain terms, that sewing anything was beneath him and his superior position. After all, he had an assistant for that.
“We’re running out of time before the curtain goes up, so figure it out, and fast. I have to prep Kendall’s outfits and get her dressed.”
Rowan swept out of the room, leaving me standing there in a sheer state of panic. I had a feeling nothing I did from that point on would satisfy him, but I still had to try. In his mind, this was my fault, and I could understand why. His attention to detail was more on point than mine—at least when it came to clothes. But don’t even get me started on every other facet of his life.
I paced back and forth, wringing my hands. Holy fuck, think. I fumbled for my cell, pulled up wikiHow, and punched how to hem pants in the search engine. But it was hard to concentrate on the steps as my hands shook.
Why couldn’t I just magically remember what Anita had shown me?
Well, I had to start somewhere, so I grabbed a sewing box, chose a color that matched the pants as closely as possible, then tried desperately to thread the needle with unsteady fingers.
“Anita!” I called as she breezed through the room, carrying an armful of clothing. I was sure I sounded rattled. “I need help with a hem.”
“Sorry, buddy. I can’t right now. Have to steam all these shirts.” She frowned as she glanced across the room. “If you iron the seam first, that’ll help you produce a clean line. Start from there.”
“Good idea.” I rushed to the ironing board. “Thanks.”
“Good luck,” she said with a sympathetic gaze as she wheeled a steamer out the door to another room.
After several messy tries and fails with the needle and thread, I was close to giving up when I thought of a solution. I headed to the office where Rowan kept the bag of tricks he always lugged to photo shoots and other Kendall Jacobs appearances. I retrieved the double-sided tape, then retraced my steps, finding an empty table to work on. I’d admit by the time I finished, I was pretty proud of myself.