Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 58947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
“You know Lotus Ross?” Neevah asks. “The fashion designer?”
“Of course.” My heartbeat kicks up, thumping harder than it has the last hour in Calvin’s company.
“She has a celebrity fashion show tomorrow, and one of her stylists can’t make it. You remember Catalina, who came on set that time? Has her own wig line?”
“Oh, yeah. She was cool.”
“She’s coordinating the show and called asking if maybe you could step in.”
“Girl, yes. You know it.” Lotus is a rising star in the fashion world, has one of the hottest lines out there, gLO, and recently opened her flagship store in downtown LA.
“Good! I’ll text you deets for tomorrow.”
“All right. Bet.”
As soon as we disconnect, I school my expression to one of distress and turn concerned eyes to Calvin. “I have an emergency and need to go.”
I lift my hand, signaling for the server to bring the bill.
“That’s a shame.” Calvin’s face falls. “What is it?”
“Huh?” I ask distractedly, smiling at the server as she drops my half of the bill on the table.
“The emergency,” he reminds me with a small frown.
“Oh.” My mind scrabbles for the emergency that is springing me from this hellish date. “Appendicitis.”
God, forgive me.
Chapter Two
Takira
There’s nothing like a show.
I’ve done hair and makeup for theater, TV, film, commercials, award shows. You name it. Over the last twelve years, I’ve done it. The excitement of preparing someone to shine never gets old. It infiltrates the air as I venture backstage for Lotus Ross’s celebrity fashion show. I accepted the opportunity blindly, so eager to work with Lotus in any capacity. I didn’t even ask which charity the show was benefiting, but in the hotel lobby, I passed a sign for Harbor House, which I believe focuses on domestic violence, a cause I know is close to her cousin Iris’s heart, and consequently, to Lotus’s, too.
Makeshift stations are set up backstage with small mirrors and chairs. Stylists heft bags stuffed with makeup and tools of the beauty trade. It’s been a while since I worked a fashion show, celebrity or otherwise, and I’d forgotten how tall everyone is. I’m five nine, so no small woman, but I’m dwarfed by the Amazons and giants milling around the area designated for hair and makeup.
“Takira!”
I turn my head in the direction of my name being called. An attractive woman with dark curly hair and golden-brown skin approaches, dressed in all black—T-shirt and jeans—like most of the other stylists here. Like me.
“Catalina, hey.” I accept her quick hug and return her genuine smile. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
“You were the first one I thought of,” she says, her slight accent drawing out her vowels. If I remember correctly, she’s from Colombia. “I saw the great work you did on set that day. And I liked you. In this town, it can be hard to find competence and kindness in the same package.”
“You telling me.” I chuckle in agreement.
I relocated from New York to LA for Dessi Blue when Neevah was cast as the lead and secured a position for me in the crew. Say what you want about New Yorkers being rude. With them, you get what you get and you know what it is. Here, there sometimes seems to be a thin layer of plastic laid over most interactions. In a place that makes its money off illusions, it’s hard to know what and who is real.
“Lemme introduce you to Lo,” Catalina says, glancing at her watch. “We got a lot of ground to cover before the show starts, and we’re dealing with a bunch of amateurs today.”
“I thought I saw some big-time models.” I follow her, shifting the bag on my shoulder as we pick our way over the chaos on the floor and the racks of clothing parked throughout the space.
“Watch your step,” she warns. “It’s a mess back here. Yeah, some great models, for sure, but I’d say half the guys are ballers.”
“You mean like—”
“Basketball players.” Catalina shoots me a bright grin. “You know Lotus is married to Kenan Ross.”
“He’s retired, right?”
“Not too long ago, but he’s still got a lot of friends on the San Diego Waves and all throughout the league. He called in some favors. Lotta folks want to see these guys strutting down the catwalk. Good for Harbor House.”
When she says San Diego Waves, a kernel of unease takes root in my belly. I barely have time to consider why before we reach a petite woman on her knees with pins in her mouth, kneeling in front of a statuesque model whose dress she’s tugging.
“Lo,” Catalina says, bending a little to catch the popular designer’s attention. “I want you to meet someone if you have a sec.”
“Oh, sure.” Lotus stretches a hand up to the model, who gently pulls until Lotus is standing to her full, if modest, height.