by C. L. Stacey
I’m hoping that by ignoring him he’ll get bored and move on, but he doesn’t. Instead, Caleb stays exactly where he is, right next to me, and he turns in the other direction to face the photographer shooting another model so we’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder.
His massive arms fold over his equally massive chest as he observes every busy body in the studio. “Lexi,” he says my name like he’s going to say more, but he doesn’t.
Figuring that he’s waiting for me to answer him, I do. “Yes, Mr. Carlisle?”
“You have a hard time trusting people, don’t you?” The way he asks the question makes the question itself irrelevant. What’s the point in asking me if you’re going to state it like it’s a known fact?
I shrug. “Can’t let everybody in.”
“Can I ask why?”
“I don’t see the harm in that,” I answer without actually answering.
Caleb chuckles. “You are an evasive one,” he remarks.
“Well, you didn’t actually ask a question.”
“Okay, I’m asking.”
“I’m easily disappointed,” I state bluntly. “The more people you let in, the higher the risk of disappointment.”
“And what if they aren’t the disappointing kind?”
“Those people are already my friends.” I crack a smile when he laughs.
“I think you just became one of my favorite people.”
There! He just said it again. I roll my eyes when I finally turn to look up at him. “Good Lord, you can’t be serious!”
He’s grinning down at me now. “Listen, I know that I can be a word slut sometimes. I know that I toss that word around to just about everyone I see, but I didn’t mean it lightly just then. I was actually being serious.”
I narrow my eyes at him, unable to hide my skepticism. “Oh, really?”
“Are you telling me you don’t trust this face?”
I breathe out a laugh, shaking my head at the sight of that stupid grin he’s still wearing. “You’re a real charmer.”
“You speak the truth, Ms. Moore. One of my favorite things about you.”
My head drops back when a laugh I can no longer contain bursts from my mouth.
Curious faces look our way, and now Natasha’s reflection in the mirror is glaring back at me as if she’s currently plotting my death in her mind.
“So tell me something, Lexi.”
“My favorite color is green.”
“And mine’s clear, but I actually have a question.”
I’m laughing again. “Your favorite color is clear? That’s not a color.”
“Well, then, I guess I don’t have one.”
“You’re weird.”
“Not weird, unique,” he corrects me.
I roll my eyes. “What’s your question?”
“How is it you came about landing this job? You liked to dress-up your Barbies as a child or something?”
“I loathe Barbie. I’m a Disney girl.”
“You mean you used to be,” he tries to correct me again.
“Nope.”
I don’t offer more than that.
A few people greet Caleb in passing, but all he does is offer a small smile before returning his attention to me. “Tell me your story. How’d you come to join the Runway family?”
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
“Funny you should ask.”
“Funny?”
“My good friend Kellan escorted me to that party you threw—”
I’m cut off midsentence when he says, “My life’s a party, Lexi, you’re going to have to be more specific.”
“The night of the elevator incident,” I tell him, and his expression sours. “Anyhoo, I’ve been looking for a job since I moved back from New York, and I lucked out when I received an invitation to your party. I went with hopes of getting my name out there with the right people. Unfortunately, none of them were in need of any help. Then, at the end of the night, Kellan happened to run into Stephanie. They got to talking, and he passed my name and information along to her.”
“I see.” He nods. “Do you enjoy this job?”
“It’s a job, and I am grateful,” I answer honestly. “Better than being jobless at home. I grow restless when I have nothing to fill my day.”
He chuckles. “You mean to say that being a stylist hasn’t always been your life’s dream?” he teases.
My mouth spreads into a grin and I give a little twirl of my hand midair. “Well…” I joke back.
“Have you ever considered modeling?”
The question throws me, but when I realize that he’s joking, I laugh. “Uh, no.”
I remember Stephanie asking me that same question the day I interviewed with her, and I found it hilarious then, too. I was an ugly ass kid growing up, stuck in my awkward phase up until the summer before my sophomore year. Dreaming of becoming a model was never a thing for me, the thought never crossed my mind.
“And why’s that?”
My laughter dies when I start to believe that he’s actually being serious. “I don’t know. I guess I was always more interested in the art of designing the clothes, not modeling them.”
“Ah!” he exclaims, exaggeratingly loud, and it makes me jump. “An aspiring designer, I see.”
“Yea, so?”
“Pardon me, but I’m just having trouble understanding why you would consider designing, but have never considered modeling. You don’t wake up one day and decide to land a job as a designer in a major fashion house. You work your way up. It’s all about connections, Lexi.”
I frown. “I’m sorry?”
“Have you run the numbers on how much it takes to start your own line?” he asks. “You can’t do it on your own, you need investors.”
I think about his question, unsure of how to answer it. “Well… that’s why I went scouring for jobs at the party, to get myself out there.”
“But you struck out,” he says, stumping me. “It takes a whole fuck of a lot to make it in that specific part of our industry. You need the proper credentials and connections. Modeling is one of the fastest ways to gain them. A lot of work and sacrifice goes into the job, but it is. Models work with all different kinds of designers. Designers take notice. Designers like to play favorites. Then the world takes notice. Do you get where I’m going with this?”
I feel completely deflated by his words, my confidence significantly lacking at this point. “Yes, but—”
“Do you have some strong belief system that goes against modeling? Is it against your religion or some shit like that?” He cuts me off again.
“No?”
“I’m sorry, was that a question?”
“No,” I say with more confidence this time.
“Very good. Excuse me a moment.” He places our conversation on a brief pause, and I’m completely mortified when he shouts the word “Stop!” to the entire room. And they do. They stop everything.
Well, that can’t be good.
Every single person in the room is looking our way, awaiting Caleb’s next command.
“Mr. Carlisle, what are you doing?” I hiss.
“Humor me, if you will.” He places a hand against my back and leads me forward. He doesn’t stop until we reach the photographer, and he whispers something to him. “Will you move? Please?” Caleb orders the model. She moves out of the shot, and Caleb gently pushes me forward.
My eyes stay pinned to the backdrop, my back still turned to the camera. I haven’t the slightest clue what he expects me to do.
“Lexi, I can’t see shit. Turn around,” Caleb orders me. “Please,” he adds.
Jesus fucking Christ!
I turn, slowly, my eyes scanning a few curious faces along the way. “Mr. Carlisle—”
“Now,” he tells the photographer.
The flash goes off, blinding me, and my hand immediately shoots up to shield my face. “Holy shit, I’m seeing stars!”
I hear someone snickering from a distance away.
“Lower your hands, Lexi,” Caleb calls, stepping out from behind the camera to get closer to me.
“No!” I refuse. “What the hell am I doing? Why am I standing here on the wrong side of the camera?”
“It’s the wrong side if you don’t photograph well. I highly doubt that’s the case. We’re experimenting. Lower your hands, please,” he commands me again.
I glare at him, half-exposing my face from behind the protective wall I’ve created with my hands. “I’m going to strangle you,” I say to him, keeping my voice low enough for only him to hear.
“Can’t strangle anyone with your hands up by your face, Lexi. Put them down.” When I refuse, he says, “You can strangle me later.”
“Promise?”
“Sure.”
I grit my teeth and lower my hands. The flash goes off again, blinding me.
Goddammit.
“Can we try to smile?”
“Don’t push me,” I say, my jaw still clenched tight.
I feel like a fucking zoo animal.
Caleb takes a few steps closer. Bold move, considering what he promised me just seconds ago. I wonder if they’d call security if I punched him in the face right now.
“Tell me some of your favorite things.”
“What?”
“Do you have a favorite actor? He doesn’t have to be good at what he does, just someone you favor over others,” he elaborates.
I don’t hesitate before I answer, “Charlie Hunnam.”
Flash goes off.
“What if you got the chance to meet him?”
My eyes widen, and my heart races in my chest at the possibility of ever meeting my celebrity crush. “Why, do you know him?”
Flash goes off again.
“No, but you’re smiling.” He grins.
“Oh, you asshole!” I laugh.
Flash goes off a billion times.
“You women and your celebrity crushes.” Caleb shakes his head. “Too easy.” He turns to look over his shoulder. “How do those test shots look, Javier?” he asks the man with the camera.
“She’s got a beautiful smile,” he answers Caleb with a small wink my way. “It’s too bad you’re not Charlie Hunnam.”
Scattered laughter sounds from different areas of the room, including Caleb’s, and Javier brings the camera back up to take a few more candid shots.
“Okay, everyone, back to work!” Caleb shouts over the noise, pulling me off to the side so the model can get back to what she was hired to do.
“What was the point of that?” I ask, much calmer than I was before.
“To get you to consider all your options,” he says, revealing his motive behind this ridiculous experiment. “Don’t worry, the photographs are no good without your consent. I just needed to know how you photograph to prove my point. I was right, as I always am. This doesn’t surprise me.”
“And while I appreciate your efforts, I’m happy where I am.”
“No, you’re comfortable where you are. You like to stay within your comfort zone.” He speaks as if he knows me so well, and I should be pissed off about it, but I’m not. I’m just surprised how close he hits to home. “I’m not insulting the work of a stylist, they contribute just as much as we do in this business, but I’m telling you that that is the wrong side of the camera for you. You give good face, you belong in front of a lens.”
“What the hell does that even mean?”
Caleb takes a couple steps back, swivels a monitor around so it’s facing me, and points to a close-up shot of my face on the screen. “Good face,” he repeats, then he approaches me again. “I believe that this is a good fit for you, I genuinely do. I always trust my instincts, and you should, too. Just trust me. Look around you, Lexi. This is what I do, and I do it well. I didn’t build my company off my good looks alone.”
“You’re gross.”
He laughs, like he always does, unaffected by what I partly meant as an insult. “Listen, even with the models we keep under serious consideration, they have to pass through dozens of different people before they get to meet with me. But I’m offering this to you when you didn’t even ask for it. I am your major connection, Lexi. Use me.”
Not really the best choice of words to convince me. It only made the idea of working with him more unappealing. “Was that meant to be dirty? That sounded dirty.”
“It wasn’t, and no, it didn’t. Get your head outta the gutter.”
My eyes narrow when I stare up into his. He comes off genuine, yet I’m still questioning his motives. “Are you doing this to sleep with me?” I ask, flat out. “Tell me the truth. I’ll know if you’re lying.”
This time, he doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t look angry or anything, but he wants me to know that he’s being serious when he tells me, “I would never sleep with you.”
Not a lie.
My head tilts thoughtfully to the side. “Should I be offended by that?”
“No. I told you, you are my new favorite person. I like you too much to sleep with you.”
“I’m not sure how that makes any sense.”
“Trust me, it does.”
“Why am I your new favorite person?”
Caleb’s smile drops a little, but he quickly picks it back up. “You’re honest. All the other women I encounter try to fuck me to get ahead. Quick, Lexi—do you want to sleep with me?”
Without taking even a millisecond to consider the offer, my answer flies from my mouth. “No!”
Caleb laughs. “I like you.”
“I told you he would!” Stephanie trills as she crosses through the small space between Caleb and me, hands full with the model’s next wardrobe change.
My mind goes over Caleb’s offer over and again. I’m not going to lie, it’s a damn tempting one, and it came straight from the founder of this company. I mean, who wouldn’t want to travel the world and work with all the wonderful designers this company’s affiliated with?
It’s a huge decision, one I should take longer than thirty seconds to make.
“Won’t Stephanie kill you for poaching me?” I ask.
“Stephanie works for me,” he reminds me. “Plus, I’m not sure if it’s considered poaching when the poaching is happening in-house.”
“Sure, it is.”
“Quit evading the inevitable and just consider my offer, Lexi.”
But I already am.
“I will consider your offer,” I tell him.
His smile returns to his face. “Very good,” he approves. “We are all going out to Club21 for drinks tonight. Join us.”
That plan doesn’t sound the least bit appealing, but I’m not sure that Caleb cares what I think, since it came out more an order than it did a request.
“What’s the occasion?”
“Do we need one?” He smirks.
Right, of course. My life is a party, Lexi, his words echo in my mind.
“I can’t, I’m busy.”
“Busy pulling on your sweats and watching Disney shit?”
I’m dumbfounded by his accuracy. “No.”
“Wow, you’re a horrible liar.”
Dammit. I breathe out a long, heavy sigh. “Okay, fine, yes! I like to watch Disney in my sweats!” I snap. People stare.
“You need a night out. I think you’ve been holed up for too long.”
Indeed, I have. He’s right again. “Don’t tell me what I need.”
He drops a hand on my shoulder and it slumps from the weight of it. “Come join the rest of the world. You’re beginning to forget how to behave in public. Your manners could definitely use a little work.”
“Ha ha,” I mock. “You’re a real Joker.”
A grin stretches wide across his face. Uncanny. “You find me funny?”
“Sure.”
“So you’ll come.”
Again, it’s not a request.
“Sure,” I say again.
“Sure?”
“Sure.”<
br />
“I’ll send a car.”
“I have one.”
“You’ll be drinking. I’ll send a car,” he tells me again, then his gaze drops to the face of his watch. “Gotta run. I’ll see you tonight, Lexi.”
As much as I hate to admit it, I think I may have just made myself another friend. I’ve been making some real odd ones lately.
Maybe I’ve got it backwards. Maybe it’s me who’s odd, and the rest are normal.
Maybe I’m thinking about this way too much.
Maybe Caleb’s right.
Maybe I’m insane for having just thought that, but maybe not.
Maybe I’ve been hiding out for way too long.
Maybe if I don’t take him up on this offer, I will get left behind again.
That’s a lot of maybes.
Maybe.
One thing I know for certain is that I don’t want to get left behind. I’ve been living in the past because I felt it was the only way to hold on, but I’m missing it all. I’m missing everything.
Moving forward won’t mean forgetting. I’ll always remember. But I also need to remember what it’s like to live. Right now, I can’t think of a better way to do that than to take Caleb up on his offer.
This could be exactly what I need, but I’ll never know if I don’t try.
It’s half past seven when I finally get home. Work went a little later than I thought it would, but it won’t affect the time I need to get ready for tonight. I still have plenty. I know this because Caleb texted me earlier to let me know to be ready by ten.
It’s been a little while since my last drink, so I decide that I should probably eat something now to help soak some of the alcohol up later.
My options are pretty limited. The inside of my fridge would make any mother sad, but mine would find a way to take blame, claim that she’s failed me as a role model.
She’s dramatic like that.
A woman always keeps her refrigerator stocked with fresh goods, mother would always say.
There isn’t any in mine. No fresh anything.
I have a generous supply of Smart Water and two slices of leftover pizza from the other night I had Harper and Nick over.
It’s not that I can’t afford to fill this fridge, I just choose not to. It wouldn’t make any sense. One, I live alone. Two, I mainly eat out or order in. Any store-bought groceries would be wasted on me.
