by K. A. Linde
“Thanks for meeting me,” she said, biting on her bottom lip. She wished she had something else to do besides stare at the stupid menu.
He didn’t glance back up from his menu, and for a second, she thought he wasn’t going to respond. “Well, you have the most annoying best friend in the world.”
Chyna laughed and then coughed, trying to cover it up.
“She certainly doesn’t give up on the people she cares about,” he said, looking up at her then, “like ever.”
“Sounds like her,” Chyna said, holding back a smile. That sounded way too much like Alexa.
The waitress came over, wearing a red and white–striped old-fashioned dress with ruffled socks in white Keds. Her hair was pulled up into pigtails with scrunchies. She looked utterly ridiculous. Chyna could never get over the outfits here. Just dress them in normal clothes!
“What’ll ya have?” she asked, smacking away on her bubble gum, not even looking at them as she held her notepad poised and ready.
Adam ordered a double cheeseburger with bacon and a fried egg on top with onion rings, instead of French fries, and a root beer. He burned calories like a maniac. Lucky fast metabolism. Chyna just asked for a strawberry milkshake, happily handing over her dirty menu. The waitress walked off with a grunt, flipping her pad back to the front, and slipped the menus under her arm.
“Charming,” Chyna grumbled.
“Judgey.”
“With reason,” she said, pointing at the woman. “She was plain rude.”
“She’s probably just had a long day.”
Chyna hmphed, not wanting to talk about the unfortunate waitress.
With nowhere else to look, Adam returned her gaze with a sigh. “You wanted to meet, so we’re meeting. I only have an hour lunch. What did you want to talk about?”
Chyna swallowed and steeled herself for this. She was pleasantly sober. She hadn’t even been drinking the night before in anticipation of this conversation. “I...wanted to apologize,” she said meekly, wanting to break eye contact but not allowing herself, “for what happened.”
“Apologize?” he asked suspiciously.
She paused, wishing she didn’t have to do this. Why did it have to be this way? The one guy who she had agreed to actually give it a go with had ended up leaving her. She didn’t know how to do what she was about to do.
“I can understand why you were pissed and why you left,” she said, her voice breaking. God, she had wanted to keep it together! “I shouldn’t have gone behind your back. I probably could have picked a better time to tell you about it, and I could have handled everything that happened afterward better. So…I’m sorry. I was a shit, and I’m admitting that.”
“You were a shit,” Adam agreed, “but…”
Chyna froze in place at that word. She had not been expecting that word.
“I was a shit, too. You were drunk, and I got pissed. Instead of working things out, I just left and let them simmer all week. That wasn’t fair to either of us,” he said, sighing. “I talked to John.”
She felt her blood boil at the name. That son of a bitch! He had used her drunk ass for his own amusement. She had thought she was attracted to him, but really, it was one big façade. He was as charming as a con artist, slippery as a snake, and tricky as a thief. He had thought he could get an easy lay out of her, and when she had pushed him back, he had freaked out on her. She knew guys like him. From now on, she hated them, too. No one should be able to be that manipulative. He was a certified douche.
“He owned up to what happened. Told a slightly different tale than the one you fed me, but I don’t think anyone will know what happened unless they were in the room that night. Frankly, I don’t want to know. What happened, happened. It’s over now. I can’t continue to dwell on it.”
“I know what you mean,” she said softly as their food arrived.
Adam took the opportunity to fill his mouth, so he didn’t have to talk. She could see he was brooding behind those big hazel eyes, but she didn’t ask a question. She wanted to soak up the fact that he had apologized as well. No way had she thought he would do that. She had been in the wrong, not him. Chyna sucked on her strawberry milkshake, mulling over the situation in silence. He had more to say, and she knew it. They weren’t finished with the conversation after not talking all week.
Adam tore through his burger, and then he started picking at his onion rings. She waited for him to speak. He looked like he wanted to lead the conversation. When he finally spoke up, she almost wished he hadn’t.
“Why my brother?”
It was a question she didn’t have an answer for. She hadn’t kissed John. He had kissed her. But, that wasn’t good enough. As cruel as John had been that night when she had stopped the kiss, he did have a fair point. She had been thinking about the kiss and worse since she had met him. Her intentions had been anything but honorable, and it made her feel worse. She didn’t even want to fight him on this. She didn’t feel like she had a right to.
“I don’t know,” she finally answered.
“Really?” he asked, dipping an onion ring in ketchup.
Chyna sighed, wishing she could go back and fix it. Fix her attraction to John. Fix her reaction to his advances. Fix the way she had confronted Adam. “It was a mistake. Plain and simple. I don’t have an excuse, not even a reason. It happened, and it was a mistake.”
“You knew I looked up to him.”
She nodded. She sucked harder on her milkshake, hoping he wouldn’t drag this out.
“I asked you to hang out with him.”
“I know,” she whispered, staring down at her milkshake, frustrated. What more did he want her to say? Did he want her to beg? She wouldn’t beg. “It was a mistake, Adam.”
It was the first time she had said his name, and at the sound of it, he seemed to soften.
“For a while, I thought you were a mistake,” he admitted.
Chyna’s heart clenched painfully. She felt like she had been shot or punched or some other terrible thing. All the air was gone from her lungs, and she felt sick at the same time. How could he even say that to her? It was so cruel.
“But, if you were a mistake, I wouldn’t want you back…and I do.”
PRESENT
Chyna crossed through Central Park, passing the far side of the MET, as she walked back out onto 5th Avenue. She veered north against traffic toward the entrance to the colossal building. She had always thought that when she grew up she would be the president of the board at the MET. It had been a strange childhood aspiration as far as dreams went for little kids, but she had thought it ordinary then. After realizing how much charity work she would have to do to even fathom getting on the board, she had quickly given up the thought. She didn’t want to be forced to do charity work. She would rather do it all on her own. However, she still enjoyed the opera and ballets that graced the stage.
Staring up at the enormous stone building made her feel at home. In that moment, she realized how much she had missed New York City while she had been in Milan. She adored Milan, and it would always have a special place in her heart, but nothing could compare to New York.
She couldn’t believe that only yesterday she had been the centerpiece for a major fashion show. Her reaction regarding Marco had been rash, but that was usually how she worked. Act now and think later. It wasn’t always the best approach.
She was miffed that she hadn’t received so much as a fuck off, bitch text from Marco. Not to mention, she hadn’t heard a single word from her three bitchy roommates. How could they see that she was gone and not even ask if she was alive? What great friends! Alexa would be worried sick. Well, Alexa was worried sick, but Chyna didn’t really want to share what had happened. She already knew what she would say anyway, and she had been chastising herself enough.
In all honesty, she was just ready to get back to her life. She wanted to leave Milan and Marco behind and start fresh here. Fashion was huge in New York, and she was sure she could top fashion
here as easily as she had in Italy. Plus, she had all of her favorite places back, and tons of men that had probably missed her in the clubs. She hadn’t been available in a while, so it would be fun to get back into it.
She smiled faintly and took a seat on the south side of the MET stairs. That was all she wanted anyway, right? Modeling and men. She could live on that.
Leaning her elbows back on the step behind her, she waited, watching the tourists pass her by. A few stared at her as they passed, whispering to each other excitedly. Another openly ogled her, nearly running into the person in front of her. When a third group took out their cameras to snap a photo of her, she started getting confused. What was going on? She knew that she was pretty, but total strangers didn’t normally pull out their cameras.
“Excuse me?” a giggly teenage girl said as she approached while handing her camera to her friend.
Chyna’s eyes narrowed. “Yes?”
“Can I take a picture with you? My friends will never believe that I met a supermodel!” she cried, nearly jumping up and down.
Chyna had the good sense not to let her mouth fall open or show her surprise on her face. She took the picture, and the girl thanked her before scurrying off.
What. The. Fuck. Was. Going. On?
She stood up and walked up a couple more steps to get out of the direct line of sight of the people passing by. She needed to uncover the truth of what was happening. How had four separate groups of people known who she was? Why had that girl called her a supermodel? It wasn’t a term she took lightly. Her mother was a supermodel. She resembled her mother, but come on, it was pretty obvious Chyna was twenty years younger!
Speaking of her mother…
“There you are, darling,” Andrea said, walking briskly up the MET steps in her characteristic white pea coat and over-sized black sunglasses. She kissed both of her cheeks in greeting.
“Do you know what’s going on?” Chyna demanded, skipping the introduction.
“What do you mean?” she asked coyly.
“Someone just called me a supermodel. Last I checked, the bill didn’t fit,” Chyna told her.
“Let’s go inside. It’s a bit chilly out here. I assume you wanted to ask me something else also,” she said, linking arms with Chyna and dragging her along.
Chyna relented to follow her up the stairs and inside.
“Let’s walk,” Andrea suggested.
“Can we just sit?” Chyna asked, not looking forward to this conversation. She looked forward to very few conversations with her mother. It was only the second or third time Chyna had seen her in the past couple of years, and she didn’t do family time for no reason.
Andrea sighed dramatically before answering, “Well, all right.”
They walked toward an empty bench in the main entranceway and took a seat next to each other. Chyna saw a woman glance in her direction, but she kept walking. She suddenly wished she had a hooded jacket. She normally enjoyed the attention, but this felt very different.
“So, how did you manage it?” Andrea finally asked.
“Manage what? Do you know why all these people are staring at me?” Chyna asked.
“They went up this morning all over the city.”
“What did?” she demanded.
“Are you certain you don’t know? I’d be shocked if you didn’t,” Andrea said, narrowing her eyes as if she didn’t believe her daughter.
Her disbelief wasn’t really out of the ordinary though.
“Would I be asking you if I knew what was going on?”
“Marco’s new advertisement went up all over the city. You’re the cover of his boutique. You’re at every bus stop, and you have a full-page spread in the New York Times. Darling, you’re everywhere.”
Chyna saw stars. No. No. No. No. No. This could not be happening to her. “Wha-what does it look like?” she managed to get out.
“Stunning. You’re wearing a purple mermaid dress, full sequins, perfect lines. You look like you’re ready to crawl through the camera,” she told her, eyeing her warily. Clearly, her reaction wasn’t what Andrea had been expecting.
“I’m sure someone has a New York Times around here.”
“That’s all right,” she said. Her hand dropped to the bench. She gripped it, trying to hold the nausea back. How had she fucked-up this badly?
“Didn’t he tell you?” Andrea asked suspiciously. “They always tell you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Chyna said, swallowing. This was going to be much more difficult now. That damn man! “I came to talk to you about something else.”
“You look sick, darling. Should I get you something?” She waited for Chyna to respond, but Chyna said nothing. “Chyna, am I missing something?”
“Besides six years of my life, no,” Chyna spat back coldly, shutting Andrea up real quick. “Please stop trying to mother me. I don’t need a mother right now.”
“Fine, what do you want then?” she asked, crossing her leg and tapping her foot in the air impatiently.
“You know Cassandra Corsa?” Chyna asked straight out. She didn’t want to beat around the bush with this. She just needed answers, and she intended to get them.
“What the hell do you know about Cassandra Corsa?” Andrea asked, planting both feet on the ground as she turned to face her daughter.
Chyna shrugged. “I know enough.”
“Why are you even asking about Corsa? You have Marco’s line at your feet. You’re plastered on every corner. I’ve been there,” she said wistfully. “Now, why would someone like that need Cassandra Corsa?”
“It’s really none of your business.”
“It is if you are asking me about her. Marco knows Cassandra Corsa. You could have asked him,” Andrea said as if seeing a chink in the armor. “So, why haven’t you asked him?”
“It really doesn’t matter whether or not I’m talking to Marco about Cassandra Corsa. I just asked you about her,” Chyna said, hating her mother’s perverse logic. She had been married to Chyna’s father for too long.
“Marco won’t let you near her, you know?”
“Mother!” she cried, raising her voice, drawing unnecessary attention her way. “Can we not do this?”
“Oh, now you want a mother,” she said, narrowing her eyes.
“I just want you to give me her phone number,” Chyna countered, ignoring her previous statement.
“Why should I do that?” Andrea asked her point blank.
Chyna sighed and stared at the ground. She knew where this was going. She couldn’t be hard, edgy Chyna in this situation. Her mother knew her too well. She had, kind of, raised her, and Chyna had gotten a lot of her bite and attitude from the person sitting next to her. Everything else she had was from her father, and Andrea knew how to get around him better than anyone. Andrea also hated it more than anyone, so Chyna needed to be someone else.
“Because I need it,” she finally said. “I need her number because Marco won’t give it to me. He doesn’t want me near another designer. He thinks he owns me.”
It was mostly the truth, and it sounded like something her mother could sympathize with. It wasn’t like she was going to go around telling Andrea what had really gone down.
“Sounds like a typical male designer,” Andrea said with a snort at the end for extra emphasis. “Self-indulgent, egotistical, demanding, self-righteous…assholes. I’d love to eliminate the whole lot of them.”
Chyna laughed at her mom’s perfect description of Marco. It was like she had experience with these types of men or something. Well, she probably did.
“Fine,” Andrea finally said. “Just because I know the situation you’re in.” She pulled out her phone and handed the number over to her. “I’m still in contact with her some. Sweet girl. So much like her mother. I bet she’ll be in New York for her line reveal in two weeks,” she threw out offhand.
“Thank you,” Chyna said, grateful for the shred of mercy her mother had shown her. It was the most she had seen since she
and her father had given Chyna her penthouse.
Hiding from the constant stares the next four days was harder than Chyna had thought possible. It was a strange feeling to go from being well known to being an overnight celebrity in her hometown. Alexa had the decency not to bring it up. She was laid back enough to not care that her best friend’s face was plastered around the city. In fact, the only time it had come up, Alexa had just shrugged her little shoulders and told her she had assumed that was why Chyna was in Milan in the first place. Alexa certainly had more faith in her newfound supermodel status than Chyna did.
She hadn’t ever realized it would be that different, but she had lost all anonymity with Marco’s cover spread. It was infuriating. She just wanted to move on; she wanted to forget. But, her face was everywhere. And she couldn’t avoid the heated fuck-me eyes she was sending Marco’s way or the dress he had originally created for her to wear to Glam Ball.
When she had seen the photo that Marco had chosen, she’d had to grab onto the bus stop for support. She knew that picture. Marco hadn’t been satisfied with the quality of the photo shoot one day, so they had played around with lighting and camera angles back at his apartment all afternoon. The picture plastered all over New York was her seduction. It had never been meant for anyone else’s eyes. No wonder everyone was eating it up.
At least, Cassandra Corsa was interested. She had seen the spread—everyone in the fashion world had at this point—and was willing to meet with her. She was still in Italy on business after the Glam Ball. She sounded surprised that Chyna had already returned to New York since most of Marco’s girls usually spent the final two weeks of the summer at the beach together, finalizing deals for modeling jobs in the fall. Thankfully, Cassandra hadn’t asked any questions.
Chyna was hoping that her offer was still on the table. Cassandra had made it seem that way at Glam Ball, but that had been a different time. Chyna couldn’t even let herself worry about that. Remaining positive was key.
In fact, she was just ready to get back to her old life. She was pretty sure she was already beginning to fool Alexa. That was all she needed right now. She would get this new modeling job, exactly what she deserved, and things would go back to normal. She was sure of it.
