More Than Fashion (25 page)

He left the breakroom without another word, and I slumped down into a chair, fighting back tears. Gavin said he loved me, but he had to know this was best for both of us. We were at the end of the show, and it was every man—or woman—for his or herself. Better to cut off the relationship now than be distracted for the finale or have to go through another loss like Trina’s.

No, it was better that I’d ended it with Gavin now. Even if he hated me for it.

Life was a bitch, and so was I. But fuck it. Bitches got stuff done.

And my dress wasn’t finishing itself.

***

With only four of us left, there was no top or bottom three. They critiqued every single one of us, and they seemed to hate everything. But what did they expect when they’d sprung this challenge right after the other, giving us little money or time to do it? Using looks they’d already hated?

They called my new dress “uninspired,” Dawn’s dress “boring,” Gavin’s top, jacket, and pants “predictable,” and Jeff’s dress with the cardboard boxes “weird.” I had no idea who would be going home. It was truly anyone’s game at this point.

None of us spoke while we waited on the runway for the judges to make their decision. Dawn reached across the stage and grabbed my hand, and I hesitated a second before taking it. I sneaked a glance at Gavin, but he wouldn’t even look at me. His jaw was clenched, and his lips were tight. Fine, I deserved that.

The judges returned and sat down. Lola stared at the four of us, and I wanted to yell at her to hurry up already.

“The winner of this challenge is Jeff,” Lola said. “Congratulations, you’re going to New York Fashion Week.”

Oh god no. My fingers tightened around Dawn’s, and I glanced over at Gavin again. This time he met my eyes with an inscrutable expression. But I knew what he was thinking. One of us would be going home.

No matter who it was, I would be heartbroken.

“This was a very hard decision,” Lola said. “And we had some differences of opinion. But unfortunately, only three of you can make it to the finale.” She glanced at the other judges and then back at us. The silence seemed to stretch on forever.

“The designer going home tonight is…Julie.”

My heart seized up. I couldn’t breathe. No. Nonononono. This couldn’t be happening. There had to be a mistake. I couldn’t have come all this way to go home now. I refused to believe it.

But Gavin was staring at me with pain in his eyes and Dawn had started to cry again and Jeff was looking smug and it hit me: I’d lost. I was going home. My time on the show was over.

“I’m sorry,” Lola said, except she smiled when she said it, so I knew she wasn’t sorry at all.

Beverly gave me a sad smile. “This was a really tough decision. You’ve made some beautiful pieces, but you’re still finding who you are and what your aesthetic is.”

“I agree,” Ricardo said. “You are a talented designer, but you need more experience. We are confident you will go on to great things, in time.”

Kiara jumped up and ran to the runway. She gestured for me to bend down and then gave me a hug. “You were one of my favorites,” she said. “I want you to make me some clothes when this is all over, okay?”

I nodded, blinking fast so the tears wouldn’t escape—not when I was on camera, not with the judges and other designers watching. Later, I could have a meltdown. But not now.

“Julie, it’s time for you to pack up your things,” Lola said.

My throat felt like it had been sewn shut. I walked off the runway, head down, not making eye contact with anyone. Someone tried to hug me—Dawn, I think—but I avoided her pale arms and kept going. Gavin said my name under his breath, his voice a plea of some sort, but I ignored him. What could he do? What could he say?

I’d come all this way and gotten so close to the finale, and now I was going home. I wasn’t going to design a collection or show at Fashion Week. I wouldn’t be in the final three. I wouldn’t be winning this thing, with or without Carla.

This was the end.

I was done.

I’d failed.

I packed up my things in record time, trying to finish before the others got back to the Loft. I moved quickly, efficiently, but it felt like I was outside my body, running on autopilot and watching it all happen to someone else. It wasn’t real yet.

When I’d finished, I cast one final glance around the Loft, my home for the last few weeks, with its bamboo and metal and hard edges. I’d truly this miss place.

And then I left it behind.

In the lobby, Kelsey told me they wanted me to stay in New York until after the finale, and made me do a quick exit interview. I kept it as short as possible, giving clipped answers, not showing much emotion at all. I could tell they wanted more, that they hoped I would break down, especially when they asked me about Gavin, but I shut myself off completely. I didn’t give them anything, and they finally let me go.

A car brought me back to the same hotel I’d stayed at before the show had started. Only once I’d collapsed onto the bed did I finally break down and cry. By then I had been holding it in so long it came out in a torrent, and I couldn’t stop.

I fell asleep with tears in my eyes and an ache in my heart that I didn’t think would ever go away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I 
slept for most of the next day. I hadn’t realized how exhausted and rundown my body was until I was able to sleep alone in a room for as long as I wanted. I’d been going at full-steam, both physically and emotionally, for weeks. Working long hours every day, dealing with an overwhelming amount of stress and pressure, all on not nearly enough sleep. It had been way too much. No wonder my emotions were a complete mess.

When I finally woke, the afternoon sun slanted through the thin gaps between the hotel room’s blackout curtains. I immediately wanted to go back to sleep because the second my eyes were open, reality came crashing back in, and it hit me again that I’d lost everything.

I’d lost the show. I hadn’t even made it to New York Fashion Week. Like my parents had predicted, I wasn’t cut out to be a fashion designer. I could already hear my mom chiding me for not listening to her, reminding me that she’d been right all along.

And I’d lost Gavin. He’d wanted something more, something real, and I’d refused. He’d said he loved me, and I’d pushed him away. I’d destroyed whatever future together we might have had.

It was probably for the best. He had a whole other life in London and a real future in fashion design. He would go back to that and whatever came next for him, and I would finish up my senior year at UCLA and then go on to medical school to become a doctor like my sister. With any luck, Gavin and I would never see each other again.

I should be happy. This was what I’d wanted at the beginning, to move on with my life and forget him. It was over. Done. Finished. I was a single girl again.

So why did the thought bring me to tears?

Gavin had dug his claws into me, finding his way under my skin like no other guy ever had. I had to shake him off somehow. Get him out of my system.

And I only knew one way to do that.

***

I sat at the hotel bar, in the same seat I’d occupied when I’d first met Gavin, and asked the bartender for a martini. As he got it ready, I crossed my legs, hiking my skirt up my thigh, and scanned the crowd. It was a Tuesday and the pickings were slim, but there was a guy in a suit and tie sitting alone who showed promise. He had short blond hair, brown eyes, and a sharp jaw. His skin was smooth and clean-shaven. He was hot, and he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

Better yet, he looked nothing like Gavin.

I grabbed my drink and made my way over. He looked up at me when I approached and gave me a warm smile.

“May I join you?” I asked.

He stood up and pulled the other chair at the table out. “Be my guest.”

Oh god, he was a gentleman like Gavin. I wondered if, like Gavin, he would be the opposite in the bedroom. The thought made my stomach clench painfully, and I pushed it away. This guy looked like he enjoyed vanilla sex, which was perfect for tonight.

He held out his hand. “I’m—”

“No names,” I said.

“Oh.” He blinked a little and then shrugged. “Okay.”

Jesus, he gave up on that easily. I flashed back to how Gavin had tried to get my name out of me over and over. And when that failed, how he’d given me a nickname instead.
Stop thinking about him,
I mentally yelled at myself.

We sat in silence, staring at our drinks, and I tried to think of what to say next. My mind was a complete blank. What the hell was wrong with me? My game was totally off tonight. It was like I’d forgotten how to flirt or something.

I gave him a sultry smile. “So what brings you here?”

“I’m a financial advisor. I have some meetings with some mutual fund money managers.” He kept going, talking about stocks and investments, but I had already tuned him out. I wasn’t picking up the guy for his job, after all.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” I said, interrupting him mid-sentence. “Do you want to go back to my room?”

He looked shocked by my bold proposition, but then his throat bobbed and he nodded. “Yes. Definitely.”

I leaned forward, giving him a view of my cleavage. “This is what I’m offering. One night. No names. No strings attached. And no contact when it’s over. Can you handle that?”

He nodded faster. “I can handle that.”

“Good.” I downed the rest of my drink and stood up. “Let’s go.”

He jumped to his feet, grinning. “Wow, this never happens to me.”

Yeah, yeah, must be your lucky night.
I wanted to roll my eyes, but I forced myself to smile. He signed the bill, then stood up and walked around the table to join me.

I moved stiffly and quickly to the elevator, making him match my pace, impatient to get this over with. Ugh, when had sleeping with a hot guy become a chore? Further proof that Gavin had seriously messed with my head.

As we waited for the elevator, the guy slid his arm around my waist, his fingers resting against the bare skin on my lower back. The second he touched me, my entire body screamed in protest. It was almost like physical pain, the revulsion and utter wrongness hitting me so strong I nearly gagged.

He pulled me closer and leaned in for a kiss, and all I could think was,
NO, NO, NO.
I jerked back, turning my head so his lips grazed off my cheek. Even that slight kiss was too much. I wanted to vomit.

I had never, ever felt this way before. Even ugly guys I could usually make out with, no problem, especially after a few drinks. And this guy was
hot
. He wasn’t a creeper or a perv. He was exactly the kind of guy I would normally love to take upstairs for a quick night of fun and then conveniently forget to ever call again. He seemed on board with the plan, too. He was perfect in every way for a one-night stand.

But he wasn’t Gavin.

“I’m sorry,” I said, pulling away from him. “I can’t do this.”

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I clutched my stomach. “I don’t feel well all of a sudden. Must be something I ate. I need to go.”

I dashed across the lobby and into the women’s bathroom without another word. It wasn’t a lie. I did feel sick. But it wasn’t something I ate.

The guy didn’t follow me, and I didn’t check to see if he looked stunned or disappointed or relieved. I waited a few minutes until I was sure he’d be gone and then headed back out.

I got into the elevator—the same elevator where Gavin and I had first made out—and leaned against the mirrored wall. I tried to get my breathing under control, but being in here only made it worse. Thinking of the way he’d kissed me against the mirrors buried me in an avalanche of emotions. Longing. Sadness. And something else, too.

I felt guilty for even
considering
fucking another guy, when the only one I wanted to be with was Gavin. That was a new feeling for me. And then a final wave of misery hit me because I couldn’t be with him. I’d ruined everything between us. That hurt more than anything else—even more than losing the show.

Oh god, was I…in love?

Was that was this feeling was?

Shit. I didn’t like it one bit.

I returned to my room and kicked off my shoes, then collapsed on the bed. It wasn’t the same room as the one I’d shared with Gavin, but it might as well have been. They looked identical, down to the abstract painting hanging above the bed and the view of the city from the window.

I didn’t even have Gavin’s phone number. Once the show ended, I could try to find a way to contact him, but by then would it be too late? Would he be over me, able to brush off our time on the show as a fleeting thing born from being stuck together in a closed space for weeks under stressful circumstances? Would he have realized I wasn’t worth all the pain I’d put him through?

I had to find a way to talk to him now, before the show was over.

I dragged myself off the bed and reached for my phone. They’d given it back to me when I’d been kicked off, but I’d been too tired and depressed to even look at it. Now I had so many emails, texts, missed calls, and social media notifications I wanted to throw it against the wall and never look at it again. I thought I’d be so happy to have the Internet back, to return to the real world, but now it felt too overwhelming to try and catch up on everything I’d missed over the past few weeks. All I wanted to do was crawl back into bed and disappear forever.

That wasn’t an option. I ordered room service—the show was paying for it, so why the hell not—and once I’d eaten something, I felt like I could finally tackle the rest of the world. I told myself I didn’t have to respond to anything today—only a few people knew I’d been kicked off, after all. I would go through the easy stuff for now and mark the things I needed to respond to later, when my head was clearer.

Kelsey had left me two voicemails while I’d been sleeping, urging me to call her back because the producers wanted me to come in and talk to them. More interviews probably. I didn’t know if I could go back there and face all of that again, but it might be the only way to reach Gavin.