More Than Fashion (5 page)

I gave a noncommittal grunt and silently swore I was never drinking again. Yes, I said that every time I had a bad hangover. But seriously, I meant it this time.

Then
he
was at my side. I didn’t turn, but I still saw him out of my peripheral vision. A flash of his tattooed hand. The familiar whiff of his cologne. More than that, I sensed his tall, imposing presence towering over me. Brooding—that was the word for him.

I wished he’d go brood somewhere else.

“Hello, everyone,” he said to our little group. “I’m Gavin.”

“Oh, I just
love
your accent,” Molly said, smiling and touching his arm. She quickly doled out all of our names, including the pretty blonde—Dawn. “And this is Julie,” she said, gesturing to me as I crammed the rest of the cheese puff into my mouth. Crap.

Gavin’s steely eyes focused on me, and I swallowed hard. I could tell he was about to say something, probably something about last night. Something I desperately didn’t want him to say.

“Nice to meet you,” I blurted out, thrusting my hand toward him.

His dark eyebrows shot up, and for a second, I worried he wouldn’t go along with it. But then he smiled and took my hand in his own, slowly raising my fingers to his mouth. A little shiver went through me at the brush of his lips on my knuckles. “Julie, is it?”

My eyes narrowed, and I jerked my hand away. Of course he would make a big deal about my name. “That’s right.”

His grin widened at my reaction. “Lovely to meet you.”

I held my breath, waiting for more, expecting him to say something damning. But he turned back to Molly, who’d asked him about living in England.

I exhaled in a rush. He was going to keep our secret. For now, anyway. He could always try to use it against me later, at a more strategic time. After all, he
was
my competition. I’d have to watch out for him. What did I even know about him, really?

Absolutely nothing.

As the others talked, the room began to blur and sway around me. I was barely keeping it together, my head still pounding, my stomach still churning. All I wanted was to lie down somewhere dark and quiet for a few hours. And Gavin’s presence beside me definitely wasn’t helping matters. The last thing I needed was for him to see how hungover I was. No way was I giving him the satisfaction of knowing he was right about how drunk I’d been last night.

With everyone in our circle focused on Gavin, I slipped away unnoticed. The champagne wasn’t helping, so I swapped it for a soda, hoping the caffeine would wake me up. The purple-haired girl stood by herself next to the drink table, and she watched as I rubbed the bridge of my nose.

“Rough morning?” she asked.

“Very.”

“Been there plenty of times.” She had a shiny stud in her nose and wore tight black ankle pants and suspenders, with a white shirt and red bow tie. Her name tag said,
Trina Rodriguez.

I leaned against the wall beside her, sipping my soda. “Have you met everyone already?”

“Nah. I’m not exactly a people person. And half of these designers will be gone in a few days anyway.”

“Exactly my thought.”

“You made that, didn’t you?” she asked, her dark eyes scanning my green-and-black dress. “It’s cute. I can tell you’ll stick around for a while.”

“I did, and thanks. I love your outfit, too. Great mix of masculine and feminine.”

“Thanks. That’s my design aesthetic. I just hope the judges like it, too.”

“Who do you think is going to be the biggest competition?”

She crossed her arms and surveyed the crowd. “Hard to tell. But I have my eye on the blonde over there.”

“Her name is Dawn, and yeah, her dress is really well made.”

“Oh, I just think she’s hot,” she said with a grin. “But her dress isn’t bad either. Maybe I’ll go introduce myself.”

“Go for it.” I raised my soda to her. “Good luck.”

Trina strolled across the room and said something to Dawn, who looked up and smiled. I wanted to watch what happened next, but as soon as I was alone, Gavin found his way back to my side. Jesus, I could not get away from this guy.

“So your name’s Julie?” he asked, his voice low enough that no one else could hear us. Except for the mic recording everything, of course.

I gestured to my name tag. “That’s what it says.”

“Sorry, it’s just a bit…anticlimactic.”

I rolled my eyes. “What did you expect, something more
exotic
?”

“No, but after all that build-up, I expected something a little more… I don’t know. Dramatic. Mysterious.” His gaze skimmed down my body. “Naughty.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

One side of his mouth curled up. “I suppose I’ll have to keep calling you ‘love.’”

“That really won’t be necessary. Julie is fine.”

“Oh no, I can’t do that. You said no names, after all.”

I quickly switched off my mic. Did Gavin not understand this was all being recorded? That the sound guys were probably listening to our every word? Or did he just not care?

I moved closer, reaching for his shirt as though I was flirting with him. He didn’t pull away, and I heard his sharp intake of breath as my fingers slipped inside his collar. I turned off his mic and kept my voice low.

“That was last night. Things have changed. Obviously.” I dropped my hand and stepped back. “And you need to be careful what you say while the mics are on.”

“Speaking of last night, how are you feeling today, love?”

“I’m fine,
Gavin
,” I snapped. “How are you? Get lots of sleep after you took off without a word?”

“I did, actually.” He gave me a devious grin that only annoyed me more. “I admit, I never expected to see you again. I’m quite surprised you're here.”

“
You’re
surprised? You told me you were an artist visiting from London!”

“I
am
an artist visiting from London.
You
said you were a pre-med student.”

“I
am
a pre-med student!”

“Then what are you doing on the show?”

“Same as you, I imagine. Trying to win.”

“That’s too bad, love. Because
I’m
going to win.”

I snorted. “I’d tell you to kiss my ass, but you’d probably fall in love with me and then I’d never get rid of you.”

He gave a sharp laugh. “Trust me, there is zero chance of that happening.”

“Good. Because I don’t have time for complications like you.”

“Oh, now I’m a complication? You didn’t seem to think that last night when I was between your legs.”

His words sent a rush of unwanted desire through me. “Last night never happened,” I whispered, stabbing a finger into his chest. “And we’re never going to speak of it again.”

He looked like he was about to argue, but then a tall, dark-haired woman swept into the room and stole everyone’s attention. She was in her early fifties and had a delicate, aloof beauty that was only enhanced by her little black sheath dress and long, thin limbs.

Lola Baudin had once been one of the top supermodels in the world, but for the last four years, she’d been the host of
Behind The Seams
and in the last two seasons had also become one of its judges. I’d watched her on TV, seen her in magazines and on fashion websites, and now she was in front of me, sweeping her eyes over all of us. She clapped her hands sharply, and the entire room dropped into silence. I quickly switched my mic back on and saw Gavin do the same.

“Welcome to season six of
Behind The Seams
,” she said, with a faint French accent. “Your first challenge begins now.”

CHAPTER FIVE

S
ome of the other designers groaned or gasped, but I stood up straighter at Lola’s words. I’d expected our first challenge to come quickly, even if I’d been hoping for a little more time to recover first. Judging by his calm expression, Gavin wasn’t surprised either.

Lola led us through a door and into the adjacent design room. Even with my raging hangover, I couldn’t help but speed up as we walked inside. Long white tables had been set up around a large room, and the mint green walls were decorated with portraits of famous fashion designers like Coco Chanel, Yves Saint Laurent, and my personal favorite, Alexander McQueen. Cameras were discreetly stationed around the edges of the room, and a few crew members stood along the sidelines, watching us. It was strange to get this behind-the-scenes look at one of my favorite TV shows, but otherwise, the room looked exactly as I’d seen it on previous seasons.

Each workstation had a dress form next to it labelled with our names. I found mine and sighed when I saw Gavin’s name at the table next to me. I’d never be rid of the guy.

It didn’t matter. I wouldn’t allow myself to be distracted by him. I’d dreamed of standing inside the design room of
Behind The Seams
for years, and now it was my reality. I wasn’t going to screw this up. And definitely not because of some stupid guy.

Even a ridiculously hot stupid guy.

Lola stood at the edge of the room, with a camera focused on her. “Good, you’ve all found your workstations. The room is crowded now, but not for long. There are fourteen of you here—but three of you will be going home today.”

Holy shit. Three eliminations in the first challenge? They were not fucking around.

“Your challenge is to make a little black dress,” Lola said, gesturing at her own elegant sheath. “That may sound simple, but you need to find a way to make a dress that is unique and shows us who you are as a designer. And…you only have six hours.” Her voice turned cold, and her eyes narrowed. “Impress us, or you’ll be going home today.”

Hmm. Six hours wasn’t much time, although little black dresses were pretty basic and something all designers should have made before. The trick would be to design something that stood out from all the rest in that amount of time.

“There’s a box under your workstation with fabric and trim for this challenge,” she continued. “You’re not allowed to use anything that wasn’t from inside a box, but you
can
trade with other designers.”

Crap, I should have socialized with the other designers more. Some of them had already formed connections, which might put them at an advantage in this challenge. The only connection I had was with Gavin, and I was pretty sure that wouldn’t help me one bit.

“The winner of each challenge gets one thousand dollars and a night in the private winner’s suite,” Lola said. “The losers will be sent home. You have six hours, starting now.”

She swooped out the door, leaving the fourteen designers, plus the camera crews filming everything. While others gasped about the room, complained about only having six hours, or laughed about how surreal it all was, I grabbed the black box under my workstation and popped it open without hesitation. Next to me, Gavin did the same. He must have also realized that the clock was ticking and standing around chatting would only cut into our working time.

Inside I found two types of black fabric: a simple cotton-polyester blend that had a nice weight to it and a heavy brocade with an embossed swirly pattern. The brocade was out; it reminded me too much of old lady curtains. Damn, I’d have to find someone to trade it with. The box also had buttons and zippers, along with other supplies like needles and thread, scissors, pins, measuring tape, and a sketch pad and pencils.

Around the room, there were a few murmurs and quiet conversations, but most of the designers were silent, sketching and checking out their fabrics. A few had already left their workstations to start trading with others. If I wanted new fabric, I’d have to act fast.

I caught a glimpse of Gavin’s box and noticed he had some lace and a thick mesh that looked almost like netting. Well, shit, I wanted one of those fabrics. Nothing to do but swallow my pride and ask him for help.

I leaned across my table. “Psst!”

Gavin glanced up from his sketch pad, where he was drawing something with quick flicks of his wrist. “Yes, love?”

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped, keeping my voice low. “Want to trade one of your fabrics for one of mine?”

He went back to his sketching. “Sorry, no.”

Jerk. He hadn’t even
looked
at my fabric. He just didn’t want to trade with
me
.

I huffed and headed over to Trina’s workstation, but she’d already traded with Dawn. I rushed over to the next familiar face, worried that everything good was already getting snatched up.

“Hey, Molly. I want to trade this brocade for something. Interested in a swap? I’ll take anything at this point.”

“Hmm.” She inspected it, then checked inside her black box. “I’ll give you this tulle for it.”

“Deal! Thank you!” The tulle was thick and fluffy, but I could work with that. We switched fabrics, and I ran back to my station, an idea already forming in my head.

At Gavin’s table stood a girl with wavy black hair and so much makeup she’d probably have to chisel it off. Her name tag said
Nika Kazakova
, and she wore a dress with a low V that flaunted the goods. A minute later, she walked off with his lace after giving him a cotton fabric identical to the one I had. He caught me glaring at him and smirked.

Asshole.

Ignore him
, I told myself as I pulled the sketch pad from my box. I grabbed my pencil and mentally flipped through all the things I’d sketched at home while preparing for the show. Originally I was going to just wing it all, but Carla had insisted I do some prep work first. That was more her style than mine—Carla was always prepared for everything. She was a plotter, a worrier, an obsessive list-maker. She had an unhealthy obsession with spreadsheets, and don’t even get me started on her extensive, color-coded daily planner. I was pretty sure she spent half her modeling paychecks on stickers and fancy pens.

Not me. I tended to jump into things headfirst, confident I’d figure things out as I went along. But now, with a massive hangover and only six hours to come up with a dress, I was happy I’d listened to my friend for a change. Designers weren’t allowed to bring anything that could help them on the show, but there was no rule against studying previous episodes and preplanning some of your designs. It wouldn’t always help, since there was no way to know the challenges in advance, but I’d come up with a bunch of ideas that could work and stored them away in my mind for future use.