Unafraid (Beachwood Bay) (18 page)

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “That must be tough, trying to live up to what they want from you.”

“It is.” Hunter shakes his head slowly. “And the thing I just figured out is, I’m never going to win.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, watching him.

“It’s like I spent the last twenty-two years jumping through hoops for them. It wasn’t enough that I made the football team, I had to be captain too. Whenever I brought home an A paper, my dad would go through it and point out all the things I still could have done better.” Hunter’s voice has a tight edge to it that makes my heart ache for him. How could anything he does not be good enough?

“And Jace…” he starts. “Jace was always perfect. It wasn’t just that he did everything they wanted, he liked it too. He wanted to please them. And me…? I can’t ever live up to that, not even if I tried.”

“So you stopped trying,” I say quietly, realizing that his move out to Beachwood is about so much more than just following his passion for horses and the farm. Part of me still had it down as the whim of some rich kid who’s decided to do whatever the hell he wants, but Hunter isn’t that shallow. Taking a stand against his family—and the life they’ve chosen for him—has been a long time coming for him. “I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to finally walk away.”

Hunter lets out a long, ragged breath. “I didn’t like the man I was becoming,” he says quietly. “Not in their world. I need to do things right, I owe it—” he stops himself from speaking.

“Owe what?” I ask, curious, but Hunter is pulling the truck into a parking spot, on a busy downtown street.

“We’re here!” he announces in a bright voice, and I can tell, the conversation is over. “Ready for your big surprise?”

I look around. Nothing but high-rise office buildings and the commuter lunch rush: people jostling on the sidewalks in business dress, clutching takeout bags and briefcases.

“Umm, Hunter?” I ask, climbing down from the truck. “Maybe it’s time you explain what’s going on.”

Hunter comes around to meet me. He slings one arm around my waist and pulls me into an excited hug. “It’s your interview.”

“My what?” I blink at him, confused, but he’s seen someone past me on the street and is striding forwards to intercept them. Or rather, her: a stylish-looking woman in a crisply-tailored dress, heading for the entrance of the nearest office building.

“Hey, Alicia, great timing.” Hunter calls. “We just got in.”

“Hunter!” The woman brightens, greeting him with air kisses on both cheeks. “Look at you, I didn’t believe it when your mom said you’d moved to the sticks.”

“It’s not exactly the middle of nowhere,” Hunter laughs. He’s casual and easy with her, and I can tell that they’re old friends. “Just a couple of hours away. It’s a great little town, right on the shore. You should come visit sometime.”

“Please, you know me,” Alicia laughs, tossing back her mane of glossy blonde hair. “I’d wither away and die without valet parking and takeout on speed dial.” She turns to me with a bright smile. “And you must be Brittany. A pleasure to meet you. Any friend of Hunter’s here…”

She holds out a hand for me to shake, an elegant gold watch dangling from her wrist that’s probably worth more than everything I’ve ever owned.

“Hi,” I say slowly, still trying to figure out what’s going on. “It’s, umm, nice to meet you too.”

I give Hunter a baffled look, and he jumps in. “Alicia and I were at college together,” he explains. “Now she’s head of publicity for Jacob Main,” he names a big clothing designer based here in the city. “I thought you two should meet, so I arranged an interview for you.”

I stop.

“You did what?” I stare at him, my confusion giving way to spine-chilling dread.

He’s kidding. He’s got to be kidding me.

But Hunter laughs, proud of what he’s done. “See, I said you’d never guess.”

My heartbeat trips in panic, and suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. Guess that I’d be dropped into the most important meeting of my life, with no warning or time to prepare?

Oh God.

“I have a conference call at three,” Alicia pipes up apologetically. “So we should head on up there. Do you have your portfolio?” she asks me.

My heart lifts. A chance to escape this ambush. “No, I’m sorry,” I tell her relieved. “I don’t have it with me. Maybe we can reschedule—”

“I’ve got it.” Hunter reaches into the truck and pulls out my portfolio, and a book of extra sketches. He must have taken them while I was getting ready upstairs, I realize with a sinking feeling. Hunter passes them to me. “Now you’re all set. I’ve got to run some errands, so call me when you’re done. And don’t be nervous,” he drops his tone, “You’ll be great.”

“But—” My protest is lost under his kiss, and then Alicia is steering me inside, her high heels tapping on the polished marble floors. Before I can think, or turn and bolt down the street, we’re in the lobby, a huge, glass-covered atrium full of modern art.

“I can’t wait to see your designs.” She chats pleasantly as we wait for the elevators. “Hunter here was raving about you, and if a guy like him can notice fashion, it’s got to be good.”

I manage a murmur of agreement, but inside, I’m freaking out. How the hell could he do this to me? I’m not ready for this: Jacob Main was top of my list when it came to sending out job applications, and all I got was a photocopied rejection letter. And now, here I am, about to sit down and show them my designs?

I feel a tightness in my chest, like the walls of the elevator are closing in on me. My skin prickles with panic, and I break into a cold sweat, clammy on the surface of my skin.

How could he do this to me?

The elevator dings as we reach the eleventh floor. “We’re right down here,” Alicia says, striding down the hallway. For a moment I’m tempted to hit the button and head right back down again, but then she turns, waiting with a friendly smile.

“Great,” I whisper, following her.

“We moved offices a couple of months ago, so still pretty chaotic.” Alicia leads me into a large, open-plan office. My mouth drops open as I follow her through the space, clutching my portfolio to my chest. Light is flooding in from full-length windows, and everywhere I look, there’s color and life. People consult fabric swatches strewn over a long bench, others work on computers at cool cubicles decorated with art and fashion magazine tears. Huge, over-sized photos from the Jacob Main catalogue are mounted on the wall, and all around us, there’s a buzz of activity and purpose.

“We’re partnering with a major store for their summer line next year,” Alicia adds, “So everyone’s working double-time getting the designs set right now.”

People look up curiously as we pass, checking me out. I feel their gazes slip over me, and can’t help but notice the looks of surprise and disapproval that follow. In an instant, I’m taken back to high school, walking the hallways in one of my hand-me-down, homemade outfits that’s so obviously not the latest fashion.

My heart plummets. This ambush happened so quickly, I didn’t even have time to think about how I look, but now I’m here in the office, surrounded by gorgeous, glossy women, it hits me just as hard as the feelings of inferiority that haunted me all those years ago. I’m dressed all wrong for this.

The outfit I hastily assembled for a casual day back in Beachwood Bay is way out of place here in the chic surroundings: my boots are scuffed and ratty, my cut-off shorts worn through in places, and God, I’m wearing a bikini top. In the city! What kind of hick kid must they think I am?

By the time Alicia shows me into a large office with sweeping views of downtown, I already want to curl up in a ball and disappear, but the ordeal is only just beginning.

“This is Maxwell Anderson, he’s in charge of our design team.” Alicia introduces me to a sharply-dressed man in dark-rimmed glasses, waiting in one of the designer lounge chairs.

“Umm, hi,” I manage, wishing my hands would stop shaking. Everything about Maxwell screams style, from the pocket square poking out of his jacket pocket, right down to the spotless white sneakers he’s wearing. He’s intimidatingly cool. “It’s great to meet you. Thanks for making time—”

Maxwell snaps his fingers and gestures for my portfolio. I hand it over, watching with my heart in my mouth as he flips over the last five years of my work and sweat and tears with barely a second glance.

Alicia gives me a sympathetic smile, as if to say, ‘don’t worry.’ “Where are your main interests?” she asks, taking a seat on a silk-covered couch and gesturing for me to do the same. “We’re primarily a womenswear company, although we’ve been branching out with a limited, high-end accessories line. Shoes, some handbags.”

“I… Clothes.” I stutter.
Well, duh
. “I mean, womenswear too. I’ve been mainly experimenting with repurposing fabric,” I add in a halting voice.
Damn, Brit, why can’t you pull it together?
I try to swallow back my insecurities and continue. “A lot of lingerie too, the lace-work and details, if you look…” I trail off as Maxwell slams my portfolio shut.

He fixes me with a slow look from head to toe that leaves me cringing. “Jacob Main is a high-end company,” he says, with a slight sneer to his voice. “Our customers are affluent women. Fashionable. Elegant.”

The accusation in his voice is clear. I couldn’t be further from his ideal if I tried.

I feel the blood rush to my cheeks. “If you look at my book,” I try, my voice coming out a whisper, “I’ve been working on more sophisticated designs—”

But Maxwell doesn’t take his gaze off me. “Where did you go to school?”

“I, ah, didn’t.” I slump lower in the seat.

“It shows.” Maxwell tells me bluntly. “Your sketches are messy and unfocused. You have no formal drafting skills, and I dread to think what you’d do if we let you near the real fabric.”

I feel a rush of shame. I was so proud of that portfolio, spending hours selecting my very best designs and photographs. Now, Maxwell’s words are like daggers, cutting through my foolish delusions. All this time, I was just kidding myself to think I was worth anything at all.

A sob rises in the back of my throat, but I force myself to swallow it back. I can’t let him see what his words are doing to me, I can’t give him the satisfaction, but I just want this to be over, for me to be anywhere but here, with this snobby man ripping apart all my secret dreams.

“She’s got a strong design sensibility,” Alicia tries to speak up. She’s leafing through my sketchbook. “See, this dress is gorgeous. Just our kind of thing. Look, Max—”

He gets up. “We’re looking for something very specific here,” he declares, giving Alicia an irritated look. “If you want my advice, I’d find something else to do with your time. When it comes to fashion, you’ve either got it or you don’t. You, my dear, do not.”

My mouth drops open.

“And Alicia?” he adds, turning to her. “Next time, remember I’m on a schedule.”

Maxwell strides out. I stare after him. I’m numb, feeling dizzy and faint, like my hopes and dreams are laying shattered in pieces on the floor.

That wasn’t an interview, it was annihilation.

“I’m sorry.” Alicia looks guilty. “He’s not usually so blunt. We’re under a lot of pressure right now, with the deadline—”

“It’s fine.” I manage to find my voice. I reach for my portfolio and sketchbook with shaking hands. “He was just being honest.”

Honest about the fact I’m a talentless hack, who never should have even stepped foot inside the building.

“Have you finished that dress yet, the purple one?” Alicia asks, as I get to my feet. “I’d love to see it when it’s done.”

I shake my head. “It was just a sketch.” Why bother finishing it now, when it’s clear it’s a waste of my time?

“Oh, shame. Well, thanks for coming all this way.” Alicia hovers, awkward in the doorway. “And send my best to Hunter. I saw his parents at lunch just the other week, such a wonderful family. They’re coping so well.”

I nod dumbly, then grab my stuff and hurry back the way I came, through the sprawling office, full of people with actual skill and talent, living a dream that will never be mine.

How could I have been so stupid?

I hit the elevator button angrily, already fighting back the deja vu of every time I was rejected and left on the sidelines, every time someone sneered and whispered dirty names behind my back
. She’s just a crazy slut. She’s nothing
.

What made me think I could ever make it in a place like this? I’m not good enough.

You’ll never be good enough for them.

The elevator arrives, and I step inside
.
How could Hunter do this to me? If he’d only warned me, I could have been better prepared. Worn something cute and stylish, rehearsed my answers, instead of stammering away like a thoughtless idiot. I could have braced myself for rejection, instead of getting slammed out of nowhere. Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference, and Maxwell still would have seen through me, written me off as the foolish kid I really am. But at least I could have been ready for it. Maybe I would have stood a chance…

Hunter had no right to do this. I grab a hold of my anger, and focus on it, trying to block out the wave of miserable heartbreak, and that too-familiar feeling that I’m not good enough. Rejection and disappointment will break me in two, but anger I can work with. Anger is my friend.