Page 83 of Pretend To Be Mine

“But they’re all so safe, even the newer ideas. They’re what you think you should design, not what you want to design.” He brushed his hand over my cheek. I practically melted. “Elizabeth, I’ve seen your passion. I’ve watched you work. You have vision, you have voice. But I don’t see any of that here.”

“Maybe this is my vision,” I snapped. “Maybe I just design differently than you expected. Maybe I’m not as edgy or avant-garde as you want me to be.”

“Hey.” His hand moved to my chin, gently turning my face toward his. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to help you.”

“Well, you’re doing a terrible job.” I tried to pull away, but he didn’t let go.

“Elizabeth, look at me.”

I did and saw nothing but sincerity in his dark eyes.

“As designers, our whole job is to share our creations with the world. Which means you need to get used to people having opinions about your work. Including criticism.” His thumb stroked my jaw. “I’ve had thousands of my designs rejected over the years. By buyers, by critics, by my own father.”

“Your dad rejected your designs?”

“Constantly. Especially in the beginning.” A sad smile played on his lips. “I’d show him something I was proud of, and he’d look at it and say, ‘You’re giving me good, but we only make amazing.’”

Despite my anger, I felt my ruffled feathers relax a bit. I was pretty sure it was only male turkeys that fanned their feathers when they were pissed, but that’s what I felt like in that moment. And that’s not an image I wanted to project or envision. A naked turkey.

“That must have been hard,” I said.

“It was devastating. But it also made me better. Made me push harder, dig deeper, and find what was truly mine instead of what I thought people wanted to see.” He released my chin. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. These designs—they’re good. But you’re capable of amazing.”

I looked back down at the portfolio, at designs I’d labored over, and been proud of. But now that Adrian had voiced what I’d been trying not to see, I couldn’t unsee it.

They were conservative. Safe. Nothing that would make buyers—or anyone—remember my name.

They were exactly what my mother would approve of. Which meant they weren’t really me at all.

“I don’t know if I can do amazing,” I said quietly, the fight draining out of me. “What if good is all I’ve got?”

“It’s not.” Adrian took the portfolio from my hands and set it aside. “We have a few hours before we need to be at the venue. I think you and I can create something amazing together.”

I looked at him and frowned. Sex? He wanted to have sex after he just crushed my soul?

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Sex inspires me. Gets those creative juices flowing.”

A giggle escaped me despite everything. “Well, I might not be able to walk later, but we can go again if you want to.”

He laughed. “No—well, yes, but later. I’m saying let’s sketch.”

“You want to design. In bed. Right now.”

“Why not? Some of my best ideas happen in bed.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Not all of them are fashion-related, but still.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension finally breaking. “Okay. Okay, let’s do it.”

I turned to a new page in my sketchbook and grabbed pencils from my bag. I had to pull on his shirt or we were never going to get anything done. He was slightly obsessed with my boobs.

We settled back against the headboard, the sketchbook propped between us.

“Start with what inspires you,” Adrian said. “Not what’s practical or marketable. What makes you excited?”

“I don’t know. Movement? Drama? I love watching fabric move on a body, how it can transform the way someone carries themselves.”

“Good. What else?”