Page 20 of Meant to be Mine

“Tomorrow,” I said. “Get here a little early if you can. We’re doing model fittings here at the store. The whole Blackwell Summer line, getting everything sized and confirmed before the event. And we’ve got a special guest flying in from New York.”

She looked up from the screen. “Who?”

I smiled. “You’ll see.”

8

KENSEY

Igot up earlier than I would normally need to. I told myself it was because I wanted to make a good impression on my first real day. Not because I was excited to see Drew. And I was definitely not trying to look good for him.

I had packed for a summer of beach days and backyard dinners with my parents. Not for a job at a luxury clothing store in Beverly Hills. I ended up wearing one of the little black dresses I brought just in case I went out to dinner. I was going to need to do a little shopping to get some more outfits for the month.

I stopped in the kitchen long enough to fill my travel mug with coffee. Mom was at the side table attempting her puzzle. She was going to be blind by the end of it. The shades of white were no joke.

“You look nice,” she said.

“Thank you. I wasn’t sure how to dress. I’ve never been an assistant before.”

My dad appeared in the doorway in his robe, coffee in hand. “Have a good day, sweetheart. I’m looking forward to hearing all about it when you get home.”

“Thank you,” I said. “There’s some big guest coming in from New York today.”

He pointed at me. “Don’t let anyone make you feel like you don’t belong there.”

“I won’t.”

I used my new parking pass, given to me by Drew, and parked in the garage close to the building. I walked in and felt the buzz. Whatever was happening had everyone excited. I took the stairs up to the second floor.

The space up here looked completely different. Yesterday it had been quiet and mostly empty. Today it had been transformed overnight into something that looked like a backstage area at a runway show. Garment racks lined the walls, each one loaded with clothing in protective bags. A long folding table had been set up along one side with fabric swatches, pins, measuring tape, and a variety of tools I couldn’t name arranged in neat rows. Two large standing mirrors had been positioned near the windows. A rolling steamer sat in the corner, already warming up. Someone had pushed the furniture back to create a wide open central space.

Drew was standing in the middle of it all, talking to a woman I hadn’t seen before. He had his back to the stairs, so he didn’t see me come up. I paused on the landing for just a moment, taking in the scene. I was very aware I had no business being anywhere near the fashion world.

The woman was somewhere in her fifties, I guessed. She was neat and compact, with silver-streaked hair pulled back and wearing a simple dark dress that managed to look both practical and elegant at the same time. There was a measuring tape around her neck and a fanny pack around her waist.

He turned and spotted me. His face broke into a bright smile. “There she is.” He waved me over. “Come meet Annika.”

I crossed the floor toward them. The woman turned and gave me a thorough onceover. Not unkindly but I got the feeling she knew my bra size with just a single look.

“Annika, this is Kensey Blake. She’s my assistant, at least through the summer event. She’s also my best friend, so be gentle with her.”

“I am always gentle,” Annika said. Her accent was Swedish. Her handshake was firm. “Kensey is a lovely name.”

“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Annika has been with Blackwell Couture for twenty years,” Drew said. “She runs the dressmaking and alterations operation out of New York. She flies in whenever we have a major fitting.”

“The collection is beautiful this season,” Annika said, glancing toward the racks. “Your cousins have outdone themselves.”

Two other women were moving around the space. Annika’s team, I assumed. They moved like they’d done this a million times, which I imagined they had.

“Models start arriving in about thirty minutes,” Drew said, checking his phone. “We’ve got fourteen today. Eight women, six men. Annika’s team will take measurements, we’ll do preliminary fits, note what needs altering.”

I pulled out my notebook. “Do you have a list? Names, which pieces each model is wearing?”

He pointed at the table. “Clipboard. Right there.”

I picked it up. Someone had already printed a detailed grid. Model names down the left side, outfit numbers across the top, checkboxes for measured, fitted, notes. It was organized but clearly designed for someone who already knew what all the outfit numbers meant, which I did not.