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“I care that she’s upset,” I clarified firmly, if only for myself. “But not enough to move back. I mean you know how she was.” Irrational. Manipulative. Sometimes unhinged. “I survived twenty-two years under her roof, playing by all her crazy rules, letting her control me like a marionette, and the only reason I didn’t go insane was because I had already mapped out an escape plan my senior year of high school. And because I was quietly executing that plan throughout my four years of college. Between commuting and classes, I was secretly getting all my ducks in a row—going to job interviews, looking at dozens and dozens of apartments, so that by the time I told my mom I was moving out, I already had the keys to my new place and my first day at work all lined up.”
I didn’t even realize I’d looked away till I found myself turning back to Iain, briefly surprised by the look of unmasked intrigue on his face as he studied me. I’d never seen it before and admittedly, I liked it. Probably because I knew the reason behind it.
You didn’t think I had it in me.
You thought I was just Mommy’s perfect angel the whole time, with no brain of her own.
Surprise, I wasn’t.
“How did you manage to save up enough to move without her knowing?” he asked.
Just the question made me suck in a deep breath.
“I… busted my ass, for sure,” I said, breaking into a true smile as I thought about the four-year marathon that was The Great Escape. “The first year of college, I scheduled all my classes in the morning so I could work a mid-shift as a waitress somewhere before going home. But then my mom demanded a copy of my schedule and interrogated me about that big chunk of free time, so that plan fell through,” I said, wincing as I remembered Mom’s catastrophic meltdown that day. “So instead, I did multiple odd jobs between classes and started my online store.”
“Your online store?”
“Etsy,” I said. “It’s just this thing where—”
“I know what Etsy is, Holland,” Iain said with a laugh that cut through the tension and made me smirk. “I’m just wondering what you sold.”
“Well, I was getting there,” I said, holding my playful gaze on him as I said thank you to Brooke.
She’d just set my Prosecco down, and judging from her turn to Iain, she was about to start chatting again. But his eyes remained on me, and it was clear they were going nowhere so to my slight satisfaction, she did an awkward little two-step before leaving us alone.
At which point I started my story about the start of my store—which, of course, began with a friend at Parsons who had a connection to buy Levi’s wholesale for cheap. I’d saved up for the first shipment so I could cut them into shorts that I distressed myself. It was for a handful of classmates that had asked about the distressed shorts I’d worn to school.
“I randomly made them this one night when my mom went nuts on me for coming home late, because I’d missed the bus. I really just missed it for normal reasons, not drug or alcohol reasons like she assumed, but after she laid into me, I went into my room and took out my anger on an old pair of jeans,” I said, laughing at the memory from what felt like ages ago. “Actually, that first pair came out horrible. But then I did some research, made another one, and it was good enough that I wound up bringing it in my backpack and changing into it before a class.”
A small smile tugged on Iain’s lips now as he was listening, and I wasn’t sure if it was that or the Prosecco that had me feeling suddenly giddy as I recounted the story.
“So, after my friends bought the first few pairs, the weather was getting hot, and they told me that their friends were starting to ask where they could get those shorts. So I decided to set up a shop online,” I said, unable to help myself from beaming as I relived the little thrill. “It was just Parsons students at first, but then they’d review, and the reviews got orders from all over to start trickling in. I customized to their measurements and charged between sixty to eighty dollars a pair, but if they wanted customizations like studs or other embellishments, it could get to a hundred dollars or more.”
The last detail on the story lifted Iain’s eyebrows—probably because he had no clue the market for perfectly distressed denim was so rabid. At one point, neither had I.
“So you were doing all this at home?” he asked.
“Yep. At home. Between classes. Wherever I could.” I took a sip of my Prosecco. “By the second summer, I was slammed. There was a week where I had a friend help, and we finished and shipped twenty-four pairs. When my mom saw me working on them at home, I just said they were an extra credit assignment. I even showed her an email as proof,” I giggled, and when Iain tilted his head inquisitively, I explained. “I’d just had one of my favorite teachers write the email for me, saying it was for the coming semester. In case I ever needed it. Which, of course, I did.”
Iain laughed. “I’m impressed,” he said genuinely, making me grin.
“Thanks. It was a lot of work, but I wasn’t allowed to have a social life anyway, so I figured it was the best use of my free time,” I shrugged. “Plus, I think it’s the only reason I got hired to my dream job with the Mercier Group.”
“Right. And which Mercier brand is it that you work for?” he asked, referring to the fashion conglomerate that owned my company.
A crooked grin wiggled onto my lips before I replied. “Minx,” I said, watching the name recognition flash in his eyes.
Like everyone in the world, Iain knew it. It was a lingerie company. The lingerie company. He’d definitely seen their billboards before, generally in Soho or on the Lower East Side.
“Minx was your dream job?” Iain questioned, his brow furrowed.
“Yep. Since I was fourteen.”
When he said nothing, I gave a knowing look.
“You’re curious as to why I got obsessed with a lingerie company when I was fourteen, but you’re too afraid to ask,” I laughed. “And in your defense, a part of you also doesn’t want to know,” I added, reading him so thoroughly that he had to raise his eyebrows.
“That’s accurate.”
