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“You made it,” someone at my side said dully.
“Yes!” I pumped my fist, grabbing one of the poles as the subway lurched into motion. I might sweat the entire way to the Garment District, but I’d been victorious. I now had a shot at making my class on time.
I smiled to myself the whole ride, buzzing with satisfaction. Not only had I clocked another successful and productive day at Fairchild Enterprises, now I was slated to clock a productive evening making strides toward my fashion certificate. It was hard, but I was making it work. Even if I slacked on my coursework a little.
My phone vibrated from inside one of my tote bags as the train approached my stop. I fished it out once I’d crossed the platform and was heading up the stairs to the street.
DAMIAN: Hey. Have you left the office?
I frowned down at the message. This was odd. I waited until my feet hit the sidewalk before I typed out my response.
JESSA: Yeah. What’s up?
When Damian didn’t text back immediately, thoughts of his message vacated my brain space altogether. After all, tonight’s topic was pattern making—myleastfavorite part so far—and I needed to start refocusing on design.
That’s what I was here to do, after all. I hated that I had to remind myself of it after getting caught in the captivating Fairchild web.
Anxiety thrummed under my skin as I spotted the deli I normally stopped at. But I didn’t have time to stop for a sandwich today, even though I knew I’d be starving within the hour. These sessions were three hours long, and the pattern making class threatened to be grueling. I’d be home after eleven, which meant dinner tonight would consist of popcorn out of my purse.
After another city block, I remembered I hadn’t heard back from Damian. I headed for the edge of the sidewalk, right up against the wall of whatever building occupied this block, and dug out my phone, which had gotten buried at the bottom of my purse.
DAMIAN: Where are you?
He’d sent the message ten minutes ago.
JESSA: Just out and about. Is everything okay?
I sent the message and continued my trek to my class, nibbling on my lip as I wove through people on the sidewalk. It wasn’t normal for Damian to text me like this outside of work hours. Especially not after a full nine hours at the office. Andespeciallynot to demand to know my whereabouts.
Anxiety spiked as I crossed another street. I wanted to get to the class as much as I wanted to know what was going on with Damian. I pulled out my phone, just in case I missed a notification. As I glanced at the screen, I miscalculated the distance between me and an oncoming pedestrian. My tote glanced against them, knocking me off balance. I stumbled, and my phone flew from my hand onto the curb.
“Sorry,” I called out over my shoulder but got nothing in return.
“Shit shit shit bricks,” I muttered under my breath as I scurried after my dropped phone. It lay on a small pile of browned and crusty leaves, the last round of fall still on its way toward decomposition. My screen reflected my face on a black, silent screen—with a brand-new crack at the top edge. I sighed, tapping my foot as I attempted to tun it back on.
But the clock was ticking, and my phone wasn’t turning on. I tried again, failed, and decided to forge onward. The hustle and bustle of hoisting my totes, arranging my dress, trying to revive my phone and making sure I hadn’t forgotten anything consumed the rest of my trip, until suddenly I was a half block from my class.
When my phone began vibrating in my bag, I realized it must have come back to life somewhere along the way.
“Hello?” I pressed the phone to my ear as well as I could with the ten pounds of sewing paraphernalia dangling from my arms.
“Did you get my messages?” Damian demanded, something foreign and twisted in his tone.
“Uh, yeah. Well, I mean, no.” My flat slipped off my foot as I crested the curb, and I swore softly, pausing on top of sewer grates to wriggle my foot back into it. People flowed around me like water bypassing an enormous rock in the river. “I was about to check again. I lost signal—”
“Listen, I need you at the office.”
I swallowed hard, looking up at the big block letters that spelled out the name of the building this class was in:RICHARDS.Class started in ten minutes. I washere, and I needed to go to class.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, lingering by the front doors. A few classmates I recognized glided into the building, sending me smiles. “What’s going on?”
“I’m calling an emergency meeting,” Damian said, his tone leaving no room for disagreement. “I already sent the car to your apartment. It’s en route.”
I squeezed my eyes shut.Fuck.It wasn’t that I didn’t want Damian to know about this fashion certificate course, but, well, I didn’t really wantanyoneto know about this fashion certificate course unless they absolutely needed to. Until I had some semblance of a future in fashion already secured, so I didn’t seem like even more of an idealistic failure than I already was.
“Damian, I’m not home right now.”
Silence. Then he snapped, “Then where the fuck are you? I’ll re-route.”
