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Her eyes instinctually found Marco in the crowd. The reporters were hovering over him like moths to a flame, trying desperately to get the next interview. He was engaged with a particularly attractive blonde at the moment. Chyna wasn’t even surprised that the woman was basically molesting him or that he was letting her.
They weren’t together. Their arrangement had nothing to do with that. It was only about lust, need, hate, and passion, and she liked to keep it at that.
Still, there was some kind of draw she felt to him—that she had always felt to him. It was strangely magnetic. It made her want to claw her way out of her clothes one minute and then slap him clear across the face the next minute…before letting him tie her to the bed and tease her until he forgave her. It was a never-ending cycle—lusting after a man who had the power to break her and knowing half of the time she wanted him to.
“He is extraordinary, isn’t he?”
someone asked from behind her.
Chyna made the mistake of swiveling in place, twisting the train up around her ankles and nearly sloshing her Champagne on the priceless one-of-a-kind dress. She teetered in place, rearranging the skirt in her mile-high shoes before glancing up at the woman who stood before her.
She was plain in a way that made Chyna wonder if she had modeled when she was younger. Makeup, smiling eyes, and a camera could cover up plainness real quick. Wearing a molded burgundy mermaid gown tapered to a deep V in the back, she had the taste of someone accustomed to high fashion. Her only accessory besides her shimmery gold clutch was one long strand of white pearls that hung from her slender neck. Chyna would recognize the swirly Corsa logo on the clasp anywhere; after all, her mother had worked for them.
“Who?” Chyna asked, smiling sweetly at the woman.
“You know who,” she said, slinking forward slightly.
Chyna glanced back at Marco who was speaking confidently into a tiny microphone.
“He is,” Chyna answered her initial question.
“With, if I might add, impeccable taste,” she said with a smile that didn’t quite match her face.
“Why, thank you,” Chyna said, wondering who the hell this woman was.
She recognized quite a few of the faces in here, at least all the ones that really mattered. Yet, this was not a familiar face.
“Excuse me, I’m being rude.
Cassandra,” the woman said, holding out her hand.
“Pleasure,” Chyna responded.
“You’re American,”
Cassandra commented.
Chyna didn’t know if it was a negative or positive feature.
The woman’s expression gave away nothing. Chyna never knew how people did that.
“Very.” She smiled wider and took a sip of her Champagne.
Cassandra chuckled softly, eyeing her flute of champagne but not taking a sip of it. “However did he find you? Have you ever even modeled before? You seem like a natural. Maybe he didn’t even need much time to mold you.”
It was a bit presumptuous. Alright, it was very presumptuous, but Chyna could appreciate that. In fact, it was a breath of fresh air in the crashing sea she had been wading through all summer.
“Forgive me,” the woman said in a way that made it seem as if she had no reason to be forgiven. “I continue with my rude behavior.”
“Seemed alright to me. Did you want something?” Chyna asked, trying to get to the point.
“I believe so,” she said, surveying Chyna. “Yes, I believe I do.”
All Chyna wanted to say was that she wasn’t all that into chicks because this woman was looking at her like she was deciding whether or not to take her home.
Chyna didn’t know what to make of it.
Was she flirting with her or just being odd?
“I’d like to offer you a job,”
Cassandra told her finally.
“Excuse me?” Chyna asked, staring back at the woman as if she were a martian. She hadn’t decided on what she was going to do now that her summer endeavor with Marco was coming to its conclusion. For the most part, she had been waiting for him to come to terms with the fact that he needed to keep her.
He needed a model for his line, and she was his model. He had all but created her.
It seemed a waste to let all that go after only a few short weeks.
She flipped back and forth about Marco every other minute, but she couldn’t deny his genius. He was the most successful talent that had arisen in the fashion industry during this generation, and she was a part of that. She thrived under his influence like she never had before. Her whole world moved too fast and out of control. It seemed to have a life of its own. The entire experience was an adrenaline rush on steroids. She hadn’t had that feeling from anything other than partying in a long, long time.
Partying used to be that escape for her.
She could escape into the dancing, nightlife, alcohol, and men that floated through her existence like a traveling circus. It was a world within a world—a world where she felt more at home than in reality. She became addicted to it—not the alcohol but the feeling of release.
She was as much afraid of that feeling as she reveled in it. What if she went back to her life and it all felt lifeless in comparison? How would she ever be able to escape?
So, she was waiting, waiting for him to make up his mind. She wanted to choose for him, but when it came right down to it, she didn’t know if she would choose him or not. She didn’t know if she would choose this life for herself. Perhaps in the end, it was only a novelty that would wear off with the passing of time like everything else had.
With conflicted thoughts, Chyna turned her attention back to Cassandra.
“I would like to offer you a job,”
Cassandra repeated slowly.
“Oh.”
“You are very good, and you don’t even quite know it yet. I think you would fit nicely into our collection,” she told her confidently.
After headlining Glam Ball, this woman wanted her to go be just another girl in her collection. Was she mad? She wanted…no, she needed to be showcased.
Chyna craved it now. Marco had spoiled her, and at that moment, she knew it.
“I’m sure it doesn’t sound like much to you,” Cassandra continued eyeing her as if she had dealt with a thousand other divas.
“However, I believe if you’d consider it, you’d realize it’s a wonderful opportunity.”
“Um…yes…well, thanks,” she said, finishing off her Champagne. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not sure what I’m going to be doing this fall…if I’ll even be modeling.”
