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“Ah, yes. Business calls,” she said, taking a seat across from her.
A waiter arrived promptly. They both requested water and salads, the customary model diet. Cassandra started haggling the waiter about their variety of wine, and she ended up ordering a bottle of some vintage import. Chyna was hoping that the conversation would be shorter than a bottle of wine. She hadn’t really been drinking much the past two weeks and couldn’t afford a slip up.
“I was surprised to hear from your mother,” Cassandra mused aloud. “I wasn’t even aware that you were related at first.”
Chyna smiled, sitting up straighter in her chair. “Well, I’m glad she was able to reach you.”
“Your Marco wouldn’t give you the number?” she asked, her face giving away nothing.
Chyna breathed in sharply, not wanting to have this conversation. She wanted the modeling job. That was all she was here for. She wasn’t here for Marco. Forget about Marco. He put her on the map, and she damn well was going to keep herself there.
“It didn’t come up,” she answered honestly in as vague a manner as she could muster.
“I saw your spread,” Cassandra noted.
“I think everyone saw it,” Chyna said.
“Isn’t he extraordinary?” She wasn’t sure why she was using the same phrasing Cassandra had used at the Glam Ball, but it seemed fitting. She wanted to stay in comfortable conversation.
“He’s young,” she said with a shrug.
She had probably seen many talented young men come and go. Chyna doubted many of them had Marco’s flare. She needed to stop thinking about him. She was obsessed with an imaginary dream, and she needed to let it go!
“A young visionary. I think many have started as such,”
Chyna said as Cassandra’s wine arrived.
The waiter popped open the bottle and poured each of them a full glass of red wine. It was truly incredible—sweet but not too sweet and as smooth as butter. She could have drunk the whole bottle herself.
Probably not the best idea under the circumstances.
Cassandra sipped from her glass and sighed. “If only it was Italian,” she purred, her face a mask with a smile that didn’t seem to fit her.
“I miss Italian wine,” Chyna agreed.
But , this shit was fantastic.
“I always miss my home when I’m away,” she said, swirling the wine around in her glass before taking another sip.
“I can understand that. I’m back in New York after all.”
“This is your home?” she asked, studying her face.
Chyna nodded.
“I would have thought…well, it doesn’t matter.”
“You would have thought what?”
Chyna prompted.
“Just something…more. I can’t explain it,” Cassandra said, flourishing her hand to close the conversation. “Well, let’s get down to it. I’ve been up to my ears with meetings since I’ve been here. Why did you call this one?”
Chyna set her glass of wine down on the table and looked back up at Cassandra.
She wore the strangest smile on her face.
In a way, Chyna wasn’t even sure if you could call it a smile. It was just her face.
“I wanted to talk to you about that job offer. You mentioned that you were looking to add me to your collection, and I just needed to contact you. So is that spot still available?” Chyna asked, finding that she was rambling more than she had thought. Why was she so nervous?
Cassandra reached forward across the table and touched Chyna’s hand. Chyna looked down at it. She was a little surprised that Cassandra would touch her.
It seemed out of place.
“What happened?” she asked.
“What are you talking about?” Chyna responded. She was getting irritated for no reason. It seemed like Cassandra was trying to sympathize with her…or pity her.
Not only did she have no idea why Cassandra would do that, but it also wasn’t the appropriate response when asking about a job offer.
“With Marco. You were at the height.
You were the center.”
“You offered me a job, and he didn’t.
Plain and simple,” she said. Nothing about it was plain and simple, but it was the truth. She hadn’t given Marco the opportunity to get that far.
“But, why? What happened? He should have offered you that job. I saw the spread,” Cassandra reminded her.
Why was she reminding her though?
Why was she digging? Everyone had seen the spread! Every fashion designer in the world knew what her picture looked like at this point. What did that have to do with anything?
“I don’t know,” she spoke flatly. “He just didn’t.”
“Huh,” Cassandra said, releasing her hand and leaning back in her chair. “You don’t know?”
“No,” Chyna lied. She knew damn well what had happened. She had walked out on him. She had ruined it. “But, Marco doesn’t have anything to do with this meeting. I just came to talk to you about the job you offered me.”
“I know, but unfortunately, Marco Moretti has a whole hell of a lot to do with this meeting,” Cassandra said, tipping her glass back and finishing off her first glass of wine.
Oh, no! Oh, no, no, no! This could not be happening. What did Marco have to do with this? What had he done? She could feel the vibrations on the train tracks, but she couldn’t move. The train was coming whether she wanted it to or not, and she couldn’t stop it or slow it down.
“Why?” was the only thing she managed to get out. She was pretty sure that she looked shocked.
“You really don’t know,” Cassandra muttered softly. “Interesting.”
“Care to enlighten me?” she asked dryly.
“You’ve been blacklisted across all design markets. You’re unhirable.”
Chyna’s head swam, and she rested her hand on the table to keep herself from spinning.
Blacklisted.
All markets.
Unhirable. Her throat ceased. She didn’t understand those words, especially not all together in relation to her. She…she couldn’t be. She just couldn’t be.
He wouldn’t do that. She had been on top. She had been everything. Then, one f**k up—leaving him—and that was the end? That couldn’t be the end!
This was what she wanted! He couldn’t steal the one thing that she wanted. It’s not like she had taken anything from him except the break up.
