Page 12 of Until I Own You

“Yes, that’s why…it’s more experimental.” I half-laugh.

“Bridget, please. Let your work speak for itself. Don’t do it the disservice of qualifying it.”

I nod. “Very well.”

“Good.” Deborah flips the sketchbook around and shows off the design.

One of my favorite pieces.

In the sketch, the model wears a pair of see-through black pants that look light and flowy, but on top, she’s strapped in by a harness with metal rings. However, instead of being made of leather, it’s lace.

“Tell me about your inspiration.”

I clear my throat. “Well, my philosophy on lingerie first and foremost is to make the wearer feel beautiful. And I’m interested in the intersection of physical beauty and power. It’s like a chicken and the egg almost. Does beauty make you feel powerful or does power make you feel beautiful?”

“And that’s what you’re playing with?”

I swallow. “Yes, with my last few sketches.”

Deborah flips through the last few. “You see this as being marketed toward the average woman?”

“The average sexually enlightened woman.”

I almost cringe at my own words. Because how dare I say that when I’ve never had sex myself?

But that is the goal. I want to be that woman. “Women who understand what they want and what they like from their encounters.”

“Hmmm…” Deborah pinches her lips that are painted in a barely-there nude color. She’s silent as she flips through my sketchbook. From the beginning to the end. “You’re certainly versatile. That’s important in a world where anyone can be anything.”

I shrug. “I just have a lot of interests.”

“Do you?” Deborah’s eyebrows waggle.

“I –” My throat constricts. “When it comes to fashion and trends, yes.”

The older woman readjusts her glasses and scratches the back of her close-cropped gray pixie cut. “I like it, Bridget. I like it. You’ve got a vision. But it’s not overt. It’s being cultivated. All you need now is the power to stand and say what you mean.”

“Working on it.” I half-laugh.

Deborah flips the book closed and places it back on the table between us. “You said you have samples?”

“Yes, I do.” I touch the garment bag beside me. “They’re made by my own hand which is to say if they were done by an actual garment house, they’d be much more well-crafted, but –”

“Bridget! Stop selling yourself short.” Deborah’s hands tap the air in front of her like bongo drums.

“Would you like to see them?” I take the zipper of the bag in my hand.

Deborah shoots up out of her seat. “Yes, I would.”

But then she just begins to walk away from our table and cluster of chairs in the main hall of the club. What is happening? Did I miss something?

Deborah turns and jerks her head toward the stairs that lead down to the Underground, her chunky necklaces clacking. “Come along. We need models, don’t you think?”

I blink a few times. “O-of course! Of course, we do!” I grab the bag and the book and follow her down to the Underground.

“Hazel!” Deborah calls out to the sub manning the front desk.

Hazel smiles. “How can I help you, Mistress Angelise?” Hazel leans to the side and smiles at me. “Hi, Ms. Vance.”

---