Page 4 of Fateful Exposure

"What about Brady Steele? He's pretty good. I think he captured Vortex's last photoshoot, which was amazing,” my closest friend Maria said as she flicked through the pages ofVogue's newest issue.

I sighed, falling back against the leather chair. My eyes roamed around my office as hope began to slip through my grasp. "No. Too expensive."

Maria mirrored my exasperated expression. The only difference was that she looked ready to pour out her frustrations on me.

"I'm this close to strangling you, Selly,” she declared. “We've gone through more than half of the photographers in the United States, and they're either not good enough or too expensive. Make up your fucking mind."

"You know I can't afford anyone too expensive right now, and I also can't afford anyone who's not good enough. Everything depends on this new line, and I can't have anything spoiling my chances."

More than anyone, Maria understood how important this was to me. To my career. She had been there when everything fell apart.

She sighed. "I know, sweetie. I know. And I want to help you, but I can't do that if you reject every name I mention."

"I'm sorry, Maria, but I can't afford Brady."

"Fine." She smacked her lips, got up, and walked to the tall window overlooking New York City. "What about Ashton McCall?"

I frowned. "Who's that?"

Maria gazed over her shoulder to look at me. "Don't say that in public. He's the most popular photographer around currently. Who do you think photographed Zed's fall designs this year? I know you've been out of the fashion scene for quite some time, but everybody's dying to work with him. He's exclusive. Very hard to get, actually."

I wasn't sure where she was going with this. "Okay…Why are you telling me this?"

She turned back to face the window. "Because we're going to get him."

I scoffed. "Have you been listening to a word I've said? If I can't afford Brady Steele, what makes you think I'll be able to afford this…Aston McCall?"

"Ashton," she corrected. "You'll be able to afford him because he's my friend."

I blinked. "I don't understand."

I waited for her to walk over to me. She picked up her Dior bag and hung it over her shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I'll see if I can arrange a meeting sometime soon. Ash is a real piece of work."

A plethora of questions rested on the tip of my tongue, but I held them back. If there was one thing I knew about Maria, it was that she always had a plan. As a fashion influencer, she knew a lot of people in the industry, and I had learned to trust that if she said she would do something, then she would.

"Alright," I said. "Thank you, Maria. I owe you lunch."

She blew me a kiss. "Don't thank me so soon. If I manage to get Ash, you’ll owe me a month of lunches." She was already heading for the door. "I have a meeting. I'll come by sometime this week."

"Take care. I miss you already." But she was already gone, and I was greeted with silence.

Just like it did whenever I was alone, memories of that night flooded my mind. I thought about it every now and then—against my better judgment. It had been a month, and yet I couldn't stop the mental travels back in time. The way Mystery Man had touched me, held me, kissed me. I had no idea why I was thinking about him, or even about that night. It was a one-time thing.

I had other important things to worry about, like my new line, for example. For the first time in three years, I'd decided to release new designs. My previous designs had been stolen by my then-boyfriend, Alex Monroe, who'd cheated on me with my cousin, Iris, a designer who had been working as my intern at the time and with whom he'd tried to take over my company.

When that hadn't worked, they'd gone off to start their own fashion company. With my fucking designs. It’d been too late before I realized what was going on. And when I eventually did, I'd been too heartbroken to do anything about it. While Alex's betrayal hurt, the fact that my own cousin had conspired with my man to rip me off hurt even worse.

And it hadn't been enough for them to betray me like that. No. They'd gone further to ensure I couldn't release new designs. I'd had deadlines to meet, and by stealing my designs, they'd left me with nothing to give to the public, thereby ruining my reputation. Nobody wanted to work with a designer who couldn't keep her word.

In this cutthroat business, your word was your bond. If your clients couldn't trust you, they would be better off without you.

Plus, rumors began to spread that I was incompetent. Certain “employees” came forward to accuse me of creating harsh working conditions, and that year's round of cancel culture started with my name at the top of the list.

That unfortunate situation led to subsequent failures. Work became slow. Celebrities and brands cut ties with me, and my employees began to quit due to low wages. I went through half of my savings just to do damage control. But each problem bore another, and it became too much to keep up.

Eventually, I had to close my company—years and years of hard work down the drain, just like that.

After, I'd gone into what my mother had termed “an emotional upheaval” that lasted for three years. My self-worth took the brunt of the betrayal, plummeting to unthinkable depths. I'd fallen in love with fashion during my childhood, and all I'd ever wanted was to see people wear my designs, which had been going pretty well until Alex and my wide-legged cousin messed things up.

---