Page 24 of Addiction

The people here were not the regular run-of-the-mill celebrities. These people were at the top in their fields. After all, Jacques Namura was known to be selective in whom he invited for his shows, and he only invited the best among the best. For her to even have received the invite was like a dream come true. His invites were coveted by everyone, for only an elite few received them every year.

Excitement buzzed through her veins. She, Navya Mehra, was here at one of the most exclusive events hosted in the fashion world. She hadn’t stopped jumping in glee ever since her assistant Lavina had oh so casually dropped the embossed white invite on her desk two days ago. She’d taken one look at the logo and screeched. For Jacques Namura to even know of her meant she was doing something right. Fate had thrown her a unique opportunity. Tonight could be the beginning of something new—new possibilities, new connections—and she was going to walk inside, ready to take on whatever was thrown her way.

She turned when someone called her name. Navya pasted a smile on her face as she came face to face with Rehana Haddad, the reigning model on the Middle Eastern fashion ramps.

“Navya,habibti, how are you?” Rehana air kissed Navya’s cheeks. “Fancy seeing you here. How popular have you become to be invited tonight? You weren’t there last year, right? It was all so beautifully organized then too.”

She ignored the model’s subtle jab that Navya wasn’t on the guest list the previous year, while Rehana, of course, had attended. Navya was well acquainted with the famous model. She’d bumped into her several times over the years at various events across the Middle East. The woman was a diva through and through, and she liked reminding people that she wassomeone of import. Which she was. She was extremely famous and a trendsetter.

“Rehana, you look lovely,” Navya said. “Love your outfit. Versace looks good on you.”

The other woman adjusted the bodice of her silver sequinned gown, preening under Navya’s attention.

“You have a good eye, as always. I like what you’re wearing too,” Rehana touched the sari folds that fell from Navya’s shoulder in a waterfall of gold silk. “What designer is this?”

“It’s Qumiss, an upcoming and very promising designer from India. I like to promote designers from my country.”

“Hmm,” the other woman ran her gaze down Navya. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Right now, I have to say hello to some people before I go backstage to change. I’m the showstopper again this year.”

Navya gave her a nod and a smile, watching her saunter away. It would be so great if she could work with Rehana. Whoever the model worked with was instantly coveted by others in the profession. But the model was known to be picky and extremely fussy with whom she worked. Well, hopefully, someday, she would get to work with someone of Rehana’s stature. Accepting a glass of champagne from a passing server, she walked deeper inside the vast hall.

After two more glasses of champagne, she was absolutely delighted with how the night was progressing. She’d spoken to various men and women, many of whom were not from the fashion industry, but were at the event as guests and clients of this exclusive designer. She even got talking with a Lebanese film actress who’d expressed a keen interest in her work.

A lot of her time also went into interacting with several of her contemporaries from the industry. Some of them had always behaved superior to her, but now they looked at her as an equal because she was here tonight. She couldn’t believe that oneinvite had the power to change the perception of people, but it did. She looked around searching for the designer who’d invited her, but couldn’t see him anywhere.

One of her clients, an Arabic TV actress, waved at her from across the hall. Smiling, she took a step toward her when someone took her name.

“Navya!”

She turned to the voice, and her smile vanished. With absolutely zero enthusiasm, she addressed the man in front of her.

“Hello, Ozan.”

Bloody hell. Of all the people she had to run into tonight, it had to be him. How the hell had she not considered that she’d end up meeting him here? Ozan Kaya was one of the most famous photographers on this side of the world, so of course, he’d be invited tonight. Unfortunately, he was also the very same man she’d gone on that regretful date a few weeks ago.

She sighed. She hadn’t thought much when she’d agreed to go out with him. He was good looking, but not drop-dead gorgeous. He was rich but not over-the-top rich. He spoke well and they shared common interests, namely their love of fashion. In short, he fit her type. He’d taken her to an Arabic restaurant where he’d spent an awful lot of time talking about himself. She’d been bored in the first half an hour, yet had prodded along the evening, hoping it would get better. But it hadn’t. And now, after ignoring his texts and messages for days, she was stuck facing him again.

Ozan stepped closer to her. His blue eyes took her in from top to toe. A hungry look crossed his face, like he was mentally undressing her. She was utterly revolted by it and him. What had she been thinking when she’d agreed to go out with him? When he came closer, she backed a surreptitious step.

“I’ve called you so many times. You never reply,” he said. “Not even a text.”

“I’ve been busy… You know how it is.”

That night, on the way back, he’d stopped the car in front of her house and tried to touch her inappropriately and kiss her. It had sorely pissed her off. Added to that was the disgusting fact that his breath had reeked of garlic, thanks to the extra topping of garlic sauce he’d added to his shawarma. Ugh, no. She’d been thoroughly put off.

She wasn’t a hook-up kind of a woman, and she definitely didn’t kiss a man on the first date. And yet she’d kissed… No, that wasn’t a date, and no, she was so not going there.

He slung his camera around his neck. “Women don’t dismiss me.”

Good to know she was the first. However, there was no way she was creating a scene with him here. It would reflect badly on her career if the guests here saw her arguing with him. He was famous, she wasn’t.

“Are you working tonight?” she deflected.

“Yes.” He gave her a hard smile. “You look beautiful. Meet me at the bar upstairs after the show. You have to make up to me for running off that night and then ignoring me.”

That night, when she’d refused to kiss him, he’d tried to force her. In the end, she’d pushed him off of her, climbed out of the car, and rushed inside the gate of her house. And that had been the end of that miserable experience. But now, this man stood in front of her acting like he was God’s gift to womankind and that she ought to simply bow to his wishes. Not happening. Not in a million years.

“It was nice meeting you,” Navya said. “But I have plans for tonight.”

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