Page 4 of Make The Cut

“I can’t believe you thought you could get away with this.” She shakes her head, her blonde locks pulled back into a low ponytail. “You can forget about getting any severance benefits. You’re lucky I’m not suing you.”

A shudder goes down my spine. How did this all get so out of control? One minute, I had a thriving fashion career atLa Mode. Now, I’m about to losebothof my jobs. I see someone live-tweeting my demise right now. I’ll be lucky if I walk out of here without the Internet knowing I’m not just the younger sister of Ryder Black—a world-famous pop star—but also the writer behindMuse Unmasked, every netizen’s most loved or hated gossip blog.

Yeah. I’m not just going to never work in fashion again. I’ll probably never get a job in L.A. again.

“Why are you still here? Do you think your famous brother will save you? Not likely, since you’re the one who spilled his secrets.” She sneers. “The sheer disloyalty. Your brazen audacity and willingness to sell your ownboss’sdirty laundry are astonishing.I’mthe one who gave you any position or clout at all in this business, Poppy. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

I am, but not for the reasons she thinks I should be. No, each word coming out of her Chanel lipstick-coated mouth is just a reminder of the reasons I started my blog in the first place, even if it’s now tornadoed wildly out of my control.

“Getout!” she snaps. Jerking one unvarnished fingernail toward the door, she even stomps her Nike-clad foot. “You’re never going to work in this industry again. You’ll be lucky if you ever work in thiscityonce I’m through with you.”

Anger mingles with indignation and surges through my chest. After my ex-boyfriend’s fresh betrayal, which still smoulders in my chest, pain and fury make my heart throb in my ribcage, pounding to get out. I don’t want to endure another minute of her tirade with mute shame, as if I agree with a single word she’s said.

I’ve been hurt too many times in the last week to just suffer her scolding in silence.

“Well,you’llbe lucky if you ever hire another person afterI’mthrough withyou!” Probably not the wisest words to slip from my lips when I’m being fired.

But then again, I’ve never been the best at making wise decisions.

Not wanting to be dragged out by security—that reallywouldbe a nightmare—I grab my purse and box of stuff and start high-tailing it out of the door.

What started as a normal day has come tumbling down around my ears.

* * *

The heartache, rejection, and brutal agony that comes with being fired leads me to breeze into my favourite ice cream shop,Scoop, Scoop, and Scoop Some More, and act like I’m not about to spend my meagre savings on overpriced frozen desserts.

Well, it may be overpriced, but at least it’s delectable and the cure for most heartache. I lift my hair off the back of my neck, long overdue for a haircut that I can’t afford, and start scanning the menu. They switch it up every so often, and I’m excited to see what flavours are in store for me this time. I debate whether I should splurge on a pint—my bank account says no—or just get a double-scoop waffle cone as usual and pray that it tides me over until my next fix. I’m walking past the frozen display cases of dairy delight when I bump smack into…

“Red?”

I whip over to see the only person who would call me that, nearly hitting world-famous pop star, Naoya Sugawa, in the face with my ponytail.

Well, my ponytailwouldhave hit him in the face, if I was wearing heels and not my favourite broken-in cowboy boots, the pair that’s among the only things I still have from Kentucky. As it is, my hair only whips him in the collarbone.

“Lucky.” Despite my awful day, I can’t help the grin that lifts my lips as I take in his appearance.

He looks the same as ever: wearing a denim jacket covered in patches with no discernible theme, his hair dyed the same shade of blue, and he still looms over my five-foot-three frame with his more enviable stature of six-foot-one. If he looks the same, though, why does something clench in the pit of my stomach when seeing him here, now, when I’m at one of the lowest points in my life? I’ve never felt nervous around him before.

“I thought it was you. It must be myluckyday.” He leans his hip against the counter, the same smirk on his face as the one he wore when we first met. “Were you in line?”

The ice cream shop is surprisingly empty despite the hot day. Usually, it’s full of tourists or even children’s birthday parties from time to time. Maybe Naoya paid the workers to close the store for him. “No, not that there’s a line. I’m pretty sure it’s just you, me, and Gustav over there.”

I recognize Naoya’s stalwart bodyguard—he’s been working for him for nearly as long as Naoya and I have been friends—standing in front of the counter. He’s staring up at the menu with a blank expression, his eyes darting around the shop like an attacker will jump out from behind the counter and bean Naoya in the head with an ice cream scoop.

“Do you want some of my ice cream?” Naoya asks, straightening. That gets my attention.

I step closer to him. “What did you get?”

He shows me his insulated cooler bag. I spy mint chocolate chip, maple walnut, butter pecan, and chocolate peanut butter.

“You have a thing for nuts,” I say, taking the mint chocolate chip.

“Well, I have been accused of being…” He brushes his hair off his nape and spins around to show me his latest tattoo, of a peanut wearing a top hat and monocle. “Seriously nutty.”

I laugh. It’s even more ludicrous than his dancing bear tattoo years ago.

Somehow, his presence always manages to cheer me up since the fateful day so many years ago. We’ve kept in touch, always running into each other at some event and texting each other, since we’re loosely connected through my best friend, Skye, who briefly worked as his publicist.

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