Page 72 of False Start

She smiles ruefully.

"Well, if you won't have any, I'll take yours. My dry spell's been going on so long, my coochie's liable to catch fire soon."

We giggle again and pack up our stations before heading to the bar.

Design lock was three days ago, the show is in two weeks, and today, I am meeting withtheKendra Gray.Kendra fucking Gray!I gave her booking agent my portfolio and the details for the show and then almost choked on my lunch when she actually responded.

She's not just a wildly popular plus-size model. She's a style icon in her own right. Her Instagram inspired several of my everyday looks.

I wipe my clammy palms on my wool slacks and take another sip from my water glass. It's already almost empty, and she isn't even here yet.Get it together, Denise!

I flip my phone over on the table to check the time when a harried woman bursts into the restaurant.It's Kendra. Her hair is plastered to her forehead,—clearly she got stuck in the rain without an umbrella—but she still looks stunning. Like a light-skinned Philomena Kwao with freckles across the bridge of her nose.And tall. Most models have to be at least 5'7", but Kendra is past 6', towering over a group of businessmen standing by the bar.

She scans the restaurant before meeting my gaze and smiling in recognition.

"Hi!" she says, making her way towards me from the hostess station. "I'm so sorry I'm late! There was an accident on Broadway and I opted just to run the last four blocks."

I stand to shake her hand.

"Oh my goodness! I would've rescheduled," I offer apologetically. "You didn't have to ruin your outfit."

She waves me away like I'm being ridiculous.

"Nonsense. It's just a little water. I'm sure my driver will be outside by the time we're done."

We both settle into our seats and the server whisks by to take our drink orders, fumbling a bit when he sees Kendra. I smother a laugh.

"What?" she asks.

"The server," I gesture towards the blonde twenty-something I can see blushing from our table. "You must be used to people fawning all over you."

One side of her mouth quirks up.

"Guilty. It happens more when I have a big campaign, but you know as well as I do that men in the city havenoproblem letting a woman know what they think about how she looks. They catcall as much as the Italians."

I smile in response, though I've never been to Italy. It's on my bucket list, though.

"So," she starts, smoothing her damp hair out of her face, "tell me about the dress. I assume you brought pictures?"

I nod and snap into professional mode, pulling my portfolio from my bag and opening it towards her. She takes it, admiring the details and flipping to see a few of my other designs.

"This is beautiful, Denise. I'm not at all surprised, given what my agent showed me, and everything I saw on your social media."

I blush profusely.

"Oh, wow. Thank you, Ms. Gray."

She looks at me like I'm crazy and shakes her head.

"No way. Call me Kendra. We're going to be working together, after all."

I gasp and clutch the cloth napkin in my lap.

"We are?"

She nods this time, a wide grin on her face.

"Of course! The dress is gorgeous, your work is flawless, and, c'mon; it's Bailey Maxwell. I'd be crazy not to want to walk in one of his shows. There are so few designers who cater to us fuller-figured ladies."

---