Page 31 of Crash and Burn
"Good afternoon, Farrow and Paige," a woman said in a bored tone.
I nearly dropped my phone.
"Yes, hi, hello, um—" I stuttered. "I was given a card by Cliff Carling. He said I should give him a call."
"Name?" she asked.
"Lizzy Mitchell. But I don't think he knows my name. He saw me at a fashion shoot and said he liked my outfit and then gave me his card and told me to call him."
I snapped my jaw shut to stop my rambling.
“Phone number and email?" she asked.
I rattled them off once, then repeated them again slowly.
“We’ll be in touch,” she said, then hung up.
I lowered the phone and stared at the business card again. I was still in a state of disbelief, not quite sure what I'd just done.
Had I really been scouted by one of the hottest fashion designers in the world?
10
Ipractically skipped into work the next day. The smile wouldn't leave my face. My cheeks were beginning to hurt from the constant wide stretch from ear to ear.
I'd never in a million years imagined anything like this could happen. I enjoyed fixing up old clothes from bargain bins. That was it. I didn't know anything about haute couture or high-end fashion trends. I just sewed what I liked.
But it turned out someone else — someone important — liked my style, too.
I didn't want to get my hopes up. For all I knew the receptionist wouldn't even pass along my message, and even if she did, there was no saying whether or not that guy would remember me.
Still, just the thought that the creator of the Farrow and Paige fashion brand would stop and take notice of my outfit was beyond flattering.
I started envisioning my name being called out at award ceremonies and seeing my designs on the red carpet.
Maybe this could be the start of a whole new career.
My parents wouldn't approve. Definitely not. Fashion design? The entire concept was foreign to them. They barely even acknowledged my hobby now. I could already hear their admonishments about the lack of stability, the unlikelihood of actually making it big. The wordsstarving artistwouldn't be far from their lips.
But Grant was an artist and he'd managed to make things work out for him. Maybe not in exactly the way he'd hoped, but still. He made enough money working at the bar to help his family out, and then make some extra with his photography.
I couldn't wait to tell Grant. He was going to be so happy for me. He'd always been the one to reassure me whenever my parents got on my case. He'd always soothed my fears. He'd always encouraged me to live the life that I wanted, not the one my parents wanted for me.
He would probably be ecstatic that something like this had happened. After all, he had been the one to first bring up the idea of me working in the arts.
Grant had clearly seen something in me that no one else had, until now. He believed in me. He supported me.
I did one last hop and skip just before pushing open the doors to Sin and Tonic. My skirt flared out behind me as I twirled in a giddy circle. I'd made sure to wear a cute outfit today, just in case. Not that I thought Cliff Carling would come looking for me at the bar or anything. But there was always a chance. All he would have to do is ask around for someone to tell him where they could find Grant’s “assistant”. After all, Missy knew where he worked.
My cheery smile died as my lips pursed, but I forced myself to smooth out my face. I wasn't going to be upset or jealous. I wished Grant and Missy all the happiness in the world.
Grant always supported me, so I was going to support him.
I adjusted my skirt back into place and pushed through the front doors.
"I'm here!" I chirped. "Anyone else in?" One of the new bartenders was starting today and Mason had asked us to come in early to meet him. It was a good thing, because I hadn't been able to stay at home any longer. I had too much excitable energy. Might as well work it off at the bar doing a clean sweep of the place before the new guy showed up.
Grant popped up from behind the bar counter holding a cleaning rag and a bottle of solution.
