Page 87 of Crash and Burn
With everything that had been going on with Grant, I'd almost forgotten Farrow and Paige was getting ready to release our fashion line. My heart jumped at the thought. My designs were going to be on display for the world to see. Real people were going to wear my clothes to model them. I hadn't discussed with Carling what kind of marketing and PR push this project was going to get, but I had to assume it was going to be big. Whenever Farrow and Paige put out a new line the entire world went nuts over it.
Now that I was thinking about it, wasn't it a bit odd Carling hadn't talked about that kind of thing with me? Surely there would be something like interviews with fashion journalists, or some magazine wanting to do a profile on me. I'd been so focused on the actual work I hadn't thought about what sort of role I'd play in the marketing plan. Exactly how much public attention was I going to get? Media in the fashion world loved up-and-coming designers and new faces in the industry.
A small shiver of excitement went through me, along with a hint of nervousness. I didn't know if I wanted to be famous, exactly, but it would be amazing to be recognized for my work. Maybe then my mother would realize I had actual talent, that I wasn't wasting my life, that I was doing something important with my skills and not just "sewing clothes and things" as she liked to put it.
I pulled out my phone and did a search for Farrow and Paige. Surely there had to be some kind of news article about this, even if it was just a post on a fashion blog. Juicy information and insider knowledge were coveted and all the fashion enthusiasts fought to be the first to announce the latest scoop or be the first to show themselves off wearing a new design.
I didn't have to search for long because it seemed like a press release had already gone out to the media. Tons of entertainment sites were covering it. My project with Carling was big news — and a big hit.
My heart started beating faster as I read the news articles one after another. Everyone loved Farrow and Paige's newest fashion line. My designs were calledinnovative, anddelightful,and evenavant-garde. That last one had been written by a regular journalist who probably didn't know what exactly avant-garde really was. Still, it was thrilling to read so many positive responses to my work.
There was one thing, though, that made me pause.
None of the articles mentioned my name.
They mentioned Carling's name, of course. He was receiving heaps of praise for his work. They wanted quotes from Carling, snippets and sound bites from the designer. It made sense. He was the important one, the man behind the brand.
But surely in one of those news articles someone would have mentioned me?
Frowning, I re-did the search with both my name and Farrow and Paige.
No search results.
A rising sense of disbelief washed over me. That couldn't be right.
In fact, now that I thought about it, none of the articles or blog posts mentioned a new designer at all. Wouldn't that have been big news? Instead, the articles only talked about Carling as everyone gushed over the new designs. Not one mention of him working with someone else.
Desperate, I pulled up the official press release, wanting to read the exact words Carling's PR people had put out.
There was not one single mention of me. Not my name, or even the fact that the brand was working with a new designer.
Had Carling forgotten to tell his people about me? Had this been an oversight by the marketing department? It was true that I hadn't talked to anyone else at the company, just Carling. No one else knew I was doing any work with him. But wouldn't he have at least brought up the fact that the designs were created by someone other than him?
What thehell?
I hastily pulled up Farrow and Paige's phone number from my contacts and tapped to call. The phone rang several times before someone picked up with a chipper greeting. It was the perky receptionist I'd seen when I'd first gone into their office.
"Um, yes, hi," I stumbled. "I'd like to speak to Cliff Carling, please."
"Who may I ask is calling?" she requested pleasantly.
"Lizzy Mitchell.”
"Oh!" The receptionist let out a small breath, pausing. "I'm sorry," she continued. Her voice had taken on an oddly formal tone, less chipper than before. "Mr. Carling is unavailable at the moment."
"Can you leave a message and tell him to call me as soon as possible?" I asked.
"Yes, of course, I'll do just that," she said hastily. "Have a good day!"
She hung up. I stared at my phone.
She hadn't even asked for my phone number.
I didn't like this.
My eyebrows drew together. I scanned all the article headlines again, saw everyone raving over Farrow and Paige's new fashion line, saw everyone raving over the genius designer Cliff Carling.
Not once, in any of his interviews, had he mentioned me at all.
