Say the Word(31)

I nodded again — the entire staff had been briefed on the Centennial celebration months ago, and preparations were well underway for the event. It was going to, quite literally, be the party of the century. Fae had already purchased her dress on special order — designer, of course — and was nearly incapacitated by distress when I told her I’d yet to purchase mine.

“I’m sorry Jeanine, but I just don’t understand what the Centennial has to do with Sebastian Covington.”

“Dear, it has everything to do with Sebastian Covington. He is one of the most exclusive, well-respected photographers in the industry. The projects he agrees to are few and far between, and he doesn’t typically do fashion. We’re lucky to have him and, if we’re being candid, we probably wouldn’t if Cara Stein hadn’t convinced him. Apparently, they have a…personal connection.”

I’ll bet they do.

“He’ll be doing ten different themed spreads for us, recreating famous Luster shoots through the ages. One shoot per decade. Cara will pose for several of them. And you’ll be the Luster liaison assisting him,” she told me. “With whatever he needs. I don’t care if he wants you fetching dry-cleaning and coffee. You’re at his disposal. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.” My saccharine smile was far from sincere.

“Wonderful,” she said, clapping her hands twice in quick succession. “You’ll report to the ArtLust studio bright and early Monday morning. Mr. Covington has your contact information.” Her smile was vaguely amused as she glanced pointedly from me to the door. Apparently, I’d been dismissed; I stood to leave.

“Oh, and Lux?” Jeanine called when I’d reached the exit. “I’d suggest doing some preliminary research on Mr. Covington. Get familiar with his background, his past, his likes and dislikes…it may be useful.”

His past. I turned to face her and nodded, forcing the bubbling hysteria down.

“I’ll be sure to do that, Jeanine. Have a good weekend.”

I exited her office in a stupor, not exactly sure how it had happened but knowing full well that in the last five minutes, everything had changed irrevocably. When the door closed at my back, Fae was there by my side almost instantly. She took one look at my shell-shocked expression, looped an arm through mine, and guided me through the gauntlet of curious stares and gossip back toward our desks.

“So, we’re going to that new sushi place for lunch. The one with the spicy tuna roll I’d sell my soul for,” Fae prattled loudly, filling the silence with a cheerful tone meant to fend off the unwanted attention of our onlookers. “I remember you said you wanted to get salads but I’m really craving sushi. I know you Georgia girls get nervous about anything that hasn’t been fried or smothered with Crisco first, but just trust me on this one. You’ll love it.”

I kept my eyes focused forward, not meeting anyone’s gaze and pretending I didn’t hear the speculative murmurs about my meeting with Jeanine and my halting interaction with Sebastian. My face was carefully blank, my posture rigid with self-containment.

Once we were out of earshot, Fae dropped her ruse, falling silent with a reassuring arm squeeze.

“You gonna make it through the morning meeting? ‘Cause if you need to ditch, I’ll come with you. Or I can stay here and cover for you. Whatever you need, love,” Fae offered quietly when we’d reached the semi-privacy of my cubicle.

“I’ll be fine,” I told her. “But thanks.”

“Want to talk about it?” she asked. I glanced at my watch. The daily staff briefing began in five minutes — not enough time to even scratch the surface of my past with Sebastian.

“Later,” I said. “Over margaritas. With double tequila.”

“That bad, huh?” She grimaced in sympathy.

“You have no idea.”

“Well, if what I saw earlier is any indication, there’s definitely some unresolved tension between you two. I mean, Jesus, your little stare down in front of Jeanine’s office? Talk about intense.”

I nodded.

“Well, time to go face down the devils,” Fae announced, looping her arm through mine once more.

“…in Prada,” I added with a wry smile.

Fae laughed as we made our way to the conference room, the final two to straggle in behind the other twenty people in our department — nineteen catty women and one fabulous gay man named Simon who often tagged along with Fae and me for post-work cocktails or girl’s night out.

After moving to the city at eighteen from a small, über-conservative town in Ohio, Simon had attended Parsons, where he liked to say he’d majored in fashion design and a minored in celebrity stalking. His talents were put to good use here at Luster, as he managed the “Who Wore It Better,” “Hot or Not,” and “Trendy Today” sections. He and Fae could talk fashion for hours on end, which would’ve been nauseating except they were so genuinely obsessed I couldn’t help but listen in — even though I didn’t have a firm opinion on whether high-waisted shorts were a do or a don’t, or whether color-block maxi dresses were glam or gauche.

For the most part, my best friends were pretty awesome.

The one exception to this was when they turned their chic eyes on my wardrobe and decided to make what they considered “necessary” changes. Three separate times over the last two years I’d returned home from a run in Central Park or a trip to the grocery store, only to find the two of them huddled in my closet adding new items and confiscating things they considered out of vogue. And that was only counting the occasions I’d caught them in the act — god only knew how many times they’d broken in without my knowledge.