More than Fashion

19

The remaining eleven designers were all directed to the third floor, to the space where we’d be living as long as we were on the show: the Loft. Like the lobby, it had that same modern and hip feel to it, with tall exposed ceilings, bamboo floors, and brushed metal everywhere.

The elevator opened directly into a large living room area with a bunch of boxy charcoal couches, and beyond that was a kitchen with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. There was a hallway that led to four full bathrooms, plus two large shared bedrooms—one for the women and another for the men.

A camera crew followed us inside as we checked the place out, and I knew from watching the show that there were other hidden cameras around the Loft. The only rooms that weren’t filmed were the bathrooms and the special private suite that the challenge winners got to use for a night. On previous seasons, the suite had had its own bathroom, eating area, and even a TV and music player. The door to it was in the middle of one of the living room walls, like it was lording over everyone else. Tonight, Dawn would be sleeping in there. Lucky girl.

Kelsey beamed at us once we were all squeezed into the living room. “You have the rest of the night free and dinner will be served soon. Make yourself at home and relax because tomorrow morning, bright and early, you’ll have another challenge! Isn’t that just the best? See you then!”

Her perkiness seriously grated on me. If I made it through the rest of the show without stabbing her, it would be a freaking miracle.

Our luggage was lined up along the wall. I grabbed the handle of mine and turned to follow the other women into the bedroom—and crashed right into Gavin, who must have been standing behind me. My bag toppled over and I might have gone with it, but he steadied me with a touch on my elbow. Even that slight connection caused a rush of warmth to shoot between my legs.

“Watch it.” I yanked my arm away, hoping he couldn’t tell how flustered he made me.

“My apologies.” He reached down to pick up my bag, but I bent to grab the handle first and jerked it away, the wheels clattering on the hardwood floor. I didn’t need or want his help. But as he straightened up, his eyes caught on something on the floor.

A sly grin spread across his lips, and he bent to grab it. He held the offending item up: my red lace panties from the other night. “Lost something, love?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I snatched the panties out of his hand and wadded them into a ball in my fist, glancing around. Everyone else was too busy with their own luggage to pay attention to us, thank god.

“No? You seem to have a hard time keeping track of those. Maybe I can help…”

“You are the last person I would ever go to for help.”

I spun on my heel and walked away before he could reply, but heard him laugh softly behind me. I came close to turning around and giving him another piece of my mind, but I forced myself to keep going. With another challenge early in the morning, I needed sleep.

The bedroom had six twin beds with small nightstands in between. I took one in the corner, and Trina and Molly took the beds near me, which saved me from being stuck next to Nika. Not that it really mattered where you slept because there was no privacy, no space, no escape. We were all going to be very familiar with each other over the next few weeks.

Or days, for some of us.

From here on out, one designer would go home every day or two. That didn’t leave much time to really get to know people. There were ten challenges per season, narrowing it down to three designers at the end. The finale was always at New York Fashion Week in September, one of the biggest fashion events of the year. It was every up-and-coming designer’s dream to show a collection there, and the three finalists at the end of Behind The Seams had the chance.

One challenge down. Nine more to go.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Day two. We were all up early—way too early for my jetlagged, exhausted self, but at least I didn’t have a hangover this time—and once we’d made ourselves pretty, we shuffled down to the design room to start the next challenge.

Lola waited as we spread out around her, her arms crossed like she was already annoyed at us for making her wait even that short amount of time. Today she wore a red dress that showed off her killer legs. She might not have been a runway model anymore, but she was still pretty damn hot.

“About time. I was beginning to wonder if not all of you would make it.” She glanced at me as she said it, even though I’d been one of the first in the room. The hell was her problem? “But before we start the next challenge, we have a surprise for you.”

I cringed, and some of the others gasped or groaned. A surprise on this show was never good for the designers.

The door behind Lola opened, and a man walked in with slicked-back hair bleached almost to white, a chiseled jaw, and icy blue eyes. Not to mention toned abs that could be seen clearly through his too-tight, black V-neck shirt. He was hot, no doubt about it, and he knew it, too. He was also a total arrogant jerk, if I remembered correctly.

“This is Jeff Jayson,” Lola said with a smile, clearly delighting in our displeasure. “You may recognize him as a contestant on the last season of Behind The Seams. We thought he deserved a second chance, so we’ve brought him back to join you.”

He moved to stand beside Lola and flashed the room a smile that was more predatory than friendly. “It’s great to be back in the design room. It looks exactly the same as last time I was here.”