More than Fashion

29

Trina laughed. “He’s not so bad. And even I can tell he’s damn nice to look at.”

Molly patted my hand. “Since you’re paired up for this challenge, it wouldn’t kill you to be nicer to him.”

“It might!”

Molly sneezed into her arm, then blew her nose with a napkin. “Lordy, I hope I’m not getting sick. I’m so sorry, girls.”

“Are you getting enough sleep?” Trina asked.

“As much as I can. But all these long hours on my feet are rough on me. I’m too old for this.”

“Stop that,” I said. “We’re having just as hard a time as you are.”

“You’re sweet, dear.” She sneezed again. “Oh no. Stay far away from me so you don’t catch it.”

“Are you going to be able to make it through the challenge?” I asked.

“I should be okay. I just hope I don’t make everyone else sick. Probably a lingering illness from my grandkids. I swear, they bring back every single illness in the schoolyard.”

After we finished eating, I washed my hands for a good three minutes under scalding hot water with a ridiculous amount of soap. I was not getting sick, dammit.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The next morning we dove right back into work, all too aware we had a lot to get done and only a few hours to do it before the runway show. But we’d only been in the design room for thirty minutes when Kelsey rushed toward us. “I need to talk to you two.”

For once she wasn’t smiling or speaking in exclamation marks. Gavin and I shared an oh s**t look and waited for her to drop the bomb.

“Gavin, your model is sick and can’t make it,” she said.

“What?” I blurted out. We’d already made the look to fit her measurements. What were we going to do now?

“Is she all right?” Gavin asked. Always a gentleman, at least in public. In private, well…

“She’s fine. Just caught that bad cold that seems to be going around. She’ll be back for the next challenge I’m sure. In the meantime, we’re having Carla come in to take her place for the runway show. Unfortunately, we can’t give you any extra time. Sorry!” She rushed off, like she was worried we would yell at her for being the bearer of such bad news.

“Bloody hell,” Gavin said, leaning against our work table. “How are we going to finish in time?”

“We just will. We have to.”

He slowly exhaled. “I need more coffee.”

“Same. But aren’t the English all supposed to drink tea?”

“I can’t stand tea, much to my grandmother’s dismay. But if we’re going to use ridiculous cultural stereotypes, shouldn’t you be drinking green tea?”

I laughed. “Okay, you may have a point there. Although I do like green tea.”

“Score one for me.”

“Since when are we keeping score?”

“When have we not been keeping score? By my count, I’m up to four. One for that first night, one for the other night, one for picking you for my team, and one now.” He ticked them off on his long fingers. “You’re only at two, love. Better step up your game.”

“Two?” I poked him in the chest. “I have way more than that. And you don’t get a point for the other night since I did all the work.”

“Fine, we’ll take that one off. But I’m still ahead.”

“I have at least three!”

He flashed me a cocky smile and walked over to the dress form, leaving me hanging. Infuriating man! I spun around and stomped back to my workstation to get Carla’s measurements from my supplies.

When I got back, Gavin had written me a note and left it tucked into my fabric.

Your score:

One point for bringing me to your hotel room.

One point for doing lovely things with your mouth.

Care to earn another?

I flipped the page over and scribbled: Keep dreaming. I crumpled the note up and threw it at his head before turning back to the table. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him open the note and laugh, and I couldn’t help but smile.

Over the next few hours, we adjusted our dress to fit Carla. She was a little wider in the bust, hips, and butt, but a few inches shorter than Gavin’s model. It wasn’t too difficult to make the changes; it just took time. Time that was quickly running out.

As soon as Carla arrived, we had her try the dress on. The corset was too tight and wouldn’t close properly, the ruffles were in the wrong place on her butt, the skirt’s length didn’t adjust properly, and basically the whole thing was a disaster. We got the dress off and sent her to hair and makeup while we tried to figure out what to do.

Nika and Derrick walked past on their way to the breakroom, smirking and giggling as they eyed our dress form. Gavin ignored them, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Got a problem?”

“Just admiring your look,” Derrick said.

“It’s so…different from everything else in the room,” Nika added with a snicker.

They kept walking, but I overheard Derrick say in a fake-whisper, “She is so going home today.”

To hell with that. I turned to Gavin and pointed to a spot on the skirt. “Can you raise the back of the skirt here, so the ruffles are higher?”

“If I do that, then the front will be too long. Maybe if I…” He tried to undo the stitching holding the ruffles on. “No, that won’t work.” He changed tactics, but a second later I heard a ripping sound and he yelled, “Bollocks!”

“What happened?” I bent down to check and saw a gaping hole in the back of the skirt, where the ruffles had once been attached.