Several more seconds went by before Gwen could move.
By noon, the viewing room was ready. The lighting team installed the spotlights and color filters.
List LA’s AV dudes conducted two rehearsals with the video and music. Security had their tables set up at the entrance for guests to check in.
Gwen confidently carried her clipboard around the backstage area searching for disasters to mitigate. She never suspected she’d be one of them, until her boss stood before her with a horrified look on his face.
“You are not wearing that, are you?” Enrico asked grimacing at her casual outfit.
“No, of course not.” She self-consciously tucked a loose hair from a messy bun behind her ear.
She’d seen first-hand what a crack hairstylist could do with unwashed hair. “I have a dress with me to change into.”
“Better you go now.” He gave her a concerned once-over. “Your makeover may take some time.”
“Hey!” she protested.
Enrico shuffled away, but Thalia stuck around. “I saw the beautiful dress Salvatore made for you.”
“You mean designed for me,” Gwen corrected.
“I heard he sewed it himself,” Thalia said leaning in, like it was a secret.
“I’m sure that’s not the case.” Gwen bit her lower lip. Why would such a rumor be circulating?
“Was it wrong of me to accept the dress? I mean, I’m not interested in him that way. Did I send the wrong message?”
“That’s not a fair test, though.” Thalia threw her hands in the air. “Who would turn down a dress from him?”
“Exactly.” She led Thalia to a corner. “I don’t want to hurt his feelings. But you don’t think he’s expecting anything in return?”
“Of course, he is,” Thalia said. “He always expects something. There’s no such thing as give and take with Salvatore. There’s one give and then take, take, take, take.”
Gwen could not have articulated the man better. She squeezed the girl’s shoulders. “Thank you, Thalia. You’ve done a great job this week. You’ve kept us all on track. We wouldn’t be on schedule if it weren’t for you.”
Thalia blushed like no one had ever complimented her before. Andrew had found the time and the words to let Gwen know she’d done a good job. It only seemed right to pay that forward. She smiled one last time as Thalia skipped away. Gwen only wished she had told Andrew what she thought of the job he’d done.
She was out of time, though. An assistant on the hair and makeup team found her and dragged her through a sea of bodies to a small corner dressing room. In it, her dress hung on a velvet lined hanger.
It looked steamed and smelled of pressing chemicals with a trace of...Salvatore’s cologne. He had also made some last-minute adjustments. One of his minions had taken the dress from her the moment she arrived, bristling about having to shorten the hemline. Someone lowered the neckline and hiked the slit up even higher!
In the back of the dressing room, Gwen took a seat at the makeup table. The ambient-colored round bulbs made her skin look flawless.
“I’m taking you home,” she said brushing her fingers along the lighted mirror.
“You read my mind.” Salvatore’s wicked smile reflecting back at her sent an uneasy chill up her spine.
“Excuse me?” Gwen stood and turned around to face him. “Salvatore, I could have been dressing.”
He stepped in, ignoring her concern. “I hope you will give me the credit when people tell you how beautiful you look today.”
“With all the models dressed up in your other clothes, I doubt anyone will notice what I’m wearing.” The wash of grays and whites of Salvatore’s collection, however, would make the bright green dress stand out. And Gwen. Her empty stomach flipped. “But now that you mention it,” she began, but a tall thin man swooshed the black curtain aside and stepped in. Gwen crossed her arms.
“Doesn’t anyone knock?”
“Check your modesty at the door, girlfriend,” the man said shaking a blond wave curled on the top of his head. “Cary is here to do you.”
Do me? “Oh right, my hair and makeup.” She ran her fingers on the table and touched the eye shadow palette. “I have done this before, you know. Don’t you have models to tend to?”
“We always hire additional people, Gwen,” Andrew said holding the curtain away. The small dressing room started to feel like a clown car. “Signor Corella, there are people waiting to interview you.” Andrew cast a furious glare at Salvatore hanging around her dressing room.
“Oh, right,” Gwen said, stepping away from the table. “Let me go find them.”
“I got it, Gwen.” Andrew spoke without glancing at her.
She tingled all over, sensing how much he wanted Salvatore away from her. Imagining Andrew as her protector gave her a warm and fuzzy buzz.
Salvatore strode briskly past Andrew, and almost took the curtain with him. Looking victorious, Andrew winked at her and followed the designer through the crowd.
The stylist fanned himself. “What I wouldn’t give to have those two specimens fighting over me.”
“They’re not fighting over me.” She sat in the chair and faced the lighted mirror again. “Andrew is just making sure his designer doesn’t get distracted before the show.”
“Yeah, sure.” Cary pulled her hair out of the bun and began brushing out the tangles.
Gwen watched in amazement as he methodically captured every bent strand and smoothed it out. I may take this guy home too!
“Girl, that man positively sizzled when he looked at you,” Cary swooned.
“That’s Salvatore’s shtick.”
“I was talking about the tall yummy one with hair as dark as a sinful night.” Cary practically burst out into song.
Gwen smirked. If her plan to make Andrew want her again worked, she’ll enjoy a sinful night of her own.
ONCE THE GUESTS ARRIVED and were shown their seats, Andrew relaxed. Gwen, wearing that stunning dress had greeted everyone at the door with a look of welcome and comfort as if she knew every one of them personally. She had even taken the time to sit with a few VIPs to make sure they were satisfied with their seats.
In other shows, he hired professional greeters dressed in black with headsets who robotically walked guests in and then dashed away for the next one. What a difference it made to have an actual Prada person do this. The room sang with a peaceful vibe and Gwen had made the guests feel privileged. Prada was a private company and didn’t let many people behind its walls.
She’d floated through the room, crowded with the media, buyers, and celebrities with effortless grace and sophistication. She was gorgeous enough to have walked the red carpet out front.
Hmm. Andrew didn’t like the idea of that at all. Still, he raised his phone discreetly and took a few pictures of her. Zooming in on her face and then out, he captured all of her. In the shoes he gave her, she glided up and down the rows, elegantly whooshing the skirt from side to side. Each step made Andrew’s shirt collar feel tighter and tighter. Not to mention his trousers.
The bass of the opening music vibrated inside Andrew’s chest. His production team operated like a well-oiled machine, but that didn’t mean something couldn’t go horribly wrong.