I unloaded my laptop and ignored his judgmental stare. Shame wasn’t a feeling I harbored regarding my financial situation. It was an obstacle to overcome. A challenge. And I had no intention of failing.
“You really should consider the fact that you are representing Label,” he said when Agnes left the room.
“I should, should I?” I challenged, keying in my login. This dinosaur took a good four minutes to lumber to life.
“Appearances are what drive this industry.” His gaze skimmed my laptop and then my thrift store outfit.
“If Label is so concerned with appearances, they are welcome to accessorize me or—here’s a thought—don’t send me out in public,” I said, exasperated. “There are plenty of more attractive admins capable of taking notes.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but we were interrupted by pure, unadulterated handsome.
“Dominic, thanks for meeting me. And you must be Ally.” The man who entered the room was quite frankly delicious. His smile was warm enough to heat up the January chill. Bright green eyes framed by thick lashes and dark curling hair, cut short.
He wore low slung jeans and a tight long-sleeve tee. And a vest.
I beamed.
Dominic gave my leg a nudge under the table with his own. “Try to control yourself,” he muttered dryly before standing and shaking the designer’s hand.
Christian was an enthusiastic guy with big goals. As he personally escorted us on a tour of the facility, it became clear that everything he did came from a place of passion. Life to Christian James was color and texture and beauty and fun.
It was easy to see what Dalessandra had been drawn to.
I mean, besides the fact that he was insanely good-looking.
Where Dominic was frowny and broody, Christian was dimpled and friendly. Where Dominic was cold, Christian was warm.
“What’s this?” I asked, pointing at a mannequin wearing a pair of still-under-construction wide-legged pants.
Christian grinned at me, and I gave myself permission to bask in that lovely warmth, ignoring Dominic’s chilly glare.
Sure. Maybe my outside-this-building situation was a complete disaster. But right this second, enjoying the company of two very attractive men—in sexy vests no less—I could afford to feel pretty dang positive about life.
“Those are part of a pet project,” he told me. “An inclusion line.”
“I’m new to the industry,” I explained apologetically.
“I’m sure he can guess that,” Dominic said uncharitably.
I shot him a dirty look over my shoulder, and the man actually managed to crack the slightest of smiles. And there went those goose bumps again. I was an Ally sandwich with very handsome bread.
“An inclusion line is a series of designs created for individuals with disabilities,” Christian explained, gesturing me forward. He demonstrated the hidden elastic waistband.
“Why is it a pet project?” I asked, intrigued.
“The demand isn’t there,” Dominic said, once again answering a question I hadn’t intended for him.
“Yet,” Christian and I said together.
It earned me another smile from the man and an eye-roll from Dominic.
Christian held up one of the pant legs to me, and I ran my fingers over the material.
“Wow,” I said. The material was soft and buttery, luxurious even.
“It started with my mother. Diabetic neuropathy robbed her of sensation in her fingers. It makes buttons and zippers difficult. But she still wants to look her best. So I dabble in garments that make it easy for someone with disabilities or handicaps to dress themselves and look good doing it. We do hidden seams for people with sensory issues. Magnetic closures, extended sizing, wrap it all up in good fabrics and strong colors.”
“She must be very proud of you,” I guessed.
He grinned. “I tell her that every Sunday. She says she’s holding out for me to get married and have babies before she’s officially proud. It’s the Cuban in her. Are you married, Ally?” he asked, giving me a sinfully flirtatious wink.
“Let’s get back to what pieces you foresee using in the spread,” Dominic announced, steering the conversation back on course. When Christian led the way into another room, Dominic handed me his phone again. “Maybe if you take some pictures, you’ll be too busy to drool over the designer,” he growled.
I smiled up at him just to annoy him. “Doubtful, Dom. Very doubtful.”
14
Dominic
I hated to admit it. But Ally had an annoyingly excellent eye. I’d spent another hour getting schooled on color and texture by an ex-pizza server who had entirely too many opinions for an admin.
And Christian James seemed all too happy to eat it up. Smiling at her. Complimenting her taste. And I didn’t like the way his gaze kept landing on the hem of her short knit skirt.
If I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have been surprised if the man had tried to talk her into drinks, dinner, and a quick fuck. Not that he’d have to coerce her. He was a charmer. Ally apparently enjoyed being charmed. And that set my teeth on edge.
I made a mental note to make sure not to include her in any further meetings with him. I didn’t need that kind of distraction.
“Why isn’t Label using the inclusion line in the story?” Ally wanted to know as soon as Nelson brought the SUV around. Her skirt rose indecently high as she climbed into the back, and I tried not to notice. But the desire to push her facedown and flip that skirt up was so strong I had to wait a beat and take a bracing breath of winter air before joining her in the backseat.
“That’s not our target demographic.” I kept my answer short and terse, hoping she’d leave me the fuck alone.
“I get that,” she said. “But what’s the harm in including it?”
Her questions annoyed me. “Fashion isn’t exactly known for being inclusive. It’s more about being special, exclusive.”
“But aren’t things changing?” she pressed, clearly warming to the topic. “Other luxury labels are doing it. The population is aging. Wouldn’t it follow that more people would be willing to buy clothing that allows them to keep their independence?”
“Have you ever read Label?”
“Don’t be snippy. I’m asking the creative director a serious question. If the point of your magazine is to highlight what’s special, you’re missing the boat by ignoring Christian’s inclusive line. It’s human interest. It’s highlighting the diverse buyer. And it gives you an opportunity to use a model or two who aren’t the cookie-cutter clothes hanger type. It’s real.”
“People don’t want real,” I argued. “They want the fantasy. They want the dress that’s going to change their life. They want clothing that makes them feel beautiful, sexy, special, one-of-a-kind.”
“And you can’t feel that in a wheelchair?”
“Are you deliberately trying to annoy me?”
“Maybe. I’m also trying to figure out if you really believe what you’re saying or you just like arguing with me.”
“You have too many annoying opinions.”