More Than Fashion (8 page)

“Your dress was one of the better ones up there. What a load of rubbish.”

“Thanks. And…thanks for waking me up earlier. If you hadn’t…”

“You would have done the same for me, love.”

I wasn’t so sure. Shit, did that mean Gavin was a better person than me?

Another thirty minutes passed. One thing I was learning: we did a
lot
of waiting around on this show while the behind-the-scenes stuff happened. It was a strange contrast to our time during the challenge when we had to rush. Hurry and wait—that seemed to be the way things went around here.

The judges returned and we got back up on the runway to hear the verdict.

“We’ve made our decision.” Lola’s gaze swept back and forth across the designers. “And Dawn is the winner of this week’s challenge.”

“Thank you so much.” Dawn’s voice was quiet, soft, and feminine, like everything else about her. She was like some sort of forest nymph who had gotten lost and wound up in New York.

“Congratulations, Dawn,” Lola said. “You’ve won one thousand dollars and use of the private suite tonight. We can’t wait to see what else you do this season. Gavin, we also loved your dress and expect great things from you, too.” She paused, her eyes lingering on him before turning back to us. “And now…as you know, we are sending three designers home this week. It was a difficult decision, but we’re going to say goodbye to Jessie, Rilah, and Kathy.”

I replayed the names in my head one, two, three times.

None of them was mine.

My breath rushed out of me in a
whoosh
. I was safe for another week.

The eliminated designers muttered insincere and disappointed thanks, although one of the girls flat-out burst into tears. The judges left the room, and Kelsey whisked us into the backstage lounge. The three designers going home said their goodbyes, but it all went pretty fast since no one had gotten a chance to know them very well yet. It sucked for them to be the first ones off the show, but if I was honest, I was just relieved it wasn’t me.

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

D
ay 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.”

Shit, this was bad. Jeff had an advantage from being on the show before, giving him extra insight into how it worked and the best way to stay in the game. But more than that, he was a really good designer who was willing to play dirty if needed. He’d come in fourth last season, barely missing out on showing a collection at New York Fashion Week, and I had a feeling he wouldn’t let the opportunity pass him by this time. He would do whatever it took to make sure he got to the end.

Jeff found his new workstation, which had been someone else’s yesterday, while Lola went on. “For today’s challenge, we want you to make an unconventional wedding dress. Something bold, something unique, something we haven’t seen before. It doesn’t have to be white, but it does need to look like something a bride would wear. You will have two days and two hundred dollars to spend on fabric.”

Ooh, this would be a fun challenge. I could already think of a couple unique things I could do. And with two days and a decent budget, I’d have time to make something that would impress the judges. After the last challenge, there was no way I was going to be stuck in the bottom again.

Once Lola left, the crew opened the fabric room for the first time. Some of the designers started sketching, but I rushed right for the fabric. Once I had an idea of what I’d be working with, I could figure out my design.

Inside was like a designer’s paradise. Row after row of gorgeous fabrics of all different colors and types, plus all the buttons, zippers, and trim we could ever hope for. I wanted to run my hands along every single one of them, but that would take too much of my precious time. Besides, I would be back for future challenges.

For this challenge, I wanted to use color, but I also wanted to make sure my dress felt bridal. Hmm…what if I got white fabric but dyed it, creating an ombré effect? If I screwed it up, it would go horribly wrong, but an idea was starting to form in my mind that I thought would work.

I spotted a lovely white silk fabric that would be perfect, but it was up high and with my barely five-foot height, I couldn’t reach it. And the only other person in this aisle? Gavin.

He was checking out an off-white satin I’d also considered. I debated waiting for someone else to come by or finding someone from the show to help me, but that would take too long. I tried to reach up and grab the bolt myself, but the tips of my fingers only managed to push it back even farther on the shelf. Dammit.

Gavin watched the entire thing with an amused expression that I wanted to smack off his face. I finally sighed and gave in to defeat.

“Would you mind getting that down for me?” I asked. “Please?”

“Funny, I thought I was the last person you would ever ask for help.”

“I don’t see anyone else around, do you?”

He tapped a finger on his lips, considering. “And if I help you, what will you do for me?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Fine. What do you want?” I asked, glaring up at him. He was so much taller than me, probably a full foot at least, and being so close to him triggered a rush of unwanted lust. His head was tilted down to mine, his dark hair falling just above his gray eyes, his lips parted. If he wanted a kiss, all I had to do was lift up on my toes and press my mouth against his. Our previous kisses had been so amazing, so unforgettable, that the urge to kiss him again was so strong it was almost painful to resist it.

“Tell me something personal about yourself,” he said.

I blinked at him.
That’s
what he wanted? “Like what?”

“I don’t know… Where do you go to school? Who’s your favorite designer? Do you often pick up strangers in hotel bars?”

“UCLA. Alexander McQueen. And it’s happened more than once.” I held out my hand. “Fabric, please?”

He got it down easily, but didn’t give it to me. “McQueen is my favorite, too.”

“McQueen is everyone’s favorite.” I snatched the roll from his arms and stomped out of the aisle. Yes, he was hot enough to melt my panties off, and yes, his accent was doable all by itself, but every time he opened his mouth, I wanted to wrap my hands around his throat. And not in a sexual way.

Okay, maybe also in a sexual way.

Damn him.

In the next aisle, I grabbed four boxes of dye, then had one of the “employees” cut me enough fabric and ring me up. We didn’t actually have money to spend, but we were given a budget for each challenge, and all the fabric and trim had prices, which set limits on us. That way, no one could buy ten different fabrics to play with or go back over and over if their fabric choices didn’t work out as expected. We had to be strategic with our purchases.

I rushed back to the design room to get to work. A few people talked now and then—sometimes to themselves, sometimes to others nearby—but overall the room was so quiet you could
actually
hear it when someone dropped a pin. From watching the show, I’d never realized how much time the designers spent working in silence. Now I was starting to suspect most of the hours in the design room would be that way. It made sense; the show had to cut down a day or two’s worth of recordings into only an hour. They picked out the juicy bits, then edited them all together to make it seem like the designers were surrounded by drama and chaos all the time. But the reality was much different.

In fact, it was almost…soothing. Being surrounded by others hard at work, who loved fashion and designing clothes as much as I did. Even though they were my competition, I felt a kinship with them. We were creators chasing after a shared dream. We all wanted the same thing: to win.

***

The first day of the challenge went by in a blur of dying and sewing, and by the time we were sent back to the Loft, I was exhausted. Most of the designers, including me, crashed immediately, knowing we’d have to get up early to finish our dresses before the runway show.

The next morning, the models arrived only an hour after we’d started working, but luckily my dress was almost done. I’d dyed the silk fabric the day before and let it dry overnight, giving it a beautiful ombré effect: snow white at the top, flowing into a soft blue and pink below the waist, swirling into lavender at the knee, then darkening until the bottom hem was completely black. The dress was lush and magical, and there was no way I’d be in the bottom this time. I might even make it into the top three.

“Are you feeling any better?” Carla asked me while she undressed. I hadn’t seen her since the runway show. She was staying back at our original hotel with all the other models who didn’t live in New York, so I didn’t have any chance to chat with her outside of these moments.