Page 73 of False Start

I practically swoon, struggling to find my words.

"Thank you so much, Ms.—" I clear my throat and start again, "Thanks so much, Kendra. You wearing one of my designs has been on my vision board forliterally years. I'm so honored."

Shit! Creepy, much?Apparently, being around my idol makes the filter between my brain and my mouth malfunction. Luckily, she laughs instead of storming out of the restaurant to file a restraining order.

"The honor is all mine. Seriously. I've been watching you ever since your time with Tory Burch."

I sputter, utterly shocked. Thankfully, the server brings our cocktails and I'm saved from embarrassing myself further.

"Do you ever plan to release your own line?" she asks, and I try not to squeal. I take a calming breath before answering.

"Yes, actually. I'm…blown away that you'd ask. I've been playing around with the idea of a line for all the different plus-size body types. You know, like not just hourglass, but pear and apple too?"

Kendra bobs her head approvingly and I gulp down some of my amaretto sour to keep from leaving my body.Kendra Gray likes my idea!

"You need to do more than just play with the idea, honey. Draw up some designs. Put together a business plan. The more designers we have for fuller bodies, the better. We're not going anywhere."

"You're right about that," I agree, and stifle the urge to pinch myself.

After years of struggling and paying my dues, it feels like things are finally falling into place to create my dream line. To go from being on a design team to the designer whose name is on the label. Sixteen-year-old me making her own clothes from thrifted materials would probably pass out if she saw me now.

I just have to figure out how to put together a business plan. Designs are one thing, but I've never had a head for the numbers.

Cory could help, my heart offers, and it doesn't even surprise me anymore. She's been chiming in with ways I could talk to him or run into him since the day he left. Or, more accurately, since I sent him away. Like an idiot. At least I can admit that now, but Dr. Jamison may need to help me with these intrusive thoughts.

Over drinks and shared tapas, we discuss more about my line, then about her experiences as a plus-size model. As expected, she put up with some truly heinous treatment from both clueless designers and fellow models. They called her every name in the book. Told her she'd never make it without losing half her body weight. And now, not only has she worked with all the major plus-size labels, but designers are making extended sizes just to work with her. She's had billboards in Times Squaretwicealready.

Bigger bodies aren't new; we've always been here. With my line, and maybe with the help of Kendra Gray, we can finally take our rightful place in the spotlight.

Chapter thirty-one

Cory

Anerrormessagesoundsfrom Andrew's computer for the second time in the last twenty minutes. Everyone in the surrounding desks has been ignoring his long-suffering sighs and frustrated grunts, but finally, I crack.

"Andrew!," I bark. "What the hell is wrong with you today? You're mashing those keys like an Xbox controller."

A hand grabs my elbow and I look up to see Silva shaking his head discreetly, his mouth pressed into a grim line. I glance between Andrew, who's now frowning furiously at his computer and Silva's unusually subdued face, and raise an eyebrow.

"What's up?" I whisper, leaning close so Andrew won't see us behind the monitors that separate our desks.

"Not here," he mutters back without making eye contact. I shrug and get back to spreadsheets that are starting to make my eyes cross.

An hour later, with Andrew away from his desk for another bathroom break,—I guess he broke the seal—Silva looks at me and jerks his head in an obvious invitation to follow him. When I remain seated, because Silva's the last person I'd followanywhere, he yanks me out of my seat and towards the coffee room.

"What the fuck, Silva!" I snarl, pulling my arm from his grip. "What is your problem?"

"Shh!" he hisses, and busies himself making coffee while sneaking peeks over his shoulder.OK…This day is now officially weird.

"What's going on?" I whisper. If he's not crazy, and something reallyishappening around here that's got him spooked, I want to know about it. I turn my back to the trading floor and proceed to make my own cup of coffee.

"Bergman is dead," he says, still looking around. I snort in reply.

"What? Bergman's not dead. Is this some sort of joke? Did Bryant put you up to this?"

Silva shakes his head.

"Nah, man. Bergman is seriously dead. Apparently, he went out partying with a client last night. Snorted something he shouldn't have."

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