Page 104 of Fashionista's Playbook

“Travis, let’s just take a step back.” His eyes flicked from me to the floor frantically and he twisted a towel in his hands.

“I’m done, Vincent. It’s time we do our own thing.”

When his eyes widened with panic, I snorted. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure there’s enough money for you to do whatever.”

“It’s not about money, bro. This is our life. Family above all. When I decked Ward it was as much for that as anything else.”

I took a step back to keep from throttling him.

He spun on me and for the first time, was honest with himself and me. “There’s a lot of shit I’ll go down for, but breaking my brother’s heart? Nah. Not that.”

“Yet you did.”

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Moriah

Travis stopped calling after a few days, but I still glanced at my phone hopefully each time it rang. Why I tortured myself like that was beyond me. I wouldn’t answer, even if he did call. But knowing he was there, wanting this to be different, made the emotions incredibly difficult to filter through.

The finance guy Travis had set me up with found me a lucrative business loan I couldn’t say no to. Which was probably the only good thing I’d had going since I’d left Travis’ house that night. I’d spent every day since working in the new shop on the trendy, hipster block.

I painted the walls myself, cleaned the floors, hung the curtains that separated my workspace from the shop front, and assembled the clothing racks all on my own. My biggest victory, though, was having enough time to fabricate clothing to put on those racks and online.

Much to my surprise, I was making sales—thanks to Harley James. I’d even managed to talk her into more chic and less boho on a few items. Especially some red-carpet stuff she’d be wearing to Hollywood award season events.

Harley was my first client at the new shop. Fitting her and sketching designs in my new, official workspace helped get my mind off Travis and everything I could have had. Instead, I focused on what my future would look like. And I hoped it had more days like this, choosing fabrics for a dress for her to wear to present at the Grammys.

On television.

In front of millions.

My heart pounded just thinking about it.

I was also happy to spend time with Harley—she was a loyal and honest breath of fresh air. Each time Kari Tatum came up in conversation, she’d curl her lip and scrunch her nose. “That bitch isn’t a has been, she’s a never-will-be. I wish I’d been there. I’d have lost it on her.”

The tall, willowy woman spun in front of the mirror, carefully eyeing the cascading material. “Moriah, I’m in love.”

Pride swelled in my chest. The gauzy black fabric was speckled with hints of color and bohemian elegance. “I’m happy to hear you say that.” The notoriety that would come from something like this would be a huge boost to business.

To make a client smile like that was all the reason in the world to keep doing this.

“I can wear that to Clutch’s end of season party.” She gestured to a teensy skirt with halter top I’d made out of the excess material. “You’ll come, won’t you?”

I moved around her removing pins. “Probably not.”

“We don’t have to invite Travis.” A rebellious grin spread across her lips.

“That's not fair to Clutch.” I stood and popped a hand on my hip. “Travis and I broke up. There’s no drama. He’s a good person, did nothing wrong, I see no reason why we can’t both attend.”

“You’re about to say but…I canfeelit.”

“It’s not my crowd, ya know?” Months ago, I would have fallen back on not looking like her, being too big or too awkward. But not now. I wove a cool, mature response.

I’d moved past the crying myself to sleep phase of the breakup. And yet, my heart lurched, and my body tensed anytime someone mentioned him. The thought of seeing him again nearly doubled me over with regret and angst.

I’d need more time for that. A few weeks, especially if they won it all, wasn’t enough. I couldn’t be there while he celebrated with some Kari Tatum type.

Harley watched me with a curious expression as I turned back to the sewing table.

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