Page 16 of Triggered By Love
The young artist was hardworking and creative, although she was on the mousy side, being dominated by her mother and two older sisters who believed being an artist meant laziness, as opposed to engineering and business degrees.
Avery was lucky her mother had artistic leanings. Maybe it was time to take Ivanna under her wing and work on developing the beast mode line and extending animal features into accessories. Gloves with claws. Visors with horns. Eyeglasses with flared fins.
For now, she’d have to settle on Matt’s hawk look and prepare drawings for some of her other ideas. Maybe she could introduce a few elements, sprinkle them here and there to spice up her designs.
Satisfied with her direction, Avery spent the entire day with the show team choreographing the entrances and exits of each model, the exact beat of music they were to walk to, and even the rhythm of light pulses flashing onto the catwalk. Every step the model took, each pose they struck, and every turn or wave of a hand or arm had to be accounted for.
She loved her work and the creativity involved, and being busy with the details kept her mind from wandering to the dismal state of her personal life—relegated to “fake dating” another client of her publicist.
She’d signed the contract, knowing Alida was right. She had been wallowing in her mourning for Brando, and it was affecting her business judgment. She’d basically squandered her debut year of being the new, hot designer, and now, her Club Cockburn line was yesterday’s news.
In the current world of viral video moments and a constant state of shock and outrage, her publicist had to work harder than ever to manufacture attention-worthy news or gossip. She had to keep feeding her FacePlant stories, MeTube videos, and InstaDirt streams to keep her fans engaged and juice the algorithms to show her posts to their networks.
People wanted more than pretty pictures. They wanted scandalous pictures and news. Perhaps being with Matt would up her bad girl quotient and let her reap the rewards of notoriety which seemed to be worth more than the hard work and nose to the grindstone values of the past century.
In any case, she’d gotten Matt’s measurements and was altering a suit of clothes for him to wear at the show. She’d surprise him with the feathers, knowing he’d signed an agreement to wear whatever she deemed necessary. She’d have to place an order and make sure she had the glue and design ready for her makeup artist to apply.
She wasn’t happy about having the star quarterback, who was known as one of the bad boys in the league, but he seemed harmless, and a few dates with him would raise the profile of her Cocky Heroes brand as an edgy style for the young and aggressive future movers and shakers.
After a long day, Avery dashed to her apartment where she was lucky to snag a unit near her twin brother, Damon Cockburn, the CEO of Slipstream Entertainment, an interactive gaming and online meeting place.
Of her five siblings, Damon was her best friend and yes, she and he had that twin intuition thing going. He couldn’t hide anything from her, and similarly, he was attuned to her emotions, most times before she was aware herself.
Which was why she’d avoided him the past few days. They didn’t live on the same floor, so it wasn’t hard, but they shared keycards with each other, and he was always welcome to raid her refrigerator.
She, on the other hand, rarely went to his man cave.
She swiped the keycard to her door and noticed a basket of wildflowers sitting on the coffee table. The light was on in the kitchen, and Damon was standing in front of the refrigerator with the door open. He had a puzzled look on his face as if he was deciding which casserole to raid.
“Are you stooping to bribing me for food?” Avery laughed, picking up the basket. No surprise, the card was blank—so Damon-like. He was a nerd, but a handsome one.
Like most of the men in her family, Damon had that dark, brooding look most women found attractive. He wore his dark-brown hair swept back, longer on the top with cropped sides, and he hated to shave.
Since he spent long hours at work sitting in front of a computer, he kept in shape by lifting weights and training in the full service gym downstairs. He was probably in between a shower and going back to work the rest of the night coding, brainstorming, and running his business.
“Found them,” Damon said. “Who’s on the note?”
“Not filled out. You sure it isn’t that woman who’s always working out at the same time as you?” She thrust the basket at him. “Here, be a man and take it.”
“Was left in front of your door,” Damon said, pushing the basket back at her. “I’d rather have food. Food. Food.”
Acting like a raving caveman, he grabbed a pan of lasagna and set it on the counter.
“Hey, leave that alone,” Avery said. “It’s Joan’s favorite dish, and I’m bringing it to her tonight. You should eat salad.”
“I need meat. Grrr. Meat. Red meat.” Damon flexed his muscles, still imitating a caveman, although one who was wearing a workout tank and pants. Sweat glistened on his bare arms, covered with the tattoos he got on a dare when his company got its initial round of venture capital funding.
“Heat up some of the ham.” She averted her gaze from his physique. No one matched Brando when it came to beef and strength. But then, no one had the hazardous job he had and the requirement of being able to climb ladders carrying a two-hundred-fifty-pound man.
“I’m sure Brando’s mom won’t eat all that much lasagna.” Damon eyed the cheese and sauce laden dish.
“Make you a deal,” she conceded. “You pop that in the oven and you can have a serving. But someone has to make sure you eat your veggies.”
She sloughed out of her work jacket and poured herself a glass of wine.
“That kind of day, huh?” He set the oven’s temperature and crossed his arms, waiting for her to comment. “At least you got flowers. Secret admirer?”
She knew she was physically attractive and getting anonymous bouquets, boxes of chocolate, and random gifts came with the territory. She didn’t put much stock in them, especially if the guy couldn’t bother signing his name.
