Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GRIFF
“Hi.”
A stupidly wide grin breaks out on my face as I hear Phil’s voice for the first time. It’s ridiculous to feel like I’ve been waiting forever for this moment when it hasn’t even been two weeks since we met, but I do.
“Hi,” I echo, then shake my head. I already said hello. “So tell me how you’d do the flounce.”
He launches into a description of flounce width and bias cutting that normally would interest me, but right now I’m just listening to his voice. The light tenor sounds like him, which is not the most logical thought. It suits him. I love the enthusiasm in it right now too.
It’s so hard to believe that a little over a week ago, I thought he was an egomaniac snob. That’ll teach me to be judgmental.
Speaking of judgmental, Vivi is side-eyeing me hard. She perked up when the phone rang, but now that she’s realized it’s not Carter, she’s holding me responsible. I pet her ears, but the gaze of judgment doesn’t falter.
“…don’t you agree?” Phil says expectantly, and I belatedly remember that conversations need a minimum of two people contributing, and if I want him to keep talking to me, I need to say something.
“Yes.” It seems like the safest answer.
“I knew you would. You’ve got great taste.”
The compliment warms me. “Even though it doesn’t usually include your style?” I tease, and I’m rewarded by his low laugh.
“Even though. I don’t expect everyone to love my stuff… just most people.”
His tone indicates that he’s joking, but I’ve known enough designers to know they have more than their fair share of ego about their work. They have to, to put it out there and open themselves to relentless criticism.
“Though I got an email from this woman who felt the need to tell me my work was good, even if it’s not to her taste.” He chuckles, but there’s a note of annoyance there.
“Some people need to learn the art of shutting the fuck up. Why do they think their opinion is needed on everything?”
“That’s what I said! It’s fine, though. At least she said it was good. I had a classmate in college who made a point of regularly telling me how shitty my designs were.”
“Asshole.”
“Right? But don’t worry, when Calla found out, she told her boyfriend, and he and his friends refused to model for that guy’s form-and-movement study.”
I blink. “Did I miss something? Were Calla’s boyfriend and his friends the only models available?” Vivi rolls over for belly rubs, and I comply.
“Nah, but it’s not always easy getting models that aren’t also art students, which usually means swapping.
Most of us selfishly didn’t want to give up time to model ourselves.
” He laughs again. “Plus, those guys were on the baseball team, so they were great models for that assignment. Athletes move differently from the rest of us. I don’t know why—some of the models I drew were mega fit and used the gym all the time, but the ball players had a different style of motion. ” There’s a shrug in his voice.
I grunt, thinking about why that might be, and he surprises me with a delighted laugh.
“Is that you switching to your second language?”
Oh, hell. “Sorry. I was—”
“Don’t be sorry. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t be yourself with me.” He hesitates. “I’m having a good day today, but there are going to be times I probably won’t be able to talk to you even though I want to. I’m the last person who’ll judge you for the occasional grunt.”
“I’ll make sure to switch languages more often, then,” I reply, and I can practically feel the tension leave him, even through the phone.
I want to ask him about his selective mutism and see how what I read online applies to him, but this isn’t the time.
We don’t know each other that well, and this is the first time he’s been able to speak to me.
It can wait. “I have questions about Calla dating a baseball player, though. I guess I stereotyped her as only being into artsy people. Or business majors.”
“Fun fact: Polly was a business major. They were in some classes together. But Calla’s actually a rabid baseball fan, and after she and Blaise started dating ball players, we all got into it. Even Harold, who was on record as hating all sports.”
“It’s nice that you all support— Wait, did you say Polly?” Connections click in my brain, but it can’t be the same guy. “Not Brad Polling?”
“Yep.”
“Calla’s college boyfriend is now a professional ball player?”
“Yeah. They split up years ago, but they’re still besties.
We see him all the time. Personally, I think they just weren’t ready to be together before and that’ll eventually change.
I’m pretty sure they still hook up.” He pauses.
“I don’t know why I told you that. We’re friends, right? So you gotta keep my secrets.”
My smile is immediate. “I’m a vault,” I promise. “Even if I’m tortured, I won’t tell. I’m impressed, though. I don’t like a lot of sports, but baseball is one I enjoy. It’s cool that you’re friends with a pro athlete.”
“Two,” he says.
“Huh?”
“Blaise’s boyfriend is Jordan Marks. They’ve been together since college, even though it’s long-distance half the year.”
Marks is another player I’m familiar with. I vaguely remember hearing something non-sports-related about him a couple of years ago…. “Blaise… Warden? The costume designer?”
“Warner,” Phil corrects. “And yeah. Do you know him?”
“Not really. We met at a party a while back, and someone else mentioned that he was dating Marks. Or asked him about him. I don’t remember.” I do remember thinking about hitting on Blaise before I heard he was taken, and I’m relieved I didn’t. That could have been awkward.
You know, now that I’m planning to date one of his friends.
Because it’s only taken fifteen minutes of conversation for me to know that’s what I want.
It’s too soon to tell Phil that. I need a plan first… and probably to talk to Damian, since Phil’s a designer I’m working with.
So I say, “Interesting that so many from your college friend group ended up being high-achieving in your careers. Two pro athletes, you and Calla successful owners of a luxury fashion brand, a Hollywood costume designer who’s been labeled the one to watch…. Who else you got?”
“I like when you say nice things.”
I’m not imagining the flirty note, am I?
“Let’s see… Harold is consistently the top-earning interior designer at his firm, and he has a waitlist for clients.
Butch has a showing at the Miller-Coombs gallery coming up.
Xera’s kicking butt at whatever it is she does in finance.
And Marty’s successfully teaching eight-year-olds not to be assholes, which honestly is probably the toughest job of them all. ”
That gets a laugh from me. “My nephew—who’ll call soon, by the way, for his nightly ritual of singing to Vivi. So if I have to hang up in a hurry, that’s why. Vivi will make my life a misery if I deny her.”
“Intriguing,” he says. “I can’t wait to meet Vivi.”
I can’t wait for that, either, because it means Phil would be in my house.
“We’ll set something up,” I promise. “Anyway, Carter’s only five, and I swear I couldn’t adore that kid more than I do—no way, no how, just not possible—but even I can admit that he has the occasional assholish tendency.
My sister says the other normal parents they used to be in a playgroup with all agreed that it’s a natural kid thing. ”
“The other normal parents?”
I shrug even though he can’t see me. “Penny said the ones who disagreed were the ones who thought their kids could do no wrong. Like, the kid would push another kid over, and the parent would insist their precious darling was trying to catch them or something.”
“Ohhh, those parents. I know some people who were raised by parents like that.”
“I think we all do, unfortunately.”
“Hey, can I send you a photo? I’m embellishing jeans for Xera—the finance guru—and I can’t work out what’s wrong with my vision. Normally I get Calla’s opinion, but she’s not home.”
I grunt assent, my mind racing. He and Calla live together? I guess it makes sense, with them being best friends, plus how much rent costs and them trying to build their business, but working and living with someone is a lot. They must be even closer than I thought.
Definitely gotta stay on Calla’s good side.
“I’m interpreting that as a yes,” he says cheerfully, and a second later, my phone beeps against my ear.
I pull it away, tap the Speaker button, and then open the message.
Damn, those jeans…. I force myself to concentrate. “Left leg, second applique from the bottom—what if you moved that a couple inches toward the outside? It would reflect more light on the curve of her calf.”
“Hmm,” he murmurs. I can hear him moving, and then a satisfied sigh. “That did it. Thanks, Griff. I was going nuts trying to work it out. It’s always something small.”
“Happy to help.” I wait a beat. “So…”
“Yeah?”
“Those jeans… are they part of the current collection?”
There’s laughter in his voice as he answers, “No, this is a pattern I worked up for Xera years ago. She’s picky.”
“Good for her. She’s clearly got great taste. You know who else has great taste?”
“You?”
He’s adorable. “Yep. And also Daria, who would love those jeans. Lighter on the bling, though.” Daria likes embellishments, but she’s not the sequin type. Studs, on the other hand, or some artful paint splatters….
Phil doesn’t say anything, and I frown. “Hey, it’s okay if you want to keep this design for your friend only. I just figured I’d ask.”
“It’s not that,” he assures me. “I’m… I guess a little overwhelmed that you’ve seen two pieces I designed randomly and immediately asked if I’d make them for a rock star. I…”
He stops, and I grit my teeth to keep from prompting him. I don’t know if he’s just thinking or if he’s struggling to speak, but either way, he’ll let me know in his own time.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s hard to silence the voice that’s saying you’re wrong and Daria won’t like them after all. I know you’re good at your job, but even the best stylists occasionally pick things their clients don’t love.”
Designers aren’t the only ones who need to have egos to get the job done, and I wrestle with mine for a few seconds. He’s right, as much as I hate to admit it. Sometimes we do get it wrong. But I know I’m right about this.
“The only way to silence that voice would be for Daria to see the jeans and tell you what she thinks,” I point out.
“I got a message from Calla to ask if I wanted a fitting for the top, so why don’t we line that up?
Daria can see Calla’s, try on hers or the toile—whichever you’re planning—and tell us what she thinks.
And if those jeans are finished by then, you can take photos of them to show her as well.
” I try not to hold my breath while he thinks about it.
And then my phone beeps, a notification coming up on the screen that someone else is trying to call. I swear. “I’m sorry, Phil, my nephew’s calling. Can I—”
“Go. I’ll talk to you later.”
He ends the call before I can say anything else. Fuck, is he mad? Did I offend him?
I tap to answer Carter’s call, and Vivi perks right up the second she hears his voice coming through the speaker.
Their little ritual gives me time to worry about whether I pushed Phil too hard.
My—admittedly rushed—research into selective mutism revealed that it’s an anxiety disorder, which probably means Phil deals with that even when he can talk.
I don’t know a lot about anxiety, but I know it doesn’t turn off.
It’s always there, even when things seem good.
I’m still fretting over it—and trying to tune out Carter’s caterwauling—when a message notification pops up on my screen. I tap it, ignoring Vivi’s little growl of displeasure.
Calla will call to set it up.