Chapter 11
Tessa
The whole team trudges through the hotel lobby, completely spent from a long day at the venue.
Geometric marble floors gleam underneath my sensible black flats, and a whiff of espresso perfumes the air.
My muscles are infused with exhaustion from the day, but the pain can’t compete with my genuine excitement for my first international fashion week.
The round, emerald-green glasses Lamont chose today match the jewel-toned velvet couch beside him when he stops to give instructions.
“We’ll head up to my penthouse suite for the run-through.” He nods toward the small elevator ahead on our right. The elevator is so tiny, we’ll have to go in multiple groups.
My stomach plummets as all my excitement morphs into panic. This can’t be happening.
I thought I’d prepared for every possible elevator scenario.
After booking our rooms, I emailed the hotel in advance to make sure mine would be on the first floor.
The fashion week venue is a single story old warehouse.
It never occurred to me that team meetings would be held in Lamont’s private suite.
I glance at my watch. Shit. The meeting is in five minutes, and I’m out of options. The penthouse is on the top floor, and there’s no way I can walk the stairs in time to make the meeting.
Despite the warmth outside, cold sweat pricks at the back of my neck, and my ribs start to ache.
Lamont assesses our group of twelve. “Esme, Jordan, Rachel, Aisha, and Giovanni, come with me. The rest of you, take the elevator when it comes back down.”
Everyone from that group follows Lamont into the elevator—except, no. Not everyone, because Giovanni stands frozen in place. Unmoving. Looking at me. His brows are furrowed in intense concentration, scanning my face and body.
“Giovanni?” Lamont reaches forward to prevent the elevator door from closing.
“I dropped something when I walked in. I’ll take the next one,” he replies, his gaze holding steady on me.
Lamont shrugs, busy scrolling on his phone.
As soon as the elevator doors close, Giovanni moves to stand beside me, squatting down. He angles his body away from the rest of the group and reaches out to touch the floor. Picking up nothing, he stands.
There’s no chance anyone in the lobby can hear as he lowers his voice to a whisper. “It’ll be fine.”
His hand reaches out, as if to grab mine, but I give a subtle shake of my head. The last thing I need is for people to notice anything odd and mention it to Lamont, especially during the most critical week of my career.
He drops his hand, and we walk side-by-side toward the elevator. Giovanni pushes the button, and it only takes thirty seconds for it to arrive.
When I cross the elevator’s threshold, nausea sets in and a fuzzy, dull static noise fills my head. Goosebumps decorate my arms as a chilly shiver inches up my spine.
Giovanni follows me to the back of the elevator, and I lean against the wall. The rest of the group gets on, I imagine, but I’m too busy trying to remain calm to notice.
As the elevator lurches, I brace myself for the inevitable panic that will soon course through my body.
But then, the back of a warm hand grazes my fingertips, and the touch is enough of a distraction to look down. Giovanni’s knuckles skate across mine, and—coincidental or not—the heat of his skin commands my attention. When he repeats the movement, slower this time, the intent is unmistakable.
Three more times, his hand passes over mine in a soothing pendulum motion, like he’s rocking my fingers to sleep.
Twice more, and I focus on the cadence of his touch.
Once, then his pinky interlocks with mine. It feels so… good. Not just his touch, but his presence.
Lately, something far worse than dislike floods my senses whenever Giovanni walks in a room: awareness.
I notice him. I find him. I find him noticing me.
And then we’re just aware of each other, in a way that feels like a hushed secret instead of a loud grievance.
Our stares forget to fight. Our sharp edges soften into something so smooth, it scares me. It unmoors me. It…
“We’re here,” Giovanni’s voice interrupts, and I redirect my gaze to the doors opening directly into Lamont’s suite.
My eyes widen in shock. I check in with my body, realizing the adrenaline I’m feeling isn’t due to panic, but to something else entirely. I face Giovanni, blinking at the grin on his lips. Pride flickers in his eyes, and I can’t help but to match his smile with one of my own.
Feeling a burst of confidence, I follow him into the suite, ready to impress Lamont with my presentation.
We sit at a round table in the living area of his large, ornate suite.
A massive run-of-show board is displayed on a standing easel with a picture of every look.
We walk through the audio/visual and production details first, then each designer has the opportunity to present updates on any looks they designed.
Last minute changes, needed alterations, and instructions the models will need for tomorrow are discussed at length.
Suspense builds in my chest as I wait for my turn.
Because Lamont already selected my design, none of this feels as painful as standing around the table with the junior designers, waiting for his judgement.
In fact, I feel excited. The design has been executed flawlessly.
I know it’s stunning. I’ve been preparing for this moment, and I’m ready to meet it.
“And that brings us to the finale. Giovanni, Tessa. Go ahead.” Lamont slides his emerald glasses down his nose, and his eyes meet mine.
I clear my throat. “This look is built for runway impact. The movement of the dress is nearly wave-like and will pull the audience in from the start. I checked with the crew today to ensure the lighting will dim ever-so-slightly as the model walks.” I pause for a moment and glance at Giovanni, who’s nodding beside me.
He doesn’t cut in, clearly giving me the floor, but his silent-yet-steady support forms a new thought.
Maybe he didn’t want to prepare together because he wanted me to have this moment.
I throw him a small grin and continue. “The embroidery will do a lot of the storytelling for us, and when she hits—”
“That’s fine, Tessa. Giovanni, will you take us through the beadwork?”