Kissing Danger (Ruthless Empire #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Deacon

It was one hour until show time, and the finale of my showcase was missing. An entire dress, which had taken me six months to create, had just completely vanished.

Panic was not the right word for what I was feeling. No. I was beyond panic. I had transcended to a whole new level of emotion never before experienced by humans.

The dress had been in its transport bag when I checked it this morning. I’d personally arranged each piece of my showcase on the hangers, in the order they would appear, along with the chosen accessories and decorations the model would wear.

Twelve ensembles remained exactly where I’d arranged them, but the last piece, the crown jewel of the collection meant to show off the height of my skills as a designer, was completely gone. Even the shoes and jewelry were missing.

Had someone stolen it?

It wasn’t unheard of for fashion designers to sabotage each other, especially at such an important event that could make or break a designer’s career, but why sabotage me?

It was my first high tier fashion event. I was only an up-and-coming designer with a tentative foot through the door. I wasn’t a threat to anyone yet.

I didn’t even count as competition. I’d earned a spot in the event by the skin of my teeth and a whole lot of luck. Originally, I’d been rejected, but another designer had dropped out at the last minute, and they needed a replacement immediately. I’d been one of the few who could fill the role with such short notice, mostly because I lived in the same city as the event.

The backstage of a fashion show was a blur of chaos and fabric. Surrounded by so much activity, I stood immobile and stared at the empty rack where my grand finale piece should have been.

A cold wave of calm washed over me.

A long, manicured nail poked me in the shoulder. “So, what’s the plan?” Kiki asked me. She’d only been my assistant for a few months, but she’d been my friend for a lot longer.

“Panic,” I said without any inflection in my voice.

Kiki sighed and twirled a blonde ringlet of hair around her finger. “Okay. But then after that, what’s the plan? I know you, Deke. You’ve always got a backup idea.”

I shook my head. “If it was one of the other ensembles, we could throw something together or just leave it out entirely, but it’s the finale piece. There’s no way to...”

My gaze traveled toward a supply box off to the side that had been stashed under a table.

“The kimono.”

Kiki pulled out the box, but she didn’t look convinced. “It’s not finished. The pieces are cut, but we scrapped the idea before stitching anything together. We only even brought it because we thought the brocade might make for a good accessory.”

Together, the two of us spread the pieces of fabric over the table. A fashion showcase almost always ended with a large over-the-top dress. Often a wedding dress, but not always. I’d toyed with the idea of creating an Asian inspired robe, with a long hem and sleeves that would trail behind the model similar to a wedding train, but there hadn’t been enough time to get it together and I already had a more traditional dress mostly made that would also fit the bill.

Now, the elaborately embroidered fabric sat in pieces on the table.

Kiki picked up one piece, holding it delicately between the points of two of her fingernails. “There’s not enough time to stitch it together. This won’t work.”

I dragged a mannequin dress-form over to the table, along with my sewing kit.

“Let me worry about this. You just focus on getting the other models into their outfits and ready to go.”

An hour was simultaneously a lot of time and no time at all. After it had passed, the other models were all ready, and I showed Kiki what I’d managed to put together.

“That’s not an outfit. Nothing’s even stitched together.”

“It’s a deconstructed outfit,” I said, indicating where the pieces of fabric were attached to the model by hidden strings and a few carefully placed stitches. “It’s like when you go to a fancy restaurant and they serve something simple, like a burger, and present it deconstructed with all the ingredients separated. This is the same thing.”

Her eyebrow hiked up so high it nearly disappeared into her hairline. “That’s the kind of thing lazy chefs do when they want to charge more.”

With a flourishing wave of my hand, I ushered the models into line. “Luckily, I am not a chef. I’m an artist. It’s artsy. It’ll work. Not like we have much of a choice anyway. Our turn on the runway is almost here. Let’s go.”

The Costumes and Cars Fashion Show was held every year during the spring fashion week at The Hollywood Car Museum in Las Vegas. While not the biggest fashion event in the world, it wasn’t insignificant either. As I hung in the back wings, peering out between the curtains as the first of my creation-bedazzled models started walking down the runway, a flutter of nervousness attacked my stomach. There were so many important people sitting in the audience just a few yards away, watching my work pass by on the pseudo-catwalk with critical eyes. Whispering. Judging. Some of them could end my career with a single word.

Don’t think about that.

Focus on the outfits.

The art.

The things I can control.

The runway was set up in a large showroom usually only dedicated to cars. Models walked from one end of the room to the other and back, illuminated by spotlights as well as the ambient light filtering in through the large windows that took up an entire wall. The room had a very industrial feel, with concrete and steel everywhere. All the cars on display had been moved to one side of the runway while the audience sat in chairs on the other, so the guests watched each model walk past a backdrop of gleaming classic automobiles.

Some of the fashion designers featured at the event had chosen to ignore the location and presented outfits that showcased their own personal design, while some designers had taken obvious inspiration from the location and presented car-themed creations. One noteworthy designer had presented a series of outfits inspired by the movies in which each of the background cars had appeared.

I’d chosen none of these options, and while I didn’t think most people would get what my collection was supposed to represent, I was pleased to see that my designs at least didn’t look out of place.

Model after model took their turn on the runway until it was time for the last one. The ‘deconstructed’ outfit I’d slapped together in an hour. As the model stepped out onto the runway, I crossed my fingers and held my breath.

It didn’t move how I wanted. The long strips of cloth that would have made up the sleeves dragged along the floor. That wouldn’t have been a problem if the sleeves were attached to the rest of the garment for support, but tied directly to the model’s arms as they were, the model had no choice but to hold her arms steady and forcibly pull the fabric along. Every step looked like a battle fought and won.

However, all of the fabric stayed in place, and when the model finally finished her turn on the runway, she was still as dressed as when she’d started walking.

I breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. The whole showcase had been presented without any catastrophes or wardrobe malfunctions.

“What are you doing?” Kiki hissed at me. “Get out there and take your bow.”

I was so overcome with relief that I almost forgot. All of the models gathered into a single line to give the audience one last look at the collection all together, and I was meant to go out with them.

The spotlights were so bright, I could barely see the audience as I stepped out onto the runway. I walked out to the middle and stopped right in front of the Lotus submarine car from the James Bond movies and took a bow in the audience’s general direction. I couldn’t hear what the announcer was saying over the pounding of my own pulse in my ears, and I just hoped that my smile looked suave instead of manic.

Then, I was back behind the curtains, and it really was over. As the next designer prepared for their turn in the spotlight, I collapsed into a folding chair back in my prep area and stared blankly at the wall.

“Well,” Kiki said from where she stood beside me. “That could have gone worse.”

I mutely nodded my agreement.

She watched me for a moment. “Do you need a moment to process?”

I silently nodded again.

She sighed, though not in an annoyed way. More like the resignation of someone who was right when they would have preferred to be wrong.

“All right. You sit there and decompress. I’ll handle the wrap up and get everything put away. But you had better be back to functioning properly in time for the after party. You need to sweet talk the investors and make us some money. Try to land a contract. Maybe get hired by an important brand. You know, the whole reason why we’re here.”

Right. The banquet that always took place after these things was my least favorite yet the most important part of the night. The banquets I’d been to at smaller fashion shows were bad enough. At such a big event, I imagined it would be even worse.

Well, nothing to do but smile and act charming. I could do that. I didn’t even have to be sincere. Just show up and say the right things.

The rest of the fashion show wrapped up, and soon enough, I found myself in a banquet hall full of important people, holding a glass of champagne I didn’t actually like, and trying not to bump into anyone.

Small talk was one of my hard-won skills. It didn’t come naturally, but enough time spent talking to clients as I brought their visions to life had made it a necessary skill to learn. Once I knew what to talk about, I could manage, but I could never figure out where to start.

That was where Kiki came in handy. She stayed at my side during the event, pointing me toward the right people while whispering in my ear about who they were, why they were important, and what topics they were interested in.

Why couldn’t an artist just make art?

Why did I have to be a business and advertising expert as well, constantly marketing myself?

“All right, I think that went well,” Kiki announced after I’d made my first pass around the room and shook two dozen different hands. “There’s definitely some interest in your work. While I still don’t agree with your last piece, people seem to like your ‘deconstructed’ outfit, so good job there.”

I gave her an over-exaggerated bow. “I’m so glad Her Highness approves of this lowly peasant’s work.”

She retaliated by punching me in the shoulder. “Shut up and stop fooling around. Now, I’ll give you a few minutes to take a break and get something to drink before I collect you again and we can focus on the more promising investors.”

“You are determined to get me hired by a big-name label tonight, aren’t you.”

Quickly fixing her makeup in a compact mirror that she always carried around, Kiki gave me a wink. “Your career is my career, and I take my career very seriously. I wouldn’t have accepted the job as your assistant if I didn’t think you had the potential to make it big.”

“Well, at least one of us has faith.” I searched around the room and found the open bar not far away. “Now, you said I could have a drink, so I think the bar is calling my name.”

“Only one drink,” Kiki called after me as I walked away. “We need you sober tonight, so don’t get drunk.”