Chapter Thirteen
Kennedy Noelle
“Okay, everyone, it’s thirty minutes until the opening walk, and I’m gonna need everyone on their A-game.
There is no room for error. We have some important people in the audience, and honestly, tonight could be the end of the road for some of you.
” Clarice, who is in charge of the assistant interns tonight, yells to be heard over the warm up music.
After the worst Christmas of my life last year, my sister Kate's friend, Ali, got me a job as an intern at Violet Magazine. I am her assistant, and it’s honestly the best job.
“Jeez, who pissed in her coffee today?” Lunden, a fellow intern, and my new best friend, whispers as Clarice still talks at us. I can't help but snort, and Clarice eyes us both.
“Is there a problem here, ladies?” We both shake our heads rapidly.
“Good, now, let's make this the best show Violet Magazine has had.” We all clap and disperse, heading for our designated areas.
We have time for a quick bathroom break before the chaos, and I take the time to reapply my nude lipstick and adjust my ponytail.
We are dressed in black T-shirts with Violet Magazine in large white letters on the front and back.
I’ve paired it with a black pencil skirt and black ballet pumps for comfort.
I pop on my headset so we can all liaise with each other and keep the flow of the show going and on time, and head for Ali’s dressing room.
I push through the main dressing area, rows of Hollywood mirrors and makeup artists preen and prep the endless line of models backstage, each one just as beautiful as the next.
Working here has given me a confidence boost I didn’t know I needed.
I got an apartment with Lunden six months ago, right here in New York, after living with Kate for the first few months.
I haven't heard from Carson since we both moved out of our brownstone on New Year’s Day.
I could barely look at him. I took January to wallow in my failed life choices.
But when this job offer came up, a paid internship, it was as if all my silent prayers had been answered.
Well, all but one. I never knew what happened to my mystery man, and truthfully, I’ve thought about that night with him more times than I should, and I haven't been with anyone since. I tried to find him online, but nothing. I have a hunch Beckett wasn’t even his real name.
I make it to the end of the dressing area and flash my staff lanyard to the large security guy on guard at the private dressing rooms before I knock on Ali’s door. I wait a beat before entering and regretted my move the minute the door opened.
Ali is sitting on her dressing table with some guy with dark hair, who I assume is her boyfriend, Harry, on his knees in front of her, face buried between her legs.
“Oh, my god. I’m so, so sorry,” I shriek, slamming the door and running back down the corridor.
“Kennedy, wait,” Ali calls. She runs after me, tying her silk lilac robe around her slim waist.
“Ali, I am so sorry. If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have interrupted,” I ramble, but she interrupts me when she pulls me in for a hug.
“No, no, I’m sorry, sweetie. That wasn’t your fault. We’re animals; can’t get enough of each other.” She pulls back, giving me a wink.
I sag in relief. “Okay, but I am sorry. I just wanted to let you know it’s thirty minutes until opening, so you might wanna get your rollers out, and I can help you get in your dress.”
“Sure thing. Let me kick H out, maybe give me fifteen?”
I nod. “Sure, I'll come back then.”
“You’re the best, Ken.” She smiles, giving my arm a squeeze, then rushes back to no doubt finish whatever I interrupted.
I let out a long exhale and walk back through the dressing area to double-check all the gowns are ready to go. I find Lunden doing the same, counting the gowns and checking name tags.
“Seriously, has Clarice had an extra dose of bitch pills today? What was with that speech? It’s a fashion show, babes, not the Met Gala.”
I laugh. “I know, but I really need this job, so if she needs me to wipe her ass, I’d do it at this point.” I tap my index finger along the rails, mentally counting the hangers to make sure I have all twenty dresses.
“What do you say to visiting that new bar once we get out of here? I hear if you get there before midnight, you get free shots,” Lunden says, waggling her eyebrows. “And the men are hot.”
“Sure, sounds fun.”
Lunden has been trying to get me to date since I told her all the gory details of my relationship with Carson and my one wild night with Beckett.
She listened to me cry, rage, and laugh about every moment of it, and even though our friendship has been short, I feel like I have known her my whole life. She’s the type of friend I need.
Voices crackle through the headset, giving us another twenty-minute warning to opening walk.
I find Ali’s dress on the rack and plan to take it to her room so I can help her get ready when my feet suddenly become rooted to the floor.
I can’t move; my voice catches in my throat.
I am unable to respond to what I see just meters away from me.
There, talking to Clarice, dressed all in black, is the man I have spent the last eleven months trying to forget.
Ali’s dress slips from between my fingers and floats to the ground.
The only sound I can hear is the erratic thumping of my heart when his head turns and his eyes lock with mine.
His expression looks just as shocked as I suspect mine does.
Holy shit, it’s Beckett.