Episode 85
EPISODE 85
RIVER OF RIVALRY
Emily
Four years earlier…
I stand silently in the corner of the studio, my gaze fixed on the mannequin dressed in my latest design. The fabric falls just right, the colors vibrant and balanced. I’ve worked countless nights on this collection, hoping it would be my breakthrough at Elizabeth Harrington London, the fashion house where I work. I draw in a deep breath, grab my sketches, and walk to the large meeting room.
The room buzzes. Today our creative director, Charlotte Ainsworth, will choose the lead design for Paris Fashion Week. My heart races with a mix of excitement and anxiety. This could be my moment, the recognition I’ve been craving.
Then he walks in. Jake Bosworth, Elizabeth Harrington’s grandson. He’s bloody charming, damn him, with his perfectly coiffed black hair and confident smile, but everyone in the studio knows his designs are…
Well…blah. Lackluster. Really, I'm being too kind. They're bloody awful.
Charlotte begins her rounds, offering critiques and suggestions. I wait patiently, clutching my sketchbook, my mind racing through each line I’ve drawn, every stitch I’ve imagined. When she finally reaches me, a flicker of hope surges through me.
But Charlotte barely glances at my sketches. “Interesting, Emily. These show a lot of promise.”
Interesting? Promise? My heart sinks.
Next, Charlotte stops in front of Jake and smiles. “Brilliant, Jake. Truly captivating.” She claps her hands.
My colleagues and I reluctantly join in the applause and offer Jake our half-hearted congratulations. There’s an unspoken understanding among us—a shared frustration we’ve all come to accept. Talent takes a backseat to family ties. To privilege. At least here at Elizabeth Harrington London.
I walk back to my desk, my mind racing. Do I keep fighting this losing battle? Do I keep pouring my soul into designs that will never see the runway?
I glance at my sketches again, their lines and colors blending perfectly into lovely gowns. They deserve to be seen, to be worn, to be admired. I can’t let this setback define me or my future in fashion. I must find a way to showcase my work on my own terms.
I can apply to another house here in London, where I’m comfortable, or I can take a leap without a net beneath me.
I can leave Great Britain.
Go to Paris.
Milan.
New York.
One of the other fashion capitals of the world.
But first…I need a plan.
Present Day…
Why ? I want to demand of Misty. Why does it have to be River ?
My hackles are rising. I can feel my skin tightening around my flesh.
But why? I have no hold on River. Sure, there's this undeniable thing between us—a physical chemistry that's impossible to ignore. When we’re together, the air crackles with electricity, and I’m pulled toward him as if he’s a magnet and I’m steel.
But that’s just physical. It’s not like it’s anything deeper, though I do find a comfort in his presence. A sense of ease.
But I’m in control. It’s just a bit of fun. I can’t let the silly little moments, the fleeting feelings, mean anything more. He won’t leave Montana, and I won’t leave New York.
And that is that.
But something about Misty’s attitude threatens me. Almost frightens me, as if I’m about to lose something dear to me. Why does Misty want River Barrett so badly? Other than for the obvious reasons?
I take a step toward her. “Any one of us could be a good fit for River, you know. What on earth makes you think you have some special claim on him?” As I speak, the image of River’s gaze meeting mine sears into my brain. I feel his hard cock inside me as he fucks me, brings me to climax. I swallow. “Honestly, he’s a cowpoke. Hardly your type. He’d be a better fit with…say…someone like Ariel.”
“Or you?” Misty raises her eyebrows.
“Me?” I let out a scoff. “What on earth would make you say that?”
“Nothing.” She sighs. “I can’t explain it any better. It just has to be River.”
“What about Sebastian?” I ask. “He’d be a better fit with your lifestyle. He lives in LA, and the two of you probably run in the same circles. You’d have those friends you seem to be craving. Myriad parties where you could show off your designer wardrobe. Front-row seats at all his engagements. Think of the splash you’d make all over People and all those other rags.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Misty tugs her hands through her long blond locks.
“Then help me understand,” I say. “Why does it have to be River?”
She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t invite me to leave her suite, either.
Frankly, I’m beginning to feel quite cross with her. As if I want to get into a catfight over a man.
He’s not my man.
But he’s not hers either. She may be a privileged little brat used to getting everything she wants, but we’re all on equal footing here on the island. At least that’s what I was led to believe.
I’m so bloody tired of taking a backseat to people with privilege. Unlike Jake Bosworth and his lack of talent, I wasn’t born into a world where opportunities are handed out on a silver platter. No. For me, every step forward has been a battle. I had to fight tooth and nail to get my designs in front of the right people back in London, and when I did, they were overlooked in favor of the founder’s grandson.
So I got proactive, and when the chance came to move to New York and take my career to the next level, I hopped on board without a second thought.
But privilege is at play in New York as well. I work with designers less talented than I who simply have the proper connections. I’ve watched people with half my determination but twice my resources get ahead faster. It’s frustrating—infuriating even—to be forced to compete with them, to be seen as less than they are.
Which is all part of the reason I’m here…
And damned if I’m going to take a backseat to this bratty heiress.
To think, I was actually feeling sorry for her. Poor little rich girl. Mummy shows her love with things instead of affection. Poor thing has designer dresses, jewels, probably a hefty trust fund.
Cry me a bloody river.
Now she wants a cowboy to fall in love with her.
One of these things is not like the other…
What is her game? Why River?
The tension in Misty’s suite thickens.
“I’ll ask again,” I say. “Why are you so set on River?’
And again, no response.
So I take another step forward. “That first night, in the hot tub, you said one of the gentlemen had already made his choice, and the lucky lady was in the tub at that moment. Do you recall that?”
She nods hesitantly.
“Rachel, Ginger, Sienna, and I were all there, along with you .”
She nods again. “Of course I remember.”
“Which man was it, Misty? Who made a decision so quickly?”
“That’s not exactly what I meant,” she says, casting her gaze downward.
“I know exactly what you meant. You meant that River had chosen you, didn’t you?”
“No…”
I grab her arm, and not gently.
She yanks it away from me. “Don’t you dare touch me, Emily.”
She’s right. I shouldn’t have done that. No need to get physical over a man who is not mine. But I want to know why she wants River. Why she thinks she’s entitled to him. And why, for the love of God, she thinks he’ll fall for her.
I breathe in deeply. “I apologize.” I exhale. “How was your date with River last night?”
It couldn’t have gone very well, since River came straight to me for a night of rage-driven fucking afterward.
“It was wonderful,” Misty gushes, closing her eyes. “ He’s wonderful.”
I swallow quickly to avoid casting my crumpets.
The fact is that I agree with her. River is wonderful. I don’t want to think he’s wonderful, but I do. He’s so ruggedly beautiful, a magnificent lover, and he’s caring. He can fuck me hard one moment and be warm and loving the next.
Then there’s that unspoken pull between us—that magnetic connection. Something about him calls to me, and I bloody wish it didn’t.
River Barrett doesn’t fit into my plans.
But despite my resolve, my inner hellion emerges. “What would you do, Misty, if some other woman was already tight with River? What if he was falling for someone else?”
“No!” Misty gulps, clenching her hands into fists. “It’s too soon. I’m the one he’s supposed to fall for.”
“And why is that, exactly?”
Her jaw drops, and she lunges at me. “It’s you. It’s you , Emily.”
I easily step out of the way and Misty tumbles to the plush carpeting. I give her a hand up and make sure she’s meeting my gaze before I say, “I never said he was falling for me or I for him, but I’ve sucked his cock and he’s eaten my pussy. We’ve showered together and fucked each other bloody raw. Many times. And it’s been a splendidly good time. What do you say to that ?”