Chapter 18
SAbrINA
Thirty-two missed calls.
My mother left a voicemail for nearly every one.
“For the last time, I said no!”
I’d been arguing with my mother for the last twenty minutes.
It was already close to ten a.m., and I was behind.
I had to head straight to work instead of stopping by my rental flat, even though it was close to the studio.
Fortunately, one of my roommates noticed I’d forgotten my phone and brought it to work for me.
Unfortunately, the moment I charged it, I discovered the missed calls from my mother.
In the last message, she'd threatened to buy a ticket to Paris and come find me if I didn’t call her back immediately. It was especially difficult after I’d made the mistake of telling her about the job offer.
“Sabrina, you cannot go to Italy.”
“I know, Mom.”
I rifled through the sample shoes that sat in a pile in the studio's corner, dumped there after the fashion show cleanup at the Louvre from the night before. Selecting a pair of black velvet platform heels with an ankle strap, I kicked off my borrowed sneakers.
Setting the phone on the floor as I continued to listen to my mother’s tirade with only half an ear, I buckled the straps.
“You shouldn’t even be in Europe. It’s too dangerous. I think you should come home.”
At least my outfit would appear more stylistically intentional than sloppy casual. “I’m not coming home. I’m doing this for my career.”
I cursed my stubborn pride for not choosing the Armani sheath dress and matching strap heels from the selection Sebastian had provided.
Picking up the phone, I rolled my eyes while my mother continued to rant.
“You can have a career in New York, where it’s safe.”
I leaned my head against my phone as I balanced it on my shoulder, rummaging through several designer purses loaned to édouard for the collection showcase. “France is perfectly safe.”
At least I hadn’t been stupid enough to give her all the details about my interaction with Sebastian Diamanti.
Knowing she followed the papers and would see a photo of me wearing the Yellow Persian diamond pendant and ask questions, I’d told her I’d been selected to wear it for the party, and that was how I’d met Sebastian.
It was just a small lie.
I’d then told her that after chatting with me about my career aspirations and complimenting the work I was doing for édouard Sauvage-Lafleur, he had offered me a job at House of Diamanti.
Again, just a tiny lie.
She was freaking out even at the idea of me going to Rome.
Imagine what she would do if she found out I’d slept with one of the most powerful men in all of Italy?
She would lose her mind. She’d be on the next plane to Paris for sure. I wasn’t about to let that happen.
“Mom. I’m perfectly safe. I’ve already told you. I turned the job down. I’m not going to Italy.”
I selected several pairs of shoes and moved over to look through the belts. At least it was easier to organize these shoots without the chaos and noise of the pending fashion show.
As my mother continued to rage, I examined a foundation stain on the dress I’d wanted to highlight in today’s shoot.
After moving over to my worktable, I dipped a cloth into a bowl of lukewarm water with half a lemon and a dash of white vinegar and carefully blotted the stain.
A hazard of working with post-show fashions was dealing with inevitable tears and makeup stains. I scrubbed the stain harder than necessary, coming dangerously close to ruining the fabric.
For the hundredth time, I glanced at the doorway, expecting to see Sebastian’s formidable presence.
Instead it was Yelena who appeared. She caught my eye and motioned for me to wrap up.
“Mom—”
“All that I’ve done for you—”
“Mom, I—”
“And you can’t do this one simple thing for—”
“Mom!”
“What?”
“I have to go. My boss is coming, and we’re not allowed personal calls.”
“Is that why you’re not calling me? Is it your boss’s fault?”
“We can talk about this later. I don’t have time now.”
“So now you don’t even have time to talk to your—”
“Love you!”
I ended the call just as édouard entered.
This time, he wore a sheer, skintight turtleneck embellished with pearls arranged in a Baroque pattern, complemented by a matching beret and a shimmering gold scarf.
As he looked over my mood boards for the catalog, he raised his arm and snapped his fingers.
Yelena lifted her chin and nodded in his direction. “He means you.”
I smoothed my hair.
“How do I look?” I whispered to her as I ran my hand down my front.
She checked me over. “The Prada tracksuit was an interesting choice.”
I stuck my tongue out at her and then hustled over to édouard’s side. “Yes, édouard?”
I kept my head slightly lowered and pushed my hair forward to cover my cheeks.
He picked up a mood board and scrutinized it. “How long have you known Sebastian Diamanti?”
I rolled my eyes behind his back and sighed. Crap. “I don’t know him, édouard. And I’m really sorry for the misunderstanding.”
His eyes widened and he searched the room, as if Sebastian were some sort of powerful demon capable of hearing him.
He waved his palm a few inches from my face. “Stop. We will never speak of it.”
I sucked my lips between my teeth and nodded.
édouard studied my mood boards again. “This is good. Very good.”
He pointed to one drawing. “Not these shoes with that skirt. Use the mulberry ones.”
I nodded. “You’re right. That's a much better pairing.”
His wrist twirling, rings clacking, he glanced over at me. “Of course I’m right.”
He then pointed to another drawing. “This needs a purse. The clutch. Not the one I’m thinking of, the other one.”
I pulled out my phone and pretended to make a note. “Absolutely.”
Yelena caught my eye across the room. She mouthed, “Ask him.”
I waved my hand behind my back to make her stop. “So, these boards are actually my ideas for the website catalog spread, not the social media posts.”
His rings clacked again as he clapped his hands directly in front of my face. “Pay attention. Of course they’re for the catalog. I’m offering you the job—but only if you’re not going to be difficult about it.”
Holy shit. I did it. Purely on my own merit too.
I shuffled the boards back into place. “No, sir. I’m not trying to be difficult.”
He placed his hands on his hips. “What? Do you think you deserve more money because of your connections? Is that what this is about?”
I sighed, thinking of Sebastian. “No. I would never presume.”
He gave me a once-over. “Yes, it is presumptuous. The position comes with a thirty percent pay raise and a six-month contract.”
“I’ll take it. Thank you.”
He gave me another once-over then tapped the top mood board. “Don’t forget. The other clutch.”
After blowing Yelena a kiss, he left.
I joined Yelena by the espresso machine at the opposite end of the studio.
She side-bumped me as she tamped down the espresso grounds and locked the portafilter. “Congrats.”
I leaned against the counter, grabbed a Pirouette cookie, and unwrapped it. Sucking on the dipped chocolate end, I shrugged. “I guess so.”
She gestured for the milk. I handed her the carton. She poured some into a small metal pitcher.
“What’s wrong? And does it have to do with you wearing a tracksuit?” she asked as she frothed the milk.
I looked down. “It’s not that bad. It’s sporty.”
She raised an eyebrow while she spooned the froth on top of a cup and handed me the café au lait. “People like us don’t do sporty.”
I spooned several teaspoons of sugar into my drink.
Yelena wrinkled her nose as she watched me. “Why are we friends?”
I laughed, licking the spoon clean. “Because I was the only person willing to talk to you after your super scary husband terrified the rest of the staff when you first arrived.”
She tamped the espresso grounds down for her own cup. “Oh yeah. That was funny.”
Funny was one way to put it.
Her husband, Damien Ivanov—a man rumored to be a boss in the Russian mafia—had once made an AV tech literally piss himself after grabbing him by the throat for whistling at Yelena.
She was also the only person here who could possibly understand my dilemma as a sliver of doubt started to take hold.
“What if I was only offered the job because Sebastian Diamanti chose me to showcase his diamond last night?”
Two dream offers in one morning, and I couldn’t be sure either of them was legitimate.
She arched an eyebrow. “Showcasing his diamond? Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?”
I destroyed the soft curls of milk foam in my café au lait by over-stirring, trying to ignore my heated cheeks. “What? No. Of course not. You know what I mean.” Then I blurted out, “Nothing happened.”
Leaning a hip against the counter, she stared at me over the rim of her coffee cup. “I didn’t say anything did. You know, for a Cancer sign, you’re a terrible fucking liar.”
“There is nothing between me and Sebastian Diamanti. I literally met the man yesterday.”
“And last night?”
I clanked my spoon against the porcelain edge of the cup. “What about last night?”
“Rumor has it, he showed up at the café and dragged you off into the night like a jealous lover. A rumor I’m inclined to believe given your walk-of-shame outfit this morning.”
There were already rumors? This was so fucking bad.
Even with me turning down the job at House of Diamanti, people were still going to talk. Dammit.
I tugged on the cropped hoodie hem. “A walk-of-shame outfit would be the same outfit from the day before.”
She waved her hand over me. “Trust me. That’s a walk-of-shame outfit.”
“Fine! Yes, I spent the night in his hotel room, but it’s not what you think.”
She smirked. “I think you had raunchy, one-night-stand sex with a hot-as-fuck man.”
I winced as she hit the nail on the head. “I didn’t do it to try to further my career. It just sort of…happened.”
Memories of Sebastian fucking me against the shower tiles that morning made my cheeks burn.
I followed her to the corner of the studio, where she was packing up her wedding dress designs for shipment back to America.
“Who cares if you did?”
I set aside my cup and helped her move a clothing rack. “I would care! I don’t want people thinking I didn’t earn the job.”
She tapped her pen against the clipboard she held, where she kept track of shipping details. “You know the biggest difference between men and women in the corporate world?”
I played with a roll of tape. “Besides the pay gap?”
“Men don’t give two fucks if they earned the job. It doesn’t matter if they got it because they deserve it, because their daddy owns the company, or because they got shitfaced with the frat buddy who was in charge of hiring. They’ll still walk into a room cock first.”
She took the tape from my hands. “Women should worry less about how they got the job and focus more on proving they were actually qualified. That’s all I’m saying.”
“By your thinking, that means I should have taken Sebastian’s job offer.”
“Holy shit, Sebastian offered you a job at the House of Diamanti?”
I nodded.
“Then why the fuck are you taking édouard’s offer? I mean, don’t get me wrong. He’s a respected designer…but he’s no House of Diamanti.”
The House of Diamanti was one of the wealthiest, most influential companies in the world. Even an entry-level job there would catapult my career into the stratosphere.
“Because, despite growing up without a father, I don’t have daddy issues. I’m not a whore. And even though what you say makes sense, I still want to know in my heart of hearts that I earned my way—and not on my back.”
She kicked a box out of the way with perhaps more force than necessary. “I did grow up with a father. Trust me, you didn’t miss anything.”
She'd even hinted that her husband had her father killed for hurting her.
My mother had always made me promise to never even Google my father’s name. She was so afraid of him that she was convinced that just typing his name into a computer would somehow summon him.
Like taunting the devil to appear.
It was only because I'd overheard her on the phone when I was nine, having a hushed, urgent conversation, that I even knew my father’s name: Judge Delluci. I didn’t have any idea what his first name was.
Yelena scribbled on an invoice before looking up at me. “And I’d hardly call Sebastian a daddy. He’s only, what? Ten years older than you?”
“Twelve. And you didn’t see how he likes to order me about like a child.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Does he like to spank you when you’re bad?”
I hissed air through my teeth. My skin tingled at the memory of his palm spanking my ass. “No.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “That’s a yes.”
I tossed a scarf at her and turned back to my work.
I ignored my rising anxiety.
It was fine.
Everything was going to be fine.
I would take the website catalog job in Paris.
Sebastian would return to Italy, and the rumors would die down.
It would be like none of this ever happened.
All just a twisted fever dream.
Then that dream contorted back into a reality nightmare when édouard appeared in the doorway.
His face looked pale, and his hands shook so badly he almost dropped his phone. “Sabrina. There has been a mistake.”
No. No. No. Please, no.
édouard’s lips thinned. “I’m afraid there is no open stylist position for you here at Sauvage-Lafleur. You’re free to go.”
And there it was…
After exchanging a look with Yelena, I stepped forward. “Can you tell me what changed your mind?”
I didn’t even know why I was asking—twisting the knife, perhaps?
I already knew what, or rather who, had changed his mind.
He waved his hands in front of his face and left without a word of explanation.
I closed my eyes to absorb the news.
It didn’t matter how hard I fought—he always got what he wanted.
Sebastian Diamanti had just gotten me fired.