Chapter 8
KENSEY
Igot up earlier than I would normally need to. I told myself it was because I wanted to make a good impression on my first real day. Not because I was excited to see Drew. And I was definitely not trying to look good for him.
I had packed for a summer of beach days and backyard dinners with my parents.
Not for a job at a luxury clothing store in Beverly Hills.
I ended up wearing one of the little black dresses I brought just in case I went out to dinner.
I was going to need to do a little shopping to get some more outfits for the month.
I stopped in the kitchen long enough to fill my travel mug with coffee. Mom was at the side table attempting her puzzle. She was going to be blind by the end of it. The shades of white were no joke.
“You look nice,” she said.
“Thank you. I wasn’t sure how to dress. I’ve never been an assistant before.”
My dad appeared in the doorway in his robe, coffee in hand. “Have a good day, sweetheart. I’m looking forward to hearing all about it when you get home.”
“Thank you,” I said. “There’s some big guest coming in from New York today.”
He pointed at me. “Don’t let anyone make you feel like you don’t belong there.”
“I won’t.”
I used my new parking pass, given to me by Drew, and parked in the garage close to the building. I walked in and felt the buzz. Whatever was happening had everyone excited. I took the stairs up to the second floor.
The space up here looked completely different.
Yesterday it had been quiet and mostly empty.
Today it had been transformed overnight into something that looked like a backstage area at a runway show.
Garment racks lined the walls, each one loaded with clothing in protective bags.
A long folding table had been set up along one side with fabric swatches, pins, measuring tape, and a variety of tools I couldn’t name arranged in neat rows.
Two large standing mirrors had been positioned near the windows.
A rolling steamer sat in the corner, already warming up.
Someone had pushed the furniture back to create a wide open central space.
Drew was standing in the middle of it all, talking to a woman I hadn’t seen before. He had his back to the stairs, so he didn’t see me come up. I paused on the landing for just a moment, taking in the scene. I was very aware I had no business being anywhere near the fashion world.
The woman was somewhere in her fifties, I guessed. She was neat and compact, with silver-streaked hair pulled back and wearing a simple dark dress that managed to look both practical and elegant at the same time. There was a measuring tape around her neck and a fanny pack around her waist.
He turned and spotted me. His face broke into a bright smile. “There she is.” He waved me over. “Come meet Annika.”
I crossed the floor toward them. The woman turned and gave me a thorough onceover. Not unkindly but I got the feeling she knew my bra size with just a single look.
“Annika, this is Kensey Blake. She’s my assistant, at least through the summer event. She’s also my best friend, so be gentle with her.”
“I am always gentle,” Annika said. Her accent was Swedish. Her handshake was firm. “Kensey is a lovely name.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Annika has been with Blackwell Couture for twenty years,” Drew said. “She runs the dressmaking and alterations operation out of New York. She flies in whenever we have a major fitting.”
“The collection is beautiful this season,” Annika said, glancing toward the racks. “Your cousins have outdone themselves.”
Two other women were moving around the space. Annika’s team, I assumed. They moved like they’d done this a million times, which I imagined they had.
“Models start arriving in about thirty minutes,” Drew said, checking his phone. “We’ve got fourteen today. Eight women, six men. Annika’s team will take measurements, we’ll do preliminary fits, note what needs altering.”
I pulled out my notebook. “Do you have a list? Names, which pieces each model is wearing?”
He pointed at the table. “Clipboard. Right there.”
I picked it up. Someone had already printed a detailed grid. Model names down the left side, outfit numbers across the top, checkboxes for measured, fitted, notes. It was organized but clearly designed for someone who already knew what all the outfit numbers meant, which I did not.
“I’ll figure it out,” I said, mostly to myself.
“You will,” Annika agreed, appearing at my elbow. “Walk with me. I’ll show you what we’re working with.”
She led me to the first rack and began pulling bags open and describing each piece. I was overwhelmed with how beautiful the clothes were.
“Oh wow,” I gasped when she showed me a wispy blue dress.
“Yes.” Annika zipped it back up with the satisfaction of someone who knew exactly what she had. “Elizabeth, Adrian Blackwell’s wife, designed this one herself. It will go to the tallest model. It needs the length.”
I made a note next to the model’s name. I was learning the system slowly, but it was progress. There were numbers on each bag. I could figure out the rest.
The models started arriving at nine. I had been around good-looking people before.
I grew up in Los Angeles. Attractive people were practically infrastructure here.
But these were professional models, and there was something very different about watching fourteen of them fill up a room.
They were tall and willowy and moved like water.
They didn’t walk—they glided. The men were broad-shouldered and lean.
A few were shirtless and I had to fight the urge to rub my finger across the washboard abs. I was certain they were airbrushed.
I noticed the way Drew moved through the room. The models definitely looked at him, but he looked at them like they were furniture. I supposed one would be inoculated to all that beauty if you saw it on the daily.
I stayed close to Annika. She moved with calm authority, directing her team, calling models over one at a time, measuring and noting and pinning with quick, precise hands.
She talked as she worked, murmuring instructions in a mix of English and occasionally Swedish to her team.
Drew circulated, checking in with the models, answering questions, reviewing the clipboard I’d handed off to him.
“Hold this,” Annika said, pressing one end of the measuring tape into my hand.
I held it. She measured. I wrote down the number she called out. We did this six more times over the next hour and I started to feel like I was actually useful, which was a relief.
“You’re quick,” Annika said at one point.
“Thank you.”
I liked her. She reminded me a little of my mother, minus the broken arm and the garden opinions.
Drew caught my eye from across the room and raised his eyebrows in a quick checking-in expression. I gave him a thumbs-up. He smiled and went back to whatever he’d been discussing with one of the male models, a very tall man with cheekbones that could cut glass.
About an hour and a half in, Annika sent me to retrieve the next round of outfits from the rack along the far wall. She gave me two numbers, rattled them off quickly while simultaneously measuring someone’s inseam. It was easy enough to find them.
I handed one to the male model, a lean dark-haired man that wasn’t really my type, but I could see why he was a model.
I handed the other to a woman who looked like she could be a dancer.
She disappeared behind the partition screens that had been set up in the corner for changing.
I went back to Annika and we worked on measurements for another few minutes.
I didn’t know what made me look, but I glanced over to the partition and saw the male model step out.
He was wearing a silk shirt. It was beautiful.
Rose gold and very flowy with a deep V-neck and wide sleeves.
I didn’t know shit about fashion, but I thought it looked very feminine.
But I’d gone to a Harry Styles concert in New York. That was a thing.
He looked down at himself like he was confused. The woman came out wearing what looked like a tuxedo shirt. It was way too big. Again, I didn’t know fashion but it was very unflattering. She had her arms slightly out from her sides in a way that communicated she was aware something had gone wrong.
There was a beat of collective silence in the room.
And then Annika turned around and said something I thought might be Swedish but couldn’t say for sure. It was definitely a curse.
I suddenly understood the problem. Me. I was the problem.
Heat crawled up the back of my neck and settled in my cheeks. My ears burned. My neck was flushed.
“I’m so sorry,” I said immediately. I was already moving toward the two models. “That was me. I handed you the wrong pieces.”
The room had already moved on. Everyone had somewhere to be and something to do. I wanted to melt into the floor.
I felt a hand at my elbow.
“Come here for a second,” Drew said.
“Pretty impressive to get fired on my second day,” I muttered.
I followed him across the floor to his office. He pushed the door open, gestured for me to go in, and then closed it behind him.
“Drew, I’m sorry,” I said. “I knew this was a bad idea. I am not an assistant. Definitely not a fashion assistant.”
“Stop. Sit down.”
“I don’t need to sit down.”
“Kensey, sit down.”
I sat on the couch and watched him go to the mini fridge on the counter that also held a coffee maker, snack basket, and a crystal carafe that I guessed might be scotch. He pulled out two Diet Cokes and handed one to me before he sat down in one of the leather chairs.
I opened the can and took a drink. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was nothing,” he said.
“In front of fourteen models and Annika and her entire team.”
“I promise you, they have seen so much worse. Annika didn’t even blink.
It’s a fitting. Things go sideways. That’s the whole point of the fitting.
Remember what I told you about my cousin’s big show in Greece.
Callum said it was insane. The storm of the century rolled in and soaked the models.
Makeup running, runway soaked. Annika still made it happen.
Trust me when I say there have been much bigger mistakes. ”
I blew out a breath and took another drink. “I don’t know anything about this world,” I said. “I don’t know the difference between a garment number and a model designation. I should have asked. I should have looked more carefully before I just grabbed things and handed them to people.”
“You should have,” he agreed, without any edge to it. “And now you know. And it won’t happen again. That’s how it works.”
I looked at him. “You’re very calm about this.”
“Because it’s fine.” He shrugged. “The clothes are fine. The models are fine. Annika is fine. And you’re fine.” He tilted his head. “Are you fine?”
“My ego has taken a small hit.”
“Your ego will recover.” He smiled. “You’re doing me a favor, Kensey. I need you to remember that. You walked in here with zero context and you’ve been keeping up for the past several hours. One mix-up doesn’t cancel that out. And I’m sure as hell not going to fire you.”
I looked down at my hands for a moment. He had this way of finding the exact thing that needed to be said and saying it without making a production out of it. It was never a big thing, just him being his wonderful self.
I’d missed that. I’d missed it more than I realized. My protector. My champion. I didn’t need a champion but it was nice to know I had one in my corner.
“You always do that,” I said.
“Do what?”
“Make things feel less catastrophic than they are.”
He considered that. “Is that a compliment?”
“Yes.”
He smiled and pushed himself up from the chair. “Okay. Take a breath. Come back out when you’re ready. No rush. I’ll be out there.”
He moved toward the door and I stopped him. “Drew.”
He turned.
“Thank you,” I said. “For being you.”
“Always,” he said simply, and left me to it.
I finished my drink and took my butt back out there.
I kept finding myself watching him. I wasn’t making heart eyes at him.
But I noticed him in a way I don’t think I have before.
He was outwardly attractive. No one could ever deny that, but I saw something deeper.
The man on the inside was far more beautiful.
The fourth time I looked up, he was already looking at me.
He raised his eyebrows in that quick, silent shorthand. What’s up?
I grinned.
He wagged his brows once, delighted with himself, and turned back to whatever he’d been doing.
Stop it. Concentrate.
I was not going to crush on my friend.