Chapter 17
AUSTIN
Ifelt fucking invincible walking out of that conference room.
Femme Curve had folded exactly like I’d predicted.
Public apology drafted and approved. Timeline set for release.
Legal team scrambling to cover their asses.
And Melody was looking at me like I’d hung the moon, the stars, and all the other planets.
I held her hand as I led her to the elevators. I pushed the button and glanced over at her. She’d been awful quiet. I had a feeling she was in a little bit of shock.
Melody had gotten exactly what she deserved. Justice, vindication, and a chance to set the record straight. And I made it happen.
“You’re smirking,” she said as the elevator descended.
“I’m victorious. There’s a difference.”
“You look like a cat who just caught a very expensive canary.”
“That’s because I did.” I loosened my tie, riding the high of a successful negotiation. “Did you see their faces when Margaret pulled out the contract clause? I thought he was going to have a stroke.”
“You enjoyed that way too much.”
“I enjoyed it exactly the right amount.” The elevator reached the lobby, and I guided her out with a hand in the small of her back. “Come on. We’re celebrating.”
“Celebrating? Austin, it’s barely four in the afternoon.”
“Perfect time for drinks.” I pulled out my phone, already texting my driver. “I know a place. Great cocktails, better food, huge windows facing the street.”
She caught the last part. “Windows facing the street?”
“Where we can be seen. Together. Looking like we’re celebrating something important.” I gave her my best charming smile. “Come on, Melody. Live a little.”
“I have work tonight. Content to edit. Posts to write.”
“Which you can do after one drink. One drink to toast our victory over the evil corporation that wronged you.” I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “Besides, we should be seen together. Building the narrative. Making this look real.”
She bit her lip, considering, then sighed. “One drink.”
“That’s my girl.”
“I’m not your girl.”
“You are in public.” I steered her toward where my car was pulling up. “Just get in the car before you change your mind.”
The restaurant I chose was one of those places that had a chill vibe but catered to the wealthy lawyers and corporate people that worked in the area. The dining area had windows that faced a busy intersection. We’d be visible from the street. Likely to be photographed. Exactly what we needed.
We were given a corner window seat, perfect lighting, impossible to miss.
“Subtle,” Melody muttered as we sat down.
“Bancrofts don’t do subtle.” I ordered us a bottle of champagne before she could object. “We’re celebrating. Champagne is mandatory.”
“I don’t even like champagne.”
“You’ll like this champagne. And you drank champagne at the wedding.”
“I drank some champagne.”
“It’s expensive champagne.
“That’s not the selling point you think it is.”
“Sure it is. Expensive champagne tastes better. It’s science.”
“That’s not how science works.”
“How would you know? Are you a scientist?”
“Are you?”
“I have a business degree I never use and access to Google,” I said. “That’s basically the same thing.”
She laughed and shook her head. I liked making her laugh, liked the way her whole face transformed when she was genuinely amused.
The champagne arrived, and I poured for both of us despite her protests.
“To victory,” I said, raising my glass.
“To not getting sued into oblivion,” she countered.
“To you getting exactly what you deserved.”
Her expression softened. “Thank you. Really. I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you for this.”
“You already are. By being here. By making my family think I’ve finally gotten my act together.” I took a sip. “Besides, I wanted to help. What they did to you was wrong.”
“It was.” She stared into her glass, her fingers tracing the rim. “It was so wrong, Austin. And it hurt worse than I thought it would.”
“Why do you think that is?”
She looked up, surprised. “You actually want to know?”
“Yeah. I do.”
She took a breath, and I watched her gather her thoughts. She was still trying to decide how much she wanted to trust me. Should she keep me at arm’s length or let me in? I didn’t see why we couldn’t be friends, though.
“I’ve spent my entire adult life fighting against beauty standards that make women like me feel like we’re not enough,” she said.
“Like we need to be smaller, take up less space, apologize for our bodies just by existing. The runway models are gorgeous and yet when they are on a magazine cover, they get airbrushed. Like how much more perfect can they be?” Her voice grew more passionate as she continued.
“Do you know what it’s like to walk into a store and know that nothing will fit you?
To see ads everywhere telling you that your body type is wrong?
That if you just tried harder, ate less, exercised more, you could finally be acceptable? ”
“I don’t,” I admitted.
“It’s exhausting. It’s soul-crushing. And for so long, I believed it.
I thought something was wrong with me.” She took a sip of champagne, her eyes bright with emotion.
“Then I found this community of women who looked like me. Being overweight or a little bigger than a size two does not mean you can’t be fashionable and confident and happy.
When I accepted my body, it changed my entire life. ”
I found myself leaning forward, completely absorbed.
“I realized that plus-size women are the majority. We’re not some tiny minority that the fashion industry reluctantly has to acknowledge.
We’re the majority of the population. But we’re treated like we should be grateful for any scrap of representation we get.
Like we should thank brands for deigning to make clothes in our sizes. ”
“That’s fucked up.”
“It is. And social media has made it worse in some ways. Because now the negative messaging is constant. It’s everywhere.
All the filters on your phone cameras are like dangling candy in front of little kids.
Everyone is afraid to just post a picture of themselves as they are.
Like they’ll never be good enough no matter what they do. ”
“Do you use filters?” I asked.
“At times.” She nodded. “Not often. But I’m very honest and I make sure I put it on my post. I use good lighting for some of the more professional pictures, but I also don’t sit down fresh-faced ten minutes after I’ve crawled out of bed and talk to my followers.
Women all know we don’t roll out of bed looking like this.
” She gestured to her face. “But it’s pretending you did that I think is just so shady. ”
Her hands were moving now, animated and expressive. I could see why the situation was so important to her.
She took another sip of the champagne. “I was so damaged as a kid. So convinced that my body was wrong. That I was wrong. And building my platform, connecting with women who felt the same way and getting to show them that they could be beautiful and stylish and confident exactly as they are was amazing.” Her voice cracked slightly. “That healed me. That gave me purpose.”
“So when Femme Curve edited your photos, you took it personally?”
“It felt like betrayal. Like all that work and progress meant nothing. They looked at my body and decided it needed fixing. That even in a campaign about body positivity, I still wasn’t acceptable enough.” She wiped at her eyes quickly. “Sorry. I’m getting emotional.”
“Don’t apologize.” I reached across the table and took her hand. “You’re allowed to be emotional about this. It mattered. It still does matter.”
She looked down at our joined hands. “The ten-year-old version of me would be so proud of where I am now and what I’ve built.
I like the woman I’ve become.” She met my eyes.
“And seeing those edited photos? It broke my heart. Because it felt like they were telling that little girl that she still wasn’t good enough. ”
She had something to fight for. Something that mattered. I had never had that. I’d spent my whole life either trying to meet my family’s expectations or rebelling against them. But I never had a cause. Never had something I believed in enough to fight for.
“You’re one of the good ones,” I said quietly.
“What?”
“You’re one of the good ones. You care about something bigger than yourself. You’re trying to make a difference, not just make money. That’s rare, Melody. Really rare.”
She blushed, looking away. “I’m just doing what feels right.”
“That’s exactly what makes you good.”
I waved the waiter over, ordering us appetizers without consulting the menu. “But we can talk about that later. Right now, we’re celebrating.”
We ate and talked. I realized I was having more fun than I’d had in months. Maybe years.
Melody was smart, funny, and passionate. She challenged me. Made me think. She was so normal. In a good way. I wasn’t plotting on how to get her into bed. I wasn’t thinking about how I was going to gently dump her in the morning. I was able to sit and enjoy the moment.
People were definitely photographing us. I’d caught at least three phones pointed in our direction. Perfect.
“Thank you again,” Melody said as we finished eating. “For everything. The lawyers, the negotiation, and this lovely celebration.” She gestured at the restaurant. “I’m not sure I can ever repay you.”
“You can,” I said.
“How?”
“Sunday night. Wear something nice. I’ll pick you up at six.”
Her brow furrowed. “What’s Sunday night?”
“Dinner.” I tried to keep my tone casual even though my stomach was already knotting at the thought of dinner with her on my arm. I stood, pulling out my wallet. “Come on. Let’s get you home so you can do all that important content creation work you mentioned.”
“You’re paying?”
“Of course I’m paying. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you pay?”
“The kind who respects my independence and earning power?”
“Nice try. I’m still paying.”
We left the restaurant with my arm around her waist, playing it up for the phones I knew were watching.
“Sunday at six,” I reminded her as we pulled up outside her townhouse. “Don’t forget.”
“How could I? You basically demanded it. You know, you’re very bossy. You assume a lot of things.”
“One of my many flaws.” I leaned closer. “But you like me anyway.”
“I tolerate you. There’s a difference.”
“You like me,” I insisted. “Admit it.”
“I’ll admit you’re occasionally useful.”
“I’ll take it.” I opened her door for her. “See you Sunday, Melody.”
She paused before getting out, looking back at me with an odd expression. “Thank you,” she said again. “For everything. You didn’t have to go that hard for me.”
“Yeah, I did. You deserved it.”
She smiled then slid out of the car. I watched her walk up to her door and then disappear inside. I was going to get an invite into her secret domain one of these days. But I would take it slow. I didn’t want to scare her off and have her change her mind.
I was starting to really like her. Which was a problem.
Because when this arrangement ended and when we both got what we needed from each other, I was going to have to let her go.