Johanna
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
“WEAPONS (STRIPPED)” — MARK DIAMOND
Present Day
It’s been a few weeks since the pool party.
The boys have been hard at work in the studio, pouring everything they have into this new album.
Brandon comes home every night exhausted, but behind the tired exterior, there’s a level of passion there that only shows itself when it comes to his music.
He swears this is some of their best work yet, and I can’t wait to hear what they’ve been working on.
Jake’s been working with the label on planning a preview pop-up show, giving them an opportunity to play some of their new material in front of a crowd and gauge their reactions in real time.
Things finally feel like they’re falling into place in more ways than one.
It’s late, but I’m still waiting up for Brandon in what is now officially our room.
As soon as our relationship was officially out in the open, there was no debating anything else.
Brandon said he’d waited long enough and we moved my things here right after I made sure Grayson knew exactly what was going on between us.
I sit cross-legged in the bed with my sketchbook spread out in front of me, pencil tapping absently against the thick cardstock as I put the finishing touches on a new design.
The ideas have been coming easier lately, like my newfound happiness has unlocked my creativity and I’m no longer fighting myself every step of the way.
My phone buzzes against the nightstand, the vibration loud in the otherwise quiet room. I turn it over, expecting to see Brandon’s name with a text informing me he’s on his way back to the house, but instead, it’s Makenna.
Makenna Alexander
Your LLC paperwork for J Harris Designs is ready to file. I just need your final approval before I submit it in the morning.
I let out a soft laugh—of course she’s still working when it’s well after midnight in Boston.
Johanna Harris
Send it over and I’ll sign it tonight.
The PDF comes through seconds later, but before I can even open the document, another message follows.
Makenna Alexander
Perfect—the sooner the better. I have something else to send you, but don’t freak out.
I freeze. What could she possibly have to tell me that can’t wait until morning?
Another text appears, but this time it’s a link. When I tap on it, the browser pulls up to a page titled Emerging Designers Showcase—Paris Fashion Week (Independent Collective).
My stomach drops. I don’t even get a chance to scroll through the site before the explanation text shows up.
Makenna Alexander
So, to be clear, I guess Macy took the feature Mia did for People on her dress and just… ran with it. Mia and I didn’t even know she submitted the dress for you until yesterday.
What the fuck?
I don’t hesitate. I tap Makenna’s contact to call her. She answers on the second ring.
“I told you not to freak out,” she says immediately.
“I’m going to need a little bit more information before I can confidently say I’m not going to freak out,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. “What exactly did Macy do, and why did she feel the need to do it?”
“You have met her, right?” Makenna deadpans. “She’s always putting her nose in other people’s business under the guise of being helpful.”
“Makenna,” I grit out. “Details—now.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “So, Mace decided last month to start a PR company here in Boston. She has another client who’s an up-and-coming designer on the East Coast. When she found the competition in Paris for the other client, she called Mia to ask her if she thought you’d be interested in submitting your work. ”
I sit up straighter, my grip tightening on my phone.
How the hell has this not come up until now?
“And?” I press.
“Mia told her she wasn’t sure if you were ready for something like that,” Makenna continues. “Not because she doesn’t think you’re talented—but because she didn’t know how serious you were about designing as a career.”
Well—fair enough.
I’ve really just started working on making it official. The People article is set to hit shelves next week, and I wanted to be ready for the possibility of anyone besides my sister-in-law wanting to take a chance on me.
“Macy apparently didn’t listen,” she adds. “She sent in the feature and some of Mia’s bridal photos along with the application.”
I blink, wondering if I’d fallen asleep and none of this would be real in the morning.
“She… submitted my work?” I repeat slowly. “Without my permission?”
“Yes.”
“To Paris Fashion Week?”
“Yes.”
“And no one felt the need to clue me in until now?”
“Like I said, I didn’t even know this happened until yesterday,” Makenna sighs. “Talk to Mia if you want to know why she didn’t tell you.”
My pulse is pounding in my ears now.
“How real is this?” I ask, so quietly I’m not even sure she can hear me.
“Very,” she says. “Johanna, there were five designers chosen out of hundreds of applicants and you were one of them. That’s why I wanted to make sure your LLC was ready to go. If you want to do this, you’ll need to be in Paris for the show in two weeks.”
“Two weeks,” I repeat.
Fourteen days and my life could change forever.
“I know it’s fast,” Makenna says. “It’s really fast—but Jo, this is the kind of opportunity that regular people wait their entire lives for.”
I swallow hard, my gaze drifting across the room before I dare to look back down at my sketchbook.
Can I bring any of these to life in a two week period?
Right now, it seems impossible.
“Johanna,” Makenna continues, bringing my attention back to the call. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You can decline. We can just let the feature come out next week and we’ll just see what happens.”
A beat passes.
“But if you do want to do this…” she adds, “I’ll handle everything on the legal side, and I’m sure you’ll have plenty of help getting your designs ready. You just have to decide.”
Just make a decision, Johanna.
Like it’s that fucking simple.
I lean back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling and watching the fan turn in its simple, monotonous motion.
“I need to think about it,” I say.
“Take some time,” she replies, “But don’t take too long. They’re expecting an answer by the end of the week.”
The call ends.
Just like that—the peace and quiet in my mind is gone.
I don’t even have a moment to sit with it before my phone pings with an alert from the home security system.
Grayson added me to the security system and downloaded the stupid app last year when it became clear I had no intention of getting my own place.
I almost wish he hadn’t, because it seems my notifications are always blowing up with how many people come and go through this house.
Brandon Jackson has opened the front gate.
He’s finally home.
For a split second, I consider pretending the conversation with Makenna never happened. Maybe I should make up my own mind before I bring another person into it—but that feels like an old version of me.
A version I’m not proud of.
The decision doesn’t lie with me alone anymore. He deserves to know.
His footsteps grow closer, and a moment later, he appears in the doorway—tired, slightly disheveled, but still somehow the most grounding thing in the room.
“Hey, baby,” he says, his voice soft as his eyes land on me.
He drops his backpack by the door and crosses the room to my side of the bed, pressing a slow, soft kiss against my lips. It would be so easy to melt into him, to fall into bed together and forget everything around us—but I can’t.
“Hey,” I murmur once he pulls away. “How was your session?”
“We made some good progress—but I missed you, sexy girl,” he says before moving into the attached bathroom. He begins his nighttime routine, but when I don’t respond, he peeks his head around the door. “You okay?”
“Maybe,” I reply. “I just got an interesting phone call.”
“This late?” he asks. “From who?”
“Makenna.”
That seems to get his attention. He steps out of the bathroom fully now and leans against the doorframe.
“Mia’s sister—the lawyer?” he questions. “That doesn’t sound good.”
I let out a breath, trying to decide how to start the conversation. With all the drama we’ve had amongst the group lately, I haven’t told him much about my plans to try to take a real shot at becoming a designer.
“She’s been helping me file an LLC,” I explain. “She called to let me know my documents are ready to sign and… this.”
I hold out my phone, the website for the showcase still pulled up on the screen. He moves back to the bed, taking the phone and glancing at me briefly before he starts to scroll through it. I watch as his expression changes from curiosity to a sharper focus as he processes what he’s reading.
“Makenna wants you to submit your designs for this?” he asks, turning his attention back to me.
“Apparently I already have,” I reply, my voice tighter than I intend for it to be. “Macy submitted my application—with pictures of Mia’s wedding dress and the People feature—without telling me. They chose five designers.” I pause, taking in a deep breath. “I’m one of them.”
“You’re—” he begins, but stops short, shaking his head in confusion. “Wait—what People feature?”
Oh, shit.
I never showed him.
Leaning over, I open the top drawer to the nightstand and pull the magazine out, handing it to him as I take back my phone. He flips through the pages slowly until he lands on Mia’s interview.
I can see it the moment it happens—when he realizes this has become more than a hobby, and I’m more than a washed-up model with a sketchbook and a pipe dream. He would never describe me that way, but that was how I made myself feel until… Well, now.
His eyes continue to move over the page carefully, taking it all in. The photos. The dress. The way it’s described. The way I’m described.
“I didn’t realize…” he murmurs, trailing off while trying to find the words. “You never told me—you made Mia’s dress?”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I did.”
He looks back up at me, and whatever he sees this time—it shifts something in him again.