Page 23 of Cinderella-ish
“I’ve gotta study Milan fashion shows and their impact on society—inMilan.”
I can see the corners of Emma’s mouth twitch, an obvious struggle at holding back a giggle. And, five seconds later, she cacklesuncontrollably.
“You’re funny,” I say, semi-amused. “But seriously, get off this call and do your homework,” I inject as a reminder that I’m still the adult here. “Besides, I’m kind of working on a small project,hun.”
“Work-related?” she asks, her voice inflated, eyeswidened.
“Yep. And I promise to fill you intomorrow.”
Emma’s expression softens. “Okay then, I’m off to do my homework. Good luck with your project. Loveya.”
“I love ya too,babe.”
Describing this project as small wasn’t exactly a fitting characterization—more likemammoth.
Taking a hearty sip of hot peppermint tea, I retrieve a spiral notebook from my desk drawer and begin jotting down mental notes I made earlier while viewing the extensive video footage Jonah provided me. Apparently, the entire lingerie event in Milan is colossal—commencing with a grandiose fashion show and concluding with a ceremonial ball. Invitees of The Ball exclusively don the newest and hottestavant-gardecreations by the fashion show’sdesigners.
During the brainstorming meeting, I remember Antonio mentionedCraveMehas fallen behind compared to what other designers present on the catwalk. Seems they’ve been going all out, presumably trying to outdo the other, in an effort to leave a memorable impression. And from what I’ve seen on the videos, he’s absolutely right. DJs, strobe lights, acrobatics, all in addition to an assortment of dazzling,ass-baring,women. It’s no wonder Jonah is freaked-the-fuck out about the amount of time we have left to plan. There is no wayCraveMecan expect to pull off anything close to what the others have—unless we decide, like yesterday, what the theme willbe.
I rock back and forth in my chair as I scan my bedroom walls for inspiration. Over the years, I’ve been collecting and framing pictures of women wearing chic lingerie that I use to influence my own design creations. Yet, I thinkCraveMe’sthirty-minute contribution to the Fashion Show needs to be more of an all-out experience. To draw out my creative muse, I switch on my MP3 player—it’s still set to my 1980s playlist. I tap my ink pen on the hard, wooden surface of my desk and bob my head to the funky sound of The Eurythmics-Sweet Dreams,and before I know it, I’m up, moving about my room, dancing to the beat. Even though I wasn’t born in the ’80s, I still appreciate everything from the era. The music. The movies. The hair. And even some of the clothing. If someone could ingeniously figure out how to intertwine the best parts of the ’80s, ’90s, andtoday—
Holy fuck. That’sit.
The concept smacks me with such blunt force, I trip as I scamper back to mychair.
Immediately I begin conducting an online search for images, articles, just about everything I’ll need to create a poppin’ slideshow to present to Antonio and Jonah tomorrow at Creative Solutions,Inc.
* * *
Nearly two hours,two MP3 play sets, and two glasses of wine later, I stare, in awe, at what I’ve come up with. It’s phenomenally perfect and I honestly can’t wait until tomorrow—even though I’ll have to. I power down my laptop and pack it up for the meeting and shimmy my way into the closet, still feeling giddy over my creativity. I’ll need to wear something professionally eye-poppin’ to themeeting.
Something Holly Golightly-ish minus the hat, ofcourse.
My phonerings.
Shit. It’s Antonio. He and I exchanged phone numbers earlier when he reminded me I need to be available twenty-four hours a day. And, no doubt, he’s likely calling to tell me what type of coffee I need to bring him to the meeting tomorrow. I mean, isn’t that the sort of stuff I’m to do as his PA? Pick up his coffee on the way to work? Honestly, we really haven’t discussed my primaryduties.
“Sir?” I answer, still searching for an outfit towear.
“Sir? That actually has a nice ring to it. But I prefer Sir Antonio…you know, as long as you’re tossing the wordSiraround.” I hear a soft chuckle escapehim.
His voice is soothing and sweet over the phone, like a soft lullaby.He can put me to sleep anytime.Ooops. That’s the two glasses of wine talking. Iswear.
“To what do I owe the honor?” I’m sure there are thousands of women in Los Angeles who wouldkillto have Antonio Michaels call them at—I glance at the clock display on my phone—10:35p.m.
“I was calling to see if you’ve been able to come up with any ideas. I figured you’d still be up…probably stillbrainstorming?”
I smirk into the phone. “I’m actually all done. And I won’t be sharing anything with you until tomorrow at themeeting.”
“Done? Well that’s great. Can’t you give me ateaser?”
I let out an exaggerated sigh. “That will be a no.” I pull a black dress off its hanger and hold it up against me while looking in themirror.
He laughs. “Fair enough, Daniella Belle. What kind of coffee can I bringyou?”
I stand up tall. “Um, me?” I stammer. “What coffee can you bringme?”Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be asking him?I slouch down, my butt on the edge of one of my shoeshelves.
“Yes. I thought I’d get us some coffee on my way to pick you up. I figure since we live only a few miles apart and are both going to the same place tomorrow, we should go together. It will give us time to…talk.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I wasn’t expecting him to pick up coffee nor was I expecting a ride. I even booked an Uber. Audible words are held hostage by the shock of him being…pleasant. Or maybe he’s just being an efficient boss. Yep. That’s it. Makes totalsense.
“Okay,” I finally manage to spill. “I’ll take a cappuccino with whipped cream,please.”
“Perfect. Plan to be ready to go by 7:45 sharp. Until tomorrow, Daniella. Sweetdreams.”
