Page 32 of Hired By My Rich Baby Daddy

A smile tugged at my lips as I thought about my sister. She’d sent me pictures of herself wearing the peach-and-nude dress I made for her, and she looked damn good!

Big girl or not, my sister was the shit. I knew it—I just wished she did. Her confidence was better than it had once been, that was for sure, and she had her moments when she’d be feeling herself. I just wished she felt pretty and confident 24/7 because I really looked up to her.

Noree was super sweet, funny, and so damn talented! Anything she touched turned to gold, but I hated that she didn’t use her talents.

I was so glad she’d won that contest, though, because out of all the people who entered that Weekend with Ozy experience, her winning meant something… well, at least to me it did.

I was a firm believer that everything happened for a reason, even if we didn’t know what that reason was at the time. Her being around him could possibly spark her interest in music again by seeing him in his element.

I still couldn’t believe it.

I reached over and grabbed my phone, smiling as I looked at the picture of her in my outfit again. I couldn’t wait to print it out and add it to my portfolio. I kept a big physical book of every design I’d ever made. That book was my holy grail.

I leaned my head against the couch cushion for a moment, opening my email again. Right there at the top sat another rejection. The same one I’d read from top to bottom seven times.

I sighed. “Ugh! This is some bullshit.”

Over the last few months, I’d submitted sketches, sample collections, pitch decks, and mood boards. Hell, I’d even hand-delivered garments to boutiques, hoping somebody would at least call me back.

Nothing.

Every answer felt exactly the same.

Unfortunately…

We’ve decided…

At this time…

I was so damn tired of those three phrases.

I loved fashion and turning nothing into something that made somebody stand out. I loved creating bold statement pieces that nobody else would ever be able to say they had in their closet. And I was damn good at it. Like, ya girl was a beast for real!

I just wished somebody would believe in me the way I believed in myself.

I rubbed my face before looking down at what I already had on.

A black long-sleeve lounge shirt with matching black shorts covered in bright pink smiley faces. Fuzzy black slippers. Hair pulled into a messy bun.

I hopped up, grabbed my keys, locked my apartment behind me, and headed downstairs because I really needed a drink. Bad.

A nice lil’ personal bottle.

Ten minutes later, I pulled my silver Honda Accord Sport into the liquor store parking lot.

The place wasn’t packed, but there were quite a few people coming in and out, which immediately reminded me that it was Friday night. Instead of being out somewhere having a good time, I was over here sulking in misery.

I climbed out, locked my doors, and headed inside. A blast of cold air hit me the second I walked through the entrance.

A couple of people glanced my way before going back to what they were doing, just being damn nosy, as I headed toward the aisle I knew like the back of my hand.

Don Julio Reposado.

“How you doin’, beautiful?”

I ignored him.

“Damn, she fine,” another guy said.