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Wardrobe Malfunction(6)

By´╝ÜSamantha Towle



I knew he’d be nice! He always comes across as nice in his interviews.

Not that I stalk him or anything.

“Where’s the job?” I ask her.

“LA, for studio. Vegas, for location.”

“How long?”

“Two months…three, max. The pay is really good, and it’s a great opportunity, Charly. It’s being directed by Brandon Evans.”

“Wow,” I say.

Brandon Evans is Hollywood’s current golden boy. Every film he touches is gold. He and Vaughn together will be magic.

“It’s a gangster film. Lots of designer dresses, shoes, bags. And I’m sure we’ll be able to keep some items at the end.”

My ears perk up at that. Girl knows how to get me; I’ll give her that.

I love designer clothes. Only my bank account doesn’t love them as much as I do.

Not that she didn’t already have me at Vaughn West, but I’m not going to let her know just how easily I’m won over. Especially not when I’m coming in at second.

“Okay…I’ll do it.”

“Yay!” I hear her hands clap in the background. “You’re the best, Charly! I’ll get the office to book your ticket for tomorrow, and I’ll have them email it to you tonight along with the details of your hotel.”

“Maybe I should just sleep at the airport tonight.”

I’m half-joking. Still, she laughs.

“It’s going to be so much fun, working together again. I can’t wait! We’re gonna have a blast. Get yourself home, and get some sleep, crazy girl. I’ll see you tomorrow!” she sings.

“See you,” I say with way less enthusiasm at the thought of having to fly all the way across the country tomorrow when I’ve only just gotten back home.

But the money…

I can treat myself to those Manolos I’ve been drooling over…and, of course, Vaughn West. Gorgeous, sexy Vaughn West.

Le sigh.

I drop my phone in my bag and head out to grab a cab. On the way, I call the agency that gets me jobs, and I let them know that I can’t do the Broadway gig anymore.

Thirty minutes later, I’m walking up the steps of the brownstone that I call home.

Nick and I live in a small two-bedroom apartment on 95th Street on the Upper West Side. Well, calling it small is probably over-egging it a bit. It’s tiny. I could lie down on the floor of our living room/kitchen, and my head and feet would nearly touch the opposite walls. At five-eight, I’m not exactly short, but still, it’s not big for an apartment. But the rent is good for a two-bed. And it’s ours, and I love it even if I don’t get to see it often at the moment.

I unlock the main door, letting myself into our building, and I take the first flight up to our apartment.

“Honey, I’m home,” I call out. Shutting the door behind me, I drop my bags near it.

Nick appears out of his bedroom, a smile on his face. “Hey, gorgeous.”

He’s a sight for sore eyes. It’s been well over a month since I last saw him. He saunters over, all six foot of him, and slaps a kiss on my cheek.

“Your hair looks cool,” he says.

“You think?” I finger a strand of my hair. I had lilac and pink highlights put in a week ago. It’s the first time I’ve ever dyed my hair. I just really fancied a change, and cutting my waist-length honey-blonde hair was not an option. I have great hair. Thick with a natural wave.

“Yeah, it looks good on you. You hungry?” he asks, heading to the kitchen. “I was just about to make some soup.”

“By make, do you mean—”

“Pour out of a can and heat up. Yeah.” He throws me back a grin before opening up the cupboard door where we keep the canned goods.

I take a seat on one of the stools at our breakfast bar.

“Chicken noodle or lentil?” he asks, holding up the cans.

“Chicken noodle.”

I watch Nick move around our kitchen—getting out bowls and spoons, opening the cans, pouring the contents into the bowls, and putting the first in the microwave.

Nick has been my best friend since we met at college. We were both studying at The Art Institute of New York City. I’d just moved to New York from Philadelphia, and Nick had moved here from Canada on a study visa. I was studying fashion design, and Nick was studying interior design. We met at the party of a girl who was on my course. That’s why our tiny apartment looks so awesome—because of Nick. His eye for design is amazing. He can make the smallest of space roomy but homey, which is what he’s done with our place.

He works for a small interior design company. One day, he wants to run his own interior design business.

I wanted to be a fashion designer. Wasn’t so easy to land a job, as I found out when I graduated. That’s how I found myself working in wardrobe. I have bills to pay, I’m a good seamstress, and I still get to work with clothes. I still design in my spare time, but I haven’t done anything with my designs in a long time. They sit in my sketchpad, and no one sees them but me—and, occasionally, Nick when I let him.

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