What We Do in the Night (Day to Night #1) - Stylo Fantome Page 0,13

are beneath her – people like me.

“It's cool. Different is good. We wouldn't have much of a career in fashion if everything was the same,” Val teased. “So let's kick this project's ass and show everyone that different is awesome. Plus, the sooner we get it done, the sooner we don't have to work together anymore.”

It wasn't the worst time ever, but it also wasn't the best. Harper was so stiff and stuffy, it affected her creativity. Or lake thereof. She had good style, but it was ... boring. Typical. She looked like every other blonde barbie in north Chicago, and her ideas showed it.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Val sighed halfway through their second hour together. “Harper. C'mon. Why are you basically copying Johnson's design and marketing concepts?”

“I'm not copying!” Harper gasped, and Valentine rolled her eyes.

“You are, and you know it. Look, I know urban isn't your thing, but it's the assignment – 'an urban boutique focusing on young Millennials and the emerging Generation Z'. That's literally us. So let's be original, I don't want to be like Betsy Johnson. I want to be like us, like Valentine and Harper.”

Harper pouted for a moment, then flicked her hair again. It seemed to be a nervous tick of sorts.

“I'm not copying copying her, I just ... when someone says urban and different, I think of her. I was using her as a base,” she snapped. Valentine forced out a smile.

“And I totally get that, yes, it's a good idea. Use her to inspire you, and then turn that inspiration into something of your own. I mean, look at you right now, you're so put together and chic – use that. Use your strengths, Harper. You've got a lot of them.”

The blonde girl seemed a little stunned, the compliment clearly shocking her. She gawped for a moment, searching for how best to respond.

“I do? I mean, I know I do, I don't need you to tell me. But, I mean, I guess, thank you, I -”

“Harp! We need to talk, now.”

A very masculine voice cut through the room, followed by the front door slamming shut. Val jumped in her seat, but Harper just let out an annoyed groan and got out of her seat.

“Jesus, don't slam the door,” she shouted. “I have neighbors, you know!”

She walked across the room and met a man who emerged from the entryway. She stretched up onto her toes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before striding back to the table.

“Your father pays so much for this place, I could hire a mariachi band to come play at one in the morning, and your neighbors wouldn't say shit,” the guy replied as he shrugged out of his jacket. His back was to her, and Val could see that his trench coat was wet. It must have started raining since she'd gotten there.

Just my luck.

“Don't bring Daddy into this,” Harper sniffed as she took her seat again. “Valentine, that's my boyfriend, Ari Sharapov. He's a big hotshot lawyer. Ari, this is Valentine ... something, we were assigned a team project in class, so she's gonna be here Tuesday and Thursday evenings. Where'd those sketches go? I want him to see my design.”

“I don't care about your designs, we need to have a ...”

While the boyfriend's voice drifted off, Val looked around the table for their sketches, digging through a bunch of loose papers. She didn't notice that the guy had not only turned around, but had actually taken a couple steps closer to the table.

“Valentine, huh,” he said in a soft voice. She nodded without looking up.

“Yup.”

“... like the holiday.”

It was something she heard all the time, almost every day, so it shouldn't have surprised her. It didn't, really – it was more the way he said it. Sort of snarky, like he was mocking her. Like it was an inside joke between them. She finally lifted her head to look at him.

“Exactly like the holiday,” she replied.

Valentine always feared running into someone from the club in the day time. Men were especially worrisome, so she made it a point to memorize faces. But it had yet to happen – she could honestly say she'd never seen Ari Sharapov before in her life.

No, she definitely hadn't, because she would've most certainly remembered a face like his, and for sure would've remembered a body like his; he was gorgeous. Tall and lanky, built like a swimmer – broad shoulders and slim hips, with long limbs. Everything