The Hunt Masquerade - Milly Taiden Page 0,1
her was average. The only exceptions were her eyes. They were the color of dark honey and always seemed to glow. Now, if only she could ditch the unfortunate talent for blushing, she would be just peachy.
“I’m not weird,” Chantal insisted. “I’m very aware this is not a big break. It’s a pure fluke.”
“Fluke, schmuke. There’s no such thing. You’ve been busting your cute little hiney for years. You deserve this.”
Chantal shook her head, taking a deep pull from her overly sweet strawberry daiquiri. The frozen drink went straight to her head, making her thoughts shatter through the pain of a brain freeze. “It has nothing to do with hard work. I totally cheated. If it wasn’t for Jeremy, I never would have gotten this opportunity.”
“It is your pure talent,” Margie argued. The strap of her slinky, sparkly tank top – one Chantal had designed — slipped off her shoulder. The whole looked screamed effortlessly beautiful and playful. Again, Chantal felt a stab of regret for her own clumsiness.
Her bra strap was falling off her shoulder, but it didn’t show through the thick knit sweater she was wearing. And it would definitely not look good. It was her oldest bra, the one with the tear in the cup. It was comfortable and didn’t dig into her skin. It was not like anyone would see it, after all. Not through her long-sleeved sweater.
Chantal so wished she could be as carefree as Margie. She’d kill for an ounce of the confidence her best friend had. Sometimes, Chantal played the WWMD game. What would Margie do? The little game was only something Chantal did in her head, but she would be brave enough to take it out into the real world one day.
One day.
When she was an established designer.
When she got a better apartment.
When she lost that last stubborn ten pounds. Maybe it was more like twenty. Okay, okay. It was thirty — but it was all tits, ass, and hips. That wasn’t so bad.
“I’m telling you, chacha, you’re so fucking good.” She pointed to her top. “It is only a matter of time before your career takes off. Don’t forget me then! Take me with you to the big leagues.”
Chantal rolled her eyes, slurping down more of her drink. “It is not pure talent. It is just pure luck that I know Jeremy.”
“Bitch, shut up. Don’t do that. Do you think for one second that Gwen Marsdale would have bought your gown if it was not amazing? That snob is good taste personified. She might have only looked at your designs because of Jerbear, but you know she had to love your pieces to actually wear one. To an honest to goodness masquerade.”
Chantal clacked her teeth together to keep her mind working. Did frozen drinks have to be so damn freezing? “You’re right,” she admitted. “It just feels dangerous to celebrate this. Nothing could come out of this.”
“Everything could come out of this,” Margie shot back. “Look, I know how this shit works, babe. It is just like me and getting jobs. You get one by luck, and then the right person sees you, and BOOM. You’re on the cover of Vogue or whatever. Maybe you get hired for Fashion Week. It is the same for designers. You have been spotted, chacha. Just have faith that this will snowball into something.” Margie grabbed her hand. “Come on. Have faith with me. Let’s have fun! Drink. Dance. Loosen up!”
As always, Margie’s positive attitude was infectious. Chantal smiled and sipped her drink. “We can dance one bad song, but then I need to go and get the dress started.”
“Come on, chacha!” Margie downed her drink, slammed the glass onto the bar top and cut through the crowd like a sexy female Moses.
Chantal muttered apologies as she tried to follow along. If it had been up to her, she would have stayed in tonight. To celebrate her accomplishment, she would have ordered a dozen egg rolls and enough Moo Shu pork to feed a small army. The Chinese food would have been paired with a binge of her favorite fashion reality television shows and a good vintage Cream Soda.
The music in the bar was somehow louder on the dance floor. Margie grabbed her hands and began to bop freely along to the tune. Chantal was rigid and uncomfortable as other bodies brushed against her.
It was fine. Really.
All that mattered was that she, Chantal Katz, had finally made some headway into the land of high fashion.