in all the tourist sights and visited museums, and even stopped in at the Ritz-Carlton for a thirty-dollar cocktail.
Naomi was right—Carly had needed the change of scenery. She began to believe her mistake was limiting her life to Austin, whereas in New York, she could see endless possibilities stretching before her. What did she have holding her at home besides a crazy family? And, frankly, a break from them would be good for everyone.
By the time Carly returned from that two-week sabbatical, she knew what she wanted. She was going to get a job in New York and live entirely on her own. She was going to go out every night and visit museums, and read lots of books and go to book signings and art openings. She was going to dine out and order in and laugh with colleagues about how she didn’t even own a frying pan. She was going to work out and look great and wear the latest fashions so that when she dashed across the street, people would stop and look and wonder Who is that girl?
Carly had marched into this new vision for herself with a lot of optimism and this-was-meant-to-be chutzpah. Back in Austin, in her eagerness to get on with it, she’d discovered Big Girl Panties. After glomming the podcast backlist, her enthusiasm for New York and the unlimited possibilities for a woman her age with her skill set only grew.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t having much luck on the job front. She scoured the job listings every day in search of a good fit. Hell, she’d even take a mediocre fit. All she needed was a foot in the door. But until she could insert that foot into some door, she was going to need a source of income. Megan said one should never underestimate her own power. Maybe, Carly thought, she could build some sort of portfolio to help her on the job front. Gain more experience to attach to her résumé. She would have to create this experience, she realized, and thought maybe she could pick up a couple of local clients, and . . .
And the idea of Victor just popped into her head. If anyone had ever needed expertise in public relations and marketing, it was that young diamond in the rough. So armed with her determination and those episodes of Big Girl Panties, Carly had hunted him down and had convinced him to hire her.
Actually, she’d convinced Victor’s mother to hire her.
June Allen was slender and statuesque. She was always impeccably dressed in tailored clothes, the polar opposite of her son’s aesthetic. She’d been a lawyer, but when Victor’s career had begun to develop, she’d stopped practicing to manage him. Victor’s parents were divorced, and his father lived in Boca Raton. Carly didn’t have the impression that Victor had much contact with him. The only thing he’d ever said was that his dad “didn’t get him.”
But his mother got him, and Carly convinced June to take the meeting where she made her well-rehearsed pitch: Victor needed help with his press and his public image. He needed great publicity for his fashion show. He needed Carly Kennedy Public Relations, and she’d laid out all the reasons why.
Victor had sat on the brown couch in the studio, his long legs spread insouciantly, surrounded by his creations in various stages of construction. He kept twirling his ball cap on the edge of his forefinger. He seemed at times to be somewhere else. But June was intent on everything Carly had said that day. She’d agreed that Victor needed help. She’d urged her son to give Carly a shot.
Victor said nothing to all of it, and, honestly, Carly thought it was a bust. She told herself she’d given it her best shot. No one can ask more from you than you do your best, Megan had whispered in her ear. But then, Victor raised his arms overhead in something of a stretch, pushed himself up to sit straighter, and asked one question, “Can I dress you?”
Carly’s heart had begun to pound with excitement. He had heard her. “Are you kidding? I would insist.”
And that was why Carly was wearing Victor Allen right now. She wore it every chance she could. Victor was so talented! He would be a huge success! It was her job to promote him wherever she went! But . . .
But.
His clothes were not her style. Lord, not even close. She’d thought his aesthetic was interesting, but she’d never