Page 26 of The Bad Girl

Chapter 11

Nadine

When I was told to pencil in a meeting with a potential collaborator, I was never told who the collaborator was. The meeting was set up by PR, and they can be secretive about those things.

So when Maxwell finally lets the cat out of the bag and tells me that we’re meeting with Nola Laybecks, I damn near faint.

Nola Laybecks is a force that’s taken the modeling world by storm. A month ago, she made headlines by walking a runway with live, blue lobsters in her hair, and as terrible as it sounds, they looked amazing against her rich, brown skin tone.

Of course, various groups rallied against her, citing that what she was doing was cruel and should be rejected, if not investigated. It mattered not in terms of her success, however, as she’s currently thriving.

“Can I get you anything else?” a uniformed man asks Maxwell as he escorts us to an upscale sitting room.

“No, but if you could please make sure no one bothers us, it’d be appreciated.”

“Of course,” the man says, and leaves.

Nola looks far more relaxed lounging around in Converse and a Nirvana tee-shirt than she does on any runway. That’s not to say she looks ordinary. That is a word Nola will never be. Her hair is done up in silver curls that never move or bounce, like her hair is some kind of silver sculpture, and her eyes are pink, which must be from colored contact lenses.

Nola, in casual clothes, eclipses me in my spiciest attire.

If the devil lies in the details, a whole biblical testament could be written on Nola Laybecks.

Maxwell embraces Nola warmly, and I stand back a few feet, not wanting to overstep.

Bad girls don’t care about overstepping. Make yourself seen.

I inhale, tell my inner voice to shut the fuck up because she doesn’t know what she’s talking about, and take a seat after I’ve been introduced.

For the next fifteen minutes, it’s as though I don’t exist. Maxwell and Nola exchange banter, talk about style, he gifts her with a custom leather jacket to which she accepts with a stoic gaze, not at all a look one would expect when gifted with a five-figure jacket.

I feel awkward, like the only girl not asked to dance at the prom, watching as everyone enjoys themselves with a fake smile to shield against the epic humiliation only a teenager can know. It’s not that I want to be engaged in conversation, I just wish I wasn’t here at all. This is Harry’s territory, a setting where he thrives. One I’ll truly never be comfortable in.

Like everything too good to be true, my invisibility eventually comes to an end, and Nola looks straight at me. “What say you?”

I blink, looking from Nola to Maxwell and back to Nola.

Why is she asking me this?

I clear my throat, which has grown tight and force myself to swallow. “Pardon? Did you just ask me ifIthink you should go through with the deal?”

“I was speaking plain English,” Nola snaps.

I bite my lower lip, unsure of how to respond. I try to think of what Harry would say, but he’s all crazy chaos wrapped in good business sense, and I am safe and secure.

I take a sip of water, though now I can see Nola is frowning, her jaw slightly offset.

Say something!

Finally, I logic together a response. “I’d say, why not? InStryde has been around for over eighty years. They’ve dressed women on the covers of top fashion magazines and several celebrities during award season. It’s a timeless brand associated with wealth, beauty, and luxury.”

Nola snaps her head over to Maxwell. “And that’s exactly why I’m going to say no.”

“Wait, what?” I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth.

She looks to me, eyes locking, disallowing mine from looking away. “The brand is old. The style is old. The ideals are old.”

Maxwell takes the opportunity to seize the moment. “Which is exactly why we’d like to collaborate with someone like yourself. Someone young and—”