Avoiding: Avoiding Intimacy Part 18

"What?" he asked, showing the shock that she had on her face only seconds ago. "No! This is not about Christina. This is about you wanting to go off and find something of your own. This is about you following your dreams. This is about you, Chyna. This is not about me."

"Adam," she breathed, begging him to look at her.

"I have to go," he said, pulling his clothes back on. "This is a mutual thing. We agreed." He made the last part sound like a death sentence. A mutual agreement had never felt so one-sided. "Have a safe trip," he said, glancing at her one last time over his shoulder before making a break for the door.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. Her heart felt like it had been run over by a bulldozer. If she had thought her breathing was bad before, she wasn't even sure if she was breathing now.

Her normal reaction would have been to immediately call Alexa or even Frederick and talk out this ridiculous turn of affairs. But, she didn't even have it in her heart to give either of them a call. What would they say to her that she couldn't tell herself?

The fact that Adam would have the audacity to leave her not once but now twice was unbelievable. He claimed it was mutual, and maybe it was to an extent. She had agreed with him after all. She needed to go. She needed to do this to prove to herself, if no one else, that she could do something great.

He had every right to leave her. He had every right to want to have a stable girlfriend. He had every right to find someone better.

She didn't deserve the heartache. If he didn't want her, then she shouldn't want him. She could have another guy in a second.

All true.

None of it mattered now.

She brought her hand up to her eyes and pressed against them hard. G.o.d, she was a mess! Why did he have to leave? For once, why couldn't things be as wonderful and perfect as everyone thought her life was?

They were happy. They were so happy. Yet, she still wasn't good enough for him. She still wasn't good enough to keep around. She was going to be gone for two months, not six months, not a year. They could have worked through it. Other people did it! What made them so different?

Was it just a way out? Did he want to be rid of her? This would be the easiest way for him to do that, if that was what he wanted. But, that didn't explain his behavior. He didn't have to come to Atlanta with her for Alexa's graduation. He didn't have to be so sweet and caring. He didn't have to have beautiful, pa.s.sionate s.e.x with her.

He had done all those things and left her anyway. So, maybe the reasoning in the long run didn't matter. Regardless, he had come to the same conclusion. He had struck the final blow.

She pulled her hands away from her eyes and saw that they were wet. A sob escaped her, and she bent forward over her knees, tears streaming down her face. She hiccupped, pain racking her body as she shook with the force of her despair.

Why was she crying? Why was she crying? Why the h.e.l.l was she crying?

She couldn't cry over him. She didn't cry over boys. This was ridiculous. She hadn't cried the last time they had broken up...well, not until she had called Lexi and realized the extent of the situation. Why couldn't this be like last time?

Why couldn't she find the anger instead of this pain that had locked itself away in her heart and was slowly eating away at it from the inside out?

CHAPTER 11.

PRESENT.

Two weeks.

Two whole weeks.

That's how long it took before Marco pulled the advertis.e.m.e.nt with her picture on it. It was long enough to make her truly feel the weight of what she had done, but it wasn't long enough to make it look like a mistake on his end.

It was strange walking the streets of her home again. She had already gotten used to people staring at her, trying to place her face, or pointing out an advertis.e.m.e.nt as she walked by. The ad had made her an overnight celebrity, a constant reminder of what she had left behind in Milan. Whatever Marco's original intentions were, the display was now only laced with regret.

She turned the corner toward Barneys and came face to face with Ravenna. She looked exquisite in painted on black pants, an olive b.u.t.ton-up shirt, and black peep-toe heels. Her red hair was pulled off of one side of her face, and she managed to wear blood red lipstick perfectly.

Chyna knew that the picture wasn't as good as her own. Ravenna was second best, a backup, and it showed. Probably not to most eyes, but Chyna knew. She had been there when this picture was taken in the middle of the summer at a mock studio outside of the city. Marco had been in a foul mood, yelling at everyone. He hadn't liked a single picture that day. Guess he had changed his mind.

She knew what he was getting at. She was replaceable. He didn't need her. Even on his worst day when nothing was going right, he could capture something fitting enough to plaster all over New York City...without her.

She heard him loud and clear. Loud. And. Clear.

a.s.shole.

Chyna pa.s.sed the sign, ignoring the woman who commented on how pretty the model was, and walked down the street toward Madison Avenue. Tourists flitted around outside of Barneys. Some were walking purposefully with their cell phone plastered to their ear while others were moseying along, occasionally snapping photos. Why they were taking a picture of a department store was beyond her. Didn't people have department stores at home? Granted this was Barney's, but still.

She pushed past a crowd of people debating whether or not to go inside and she walked through the doors toward the elevator. The elevator deposited her on the ninth floor, and she strolled into Fred's for her afternoon luncheon.

The hostess asked for her name, and Chyna was thankful that she had a reservation. The restaurant was packed. She never came here on Sat.u.r.day afternoons, but some exceptions could be warranted. This was definitely one of them.

She followed the hostess to her table and took a seat. The past two weeks had gone by painfully slow, and she was ready to get back to modeling. She had gone to Milan to prove to herself that she could do something great, and she had done it. Modeling was something she was great at. She had never known how much she would love it though.

She tried to act like she was going to move on and do some other mindless activity like she always did. Alexa was seeing through her act though. She was thankful that she had a friend who would give her s.p.a.ce and let her deal with her problems on her own. After Chyna had landed on her doorstep when she returned from Milan, Alexa had been giving her the time she needed. She wanted to help, but they had known each other long enough to know that Alexa needed the push, and Chyna rejected it.

She shrugged the thoughts away, wanting to concentrate on the present. What mattered now was moving forward. She couldn't change what had happened with Marco-that she had left him...and that note.

How could she have left that? No. She wouldn't regret it. That note was perfection. It was something he needed to hear, and it was something she needed him to know. She wasn't going to be tossed aside. Even though he was playing his card by pulling down her picture, it was the only card he had.

She had left him, after all.

Her thoughts vanished as her quarry walked through the restaurant entrance. Ca.s.sandra Corsa was a slight woman with more style than anyone Chyna had ever met. A brown dress tied around her neck, cinching in her dangerously slim waist, and pleated slightly into a perfect A-line just past her knees. She wore white peep-toe heels and a white signature Corsa purse. Her hair was parted on the right and pulled back into a low bun at the nape of her neck, and she wore accentuating makeup. Chyna couldn't have guessed her age if she had tried.

Ca.s.sandra was a woman who knew the inside and outside of beauty. She could take something ordinary and create something beyond what you could have ever expected. Her family line was made of designers, and she had been in Corsa designs since she was an infant. The Corsa name carried weight and power in the world that Chyna wanted back into, and Chyna wanted nothing more than to use that to her advantage. Plus, she liked Ca.s.sandra.

The hostess smiled at Ca.s.sandra and walked her back to Chyna's table. Chyna stood gracefully, leaning forward, as she kissed both of Ca.s.sandra's cheeks.

"Good to see you, dear," Ca.s.sandra said with a smile.

"And, you as well. I'm fortunate that you are in New York this weekend," Chyna said, mirroring her smile.

"Ah, yes. Business calls," she said, taking a seat across from her.

A waiter arrived promptly. They both requested water and salads, the customary model diet. Ca.s.sandra started haggling the waiter about their variety of wine, and she ended up ordering a bottle of some vintage import. Chyna was hoping that the conversation would be shorter than a bottle of wine. She hadn't really been drinking much the past two weeks and couldn't afford a slip up.

"I was surprised to hear from your mother," Ca.s.sandra mused aloud. "I wasn't even aware that you were related at first."

Chyna smiled, sitting up straighter in her chair. "Well, I'm glad she was able to reach you."

"Your Marco wouldn't give you the number?" she asked, her face giving away nothing.

Chyna breathed in sharply, not wanting to have this conversation. She wanted the modeling job. That was all she was here for. She wasn't here for Marco. Forget about Marco. He put her on the map, and she d.a.m.n well was going to keep herself there.

"It didn't come up," she answered honestly in as vague a manner as she could muster.

"I saw your spread," Ca.s.sandra noted.

"I think everyone saw it," Chyna said. "Isn't he extraordinary?" She wasn't sure why she was using the same phrasing Ca.s.sandra had used at the Glam Ball, but it seemed fitting. She wanted to stay in comfortable conversation.

"He's young," she said with a shrug.

She had probably seen many talented young men come and go. Chyna doubted many of them had Marco's flare. She needed to stop thinking about him. She was obsessed with an imaginary dream, and she needed to let it go!

"A young visionary. I think many have started as such," Chyna said as Ca.s.sandra's wine arrived.

The waiter popped open the bottle and poured each of them a full gla.s.s of red wine. It was truly incredible-sweet but not too sweet and as smooth as b.u.t.ter. She could have drunk the whole bottle herself. Probably not the best idea under the circ.u.mstances.

Ca.s.sandra sipped from her gla.s.s and sighed. "If only it was Italian," she purred, her face a mask with a smile that didn't seem to fit her.

"I miss Italian wine," Chyna agreed. But, this s.h.i.t was fantastic.

"I always miss my home when I'm away," she said, swirling the wine around in her gla.s.s before taking another sip.

"I can understand that. I'm back in New York after all."

"This is your home?" she asked, studying her face.

Chyna nodded.

"I would have thought...well, it doesn't matter."

"You would have thought what?" Chyna prompted.

"Just something...more. I can't explain it," Ca.s.sandra said, flourishing her hand to close the conversation. "Well, let's get down to it. I've been up to my ears with meetings since I've been here. Why did you call this one?"

Chyna set her gla.s.s of wine down on the table and looked back up at Ca.s.sandra. She wore the strangest smile on her face. In a way, Chyna wasn't even sure if you could call it a smile. It was just her face.

"I wanted to talk to you about that job offer. You mentioned that you were looking to add me to your collection, and I just needed to contact you. So is that spot still available?" Chyna asked, finding that she was rambling more than she had thought. Why was she so nervous?

Ca.s.sandra reached forward across the table and touched Chyna's hand. Chyna looked down at it. She was a little surprised that Ca.s.sandra would touch her. It seemed out of place.

"What happened?" she asked.

"What are you talking about?" Chyna responded. She was getting irritated for no reason. It seemed like Ca.s.sandra was trying to sympathize with her...or pity her. Not only did she have no idea why Ca.s.sandra would do that, but it also wasn't the appropriate response when asking about a job offer.

"With Marco. You were at the height. You were the center."

"You offered me a job, and he didn't. Plain and simple," she said. Nothing about it was plain and simple, but it was the truth. She hadn't given Marco the opportunity to get that far.

"But, why? What happened? He should have offered you that job. I saw the spread," Ca.s.sandra reminded her.

Why was she reminding her though? Why was she digging? Everyone had seen the spread! Every fashion designer in the world knew what her picture looked like at this point. What did that have to do with anything?

"I don't know," she spoke flatly. "He just didn't."

"Huh," Ca.s.sandra said, releasing her hand and leaning back in her chair. "You don't know?"

"No," Chyna lied. She knew d.a.m.n well what had happened. She had walked out on him. She had ruined it. "But, Marco doesn't have anything to do with this meeting. I just came to talk to you about the job you offered me."

"I know, but unfortunately, Marco Moretti has a whole h.e.l.l of a lot to do with this meeting," Ca.s.sandra said, tipping her gla.s.s back and finishing off her first gla.s.s of wine.

Oh, no! Oh, no, no, no! This could not be happening. What did Marco have to do with this? What had he done? She could feel the vibrations on the train tracks, but she couldn't move. The train was coming whether she wanted it to or not, and she couldn't stop it or slow it down.

"Why?" was the only thing she managed to get out. She was pretty sure that she looked shocked.

"You really don't know," Ca.s.sandra muttered softly. "Interesting."

"Care to enlighten me?" she asked dryly.

"You've been blacklisted across all design markets. You're unhirable."

Chyna's head swam, and she rested her hand on the table to keep herself from spinning. Blacklisted. All markets. Unhirable. Her throat ceased. She didn't understand those words, especially not all together in relation to her. She...she couldn't be. She just couldn't be.

He wouldn't do that. She had been on top. She had been everything. Then, one f.u.c.k up-leaving him-and that was the end? That couldn't be the end!

This was what she wanted! He couldn't steal the one thing that she wanted. It's not like she had taken anything from him except the break up. She would gladly go back to Italy and let him end it if it meant that he would change this.

She didn't even know that he could do this. How could he blacklist her? What did he have on her that would justify murdering her career before it had even officially begun?

And, Ca.s.sandra was somehow going along with it. After offering her the position at the Glam Ball, Ca.s.sandra was now...retracting her offer. Was a blacklist so disruptive that even someone who had already made her an offer could recant the statement?

"So...he didn't tell you," Ca.s.sandra said.

That was pretty f.u.c.king clear!

"Did you come to this meeting just to find out if he had?" Chyna asked her desperately, surprised she still could form words.

"To be perfectly honest, I a.s.sumed that you would try to talk me out of it. I thought it might be worth a shot to hear you try. I didn't expect to be the one to break the news to you," she said plainly.

She was a plain woman. So plain. Why was she fortunate enough to not be on a blacklist? How did one even get on there?

Chyna was p.i.s.sed. She had given up so much to go, wanting to find her piece of greatness. And, she still managed to lose it. She lost everything that ever mattered to her.

"Did he say...why?" she asked, clenching her teeth to keep herself together. She was ping-ponging between uncontrollable, fierce anger-the rip-your-throat-out kind-to hyperventilating, soul-crushing depression-with big, fat ugly tears.

"You don't want to do this," she told her warningly. "If it were me, I'd let it go and find a new profession. No one in this town or the next is going to hire you."

"So, he said why," she muttered, wondering how far he had dragged her name through the dirt to make her unhirable. What did it take?