The Allure Of Julian Lefray Part 19

My mouth opened, but there was nothing I could say to make it better. My words were jumbled in my mind, lost somewhere between "I want you, please stay" and "I'm sorry, you have to go".

Chapter Twenty-Seven.

Josephine I'll be honest, I'd a.s.sumed the job Beth had secured for me would involve being a high cla.s.s call girl...or at the very least a low cla.s.s call girl, based on the stinginess she displayed with my dresses.

Luckily for me, the job ended up being much, much cooler than expected, and bonus: I got to wear normal non-stripper clothes. Albeit, a pair of black pants and a t-s.h.i.+rt wasn't high couture, but for two weeks, I'd get to be behind the scenes of New York Fas.h.i.+on Week. I'd get to be up close and personal with all the top models, designers, and bloggers.

The only problem? I'd be holding a broom or a mop at all times.

Yup. That's right. Josie Keller would henceforth be known as Night Janitor. Jealous yet?

For ten days, I'd have to bolt from Julian's hotel at 5:00 PM on the dot and book it to Lincoln Center. I'd have to sneak in the back doors with the rest of the event staff and change into my alter ego, Clark Kent style. There was a small locker room for staff where I'd kick off my heels and slip into converse, slide on a black hat with "NYFW STAFF" embroidered across the front, and grab the broom least likely to break on me.

The pay was terrible, but I didn't care. I could use the extra money while I continued to hunt for a more permanent night job. I saved every penny I earned except for the $5 I used to splurge on a fresh green smoothie every afternoon on the way from Julian's hotel to Lincoln Center. (And by green juice, I of course mean chocolate cupcake.) "Ladies! Ladies, line up, the show is starting in ten minutes!" a stagehand clapped her hands, trying to get everyone's attention-a nearly impossible feat.

I paused my sweeping and stepped to the back of the room to give the models s.p.a.ce to run around me. It was only my fourth day on the job and I'd already learned a lot. No matter how organized the event coordinators thought they were, there was always a mad rush ten minutes before the fas.h.i.+on shows started. Fake eyelashes, sticky b.o.o.b tape, hairspray bottles, high heels-all flying in the air, trying to find their final destination. I'd been hit in the head by enough bras on my first day to realize that I needed to stay as far away from the madness as possible.

And yet, I still loved every second of it.

I watched a designer waltz through the room with her nostrils flaring. She paused in the center, cupped her hands around her mouth, and yelled at the top of her lungs.

"Models. Get in line now, or I'm going to rip your hair extensions out. So help me G.o.d!"

Some of the designers were a tad more pleasant than others...

"You!" a stagehand pointed at me and then waved her hand at the row of salon chairs near the back wall. There was a mess of hair scattered across the floor beneath the chairs. Minutes earlier, a team of stylists had chopped away at extensions to give all the models a similar hairstyle. "Can you pah-lease sweep all that up already? I nearly broke my neck a second ago."

I nodded and jumped into action, pus.h.i.+ng my broom out in front of me. I worked quickly to push the multicolored hair into a neat pile, working my magic on the mess. Unfortunately, just as I was about to sweep the first pile up into my dustpan, a model shoved past me on her way to the runway and scattered the hair in every direction. She'd been a force of nature on my small hair mountain.

"Dammit," I hissed as the model waltzed off without a care in the world.

She hadn't even noticed.

I had the least glamorous job in the most glamorous setting and I was still having trouble wrapping my head around that fact. At times, I got swept up in the excitement of the shows, as if I was somehow a part of them.

After I'd collected all of the hair once again, I swept it into the nearest trashcan and then tried to finish off the rest of my duties as quickly as possible. The sooner I finished, the sooner I could peer out and catch a glimpse at the finale of the show-when all the models paraded down the runway one after another with their dazzling gowns and gorgeous faces. Every time I snuck a glimpse at a fas.h.i.+on show from behind the scenes, I wanted to pinch myself.

Next season's trends were right at the tips of my fingers. Granted, my fingers were sticky and gripping an old broom, but still, it was the closest I'd ever been to my dream world.

I wanted to share my experience on What Jo Wore, but I couldn't figure out how to share details without admitting to my readers how I was actually getting my behind-the-scenes look. It was embarra.s.sing, to say the least. Just a few months ago, I'd attended a major fas.h.i.+on gala. The glamorous people from that night were out in the front rows of all the NYFW fas.h.i.+on shows, and where was I? Sweeping up hair.

I found a tiny gap in the curtain off the side of the room and pulled it to the side just a centimeter. I peeked through and held my breath, completely in awe of the show. Strobe lights danced overhead, illuminating each model as they strutted down the runway.

I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and snapped a quick picture so I could send it to Lily.

Josephine: This is my current view.

I clutched my broom and peeked back through the slit in the curtain. The show was in full swing and the photographers at the end of the runway were firing away, snapping hundreds of photos per minute.

I glanced back to my phone after it buzzed.

Lily: What is that? It looks like a cat wearing a top hat.

I smiled.

Josephine: Put your gla.s.ses on. It's a fas.h.i.+on show. You can't really see it because the lights are dimmed.

Lily: Hmm, I still see a cat.

Josephine: It's not. You're blind. Go see a doctor.

Lily: How'd you get invited to a fas.h.i.+on show?

Josephine: Turns out that janitors get backstage pa.s.ses.

Lily: Oh yeah, I forgot about that job.

Josephine: It's still pretty cool though, I must admit.

Lily: Any hot dudes?

Josephine: Just skinny b.i.t.c.hes.

Lily: And yet you want me to move there.

Josephine: YES. Gotta go. They're all coming back.

I pocketed my phone and rushed back to work. The shows weren't very long-fifteen, twenty minutes at most. I could usually manage to watch at least five minutes of them before someone noticed.

Once the mess of hair was swept up near the back wall, I went back to my list of duties I had to get done every night. If the models didn't come back and trash the place after the show, I could usually get my work done in about an hour after the show was finished.

That night, I wasn't quite so lucky. The makeup artists had used some kind of glitter eye shadow on each of the twenty-four models. That meant there were twenty-four sets of eyes that left the entire floor of the backstage a glittery mess.

C'est la vie.

The next morning, I found myself fighting with my eyes to stay awake. I sipped on my third cup of coffee and stared at the email I'd opened ten minutes earlier. It still sat completely blank as the blinking cursor taunted me. I was supposed to draft an email to a general contractor to set up an initial meeting between him and Julian. What had I done? Tried really, really hard not to fall asleep with my eyes open.

"How's it going, champ?" Julian asked.

I blinked and glanced up to see him watching me with a private smile. Clearly, my lack of typing had alerted him that something was off.

"Do you think they've come up with an IV hookup for caffeine yet?" I asked, tapping the inside of my elbow like a junky.

He laughed. "Why are you so tired? Have you been going out without me?"

I yawned and then blinked my eyes a few times, willing away the tiny barbells pulling them down.

"I wish," I said with only a slight layer of bitterness.

I hadn't left Lincoln Center until 1:00 AM the night before. The janitor who was supposed to clean the front of the house had bailed and I'd offered to stay and help with the cleanup. The extra hours of minimum wage pay were hardly worth the ache in my back this morning, and best of all, I had to go back that night. Yippee.

"You look pitiful," Julian said, drawing my attention back to his lazy smile. He'd dressed down for work that day, foregoing shoes for bare feet. He had on dark jeans and a white b.u.t.ton-up. His hair was still styled impeccably, split to the side and combed away from his face. Just a little bit of pomade held the dark locks in place all day. Not that I paid attention or anything. I mean, the man looked edible even on an off day, but right now? All I wanted was my bed and an extra day in the week called LetJosephineSleepday. It'd come between Wednesday and FreeDonutday. (These days would be added if I were President. Just saying.) "All right, get up. This is unacceptable," he said, setting his laptop down on the couch beside him and standing up.

"No! Don't fire me. Look, I'm typing right now." I started kneading my keyboard with balled up fists, creating gibberish sentences that read something like: ERhwerjkhwejkrhkejryy.

Julian shook his head and held his hand out for me to take.

"I'm not firing you. Why would I fire you?"

"Because I won't let you sleep with me," I answered, shrugging.

He pinched his eyes closed, clearly trying to keep from laughing.

"Yeah, well. I can't exactly fire you for that."

"Look Julian, I like you a lot. I think that's pretty obvious to both of us. I just have a lot riding on this one opportunity, whereas if things don't work out between us, you just have to post another ad on the Internet to replace me."

"Josephine, it's not l-"

"Jul-"

He waved his hands in front of his body so that we'd stop cutting each other off. "Okay. Yes. I get it. I'm not firing you because you've spurned my advances. We're going to see my sister."

"Your sister?" I asked.

"Yes. She wants to meet you and you clearly can't focus on work at the moment. Consider it a little paid field trip."

Chapter Twenty-Eight.

Julian As we walked the few blocks to Lorena's rehab center, I filled Josephine in as much as possible.

"How much longer does she have in the program?" Josephine asked.

"A little over a week."

"Wow. I can't believe she's already almost done."

I nodded. I was proud of Lorena for completing her entire recovery program without any relapses. She'd struggled with substance abuse issues her whole life. In high school she'd dabbled in cheap drugs to pa.s.s the time with other rich kids. In college and beyond, it had gradually gotten worse. She lied about it for the longest time, trying to convince herself that she didn't need help. Then one night, she called me crying after watching one of her friends nearly overdose. It had been a wakeup call for Lorena. She entered rehab two days later and I'd moved to New York to help her out.

"She'll always be a little more lost in the clouds than down here on earth with the rest of us," I explained. "But this program has really helped her focus on her career. I haven't seen her this pa.s.sionate about her clothing line in years."

Even when she first started her brand, it seemed to take the back seat to her addiction, but things were changing. I'd wake up in the morning to an inbox full of emails from Lorena. She wanted to know everything, from how the rental property was coming along to when we'd know the cost of manufacturing for next season's clothing line.

Last time I'd visited her, she had an entire sketchbook full of designs. She was itching to get out of rehab and get back to work. Meanwhile, I was trying to keep my reservations under wraps. I had hesitations about her entering the real world again. Sure, I'd fired all of her noxious employees, but she still had friends and bad influences in her life. I couldn't watch her every second of every day, though I wished I could.

"I'm glad she got help when she did. I can only imagine how big we'll become now that she can focus more of her energy on designing," Josephine said.

I slid my gaze over to her and took in her genuine smile. I knew it had been the right decision to bring her to meet Lorena. My sister needed to know there were other people who still believed in her.

When we arrived outside the rehab center, I pulled open the heavy gla.s.s door and we breezed through the lavish foyer.

"Jeez. Maybe I need to go to rehab," Josephine quipped as we walked past the yoga studio and the coffee bar boasting free chai tea lattes every morning. I supposed it did look like an upscale spa to the untrained eye.

"Don't let the promise of free coffee tempt you into taking up hard drugs," I said, keeping my hand pressed to her lower back to guide her in the direction of the elevator.

"No really, I'm considering it," she joked, gleefully accepting a warm cookie from the reception desk as we pa.s.sed by.

"This place costs more than most private colleges," I mentioned with a smile.

Josephine paused mid chew and stared up at me with her big green eyes. "Do you think I have to pay for this?"

I could barely make out her question over the gobs of chocolate chips currently shoved in her mouth.

"Definitely," I mocked.

She narrowed her eyes and reached out to pinch my arm.

"Keep it up and I won't give you half."

We took the elevator to the eleventh floor and then I directed Josephine toward Lorena's room. We were halfway down the hallway when I caught the scent of a strong floral perfume. My mother's signature scent. It was practically the scent of my childhood.

f.u.c.k.

"Wow. Someone must have stuck a bucket of potpourri in the air vents here or something," Josephine said, scrunching her nose in distaste. "How does your sister stand it?"

I shook my head. "I don't think that's being pumped in. I'm afraid that smell is a little more menacing."

"What do you mean?"

Before I could answer, my mother leaned out of my sister's room wearing a black silk scarf and a sour expression across her delicate features.

"Nurse! We've been waiting on those drinks for quite some time now. My daughter and I are-"

She paused mid yell when she saw me walking toward her with Josephine by my side. Her sour expression relaxed and then quickly transformed into a confused scowl as her eyes darted back and forth between us. Josephine swallowed the last of her cookie and smoothed the material of her already perfect pencil skirt.