Chapter Two
Josephine
After I’d snatched a glass of champagne, spilled a bit of it onto the front of my dress, run to the bathroom to clean it off, and stuffed a few crab balls in my mouth, I was officially ready to party.
Oh, and by party, I mean stand by myself in the corner of the ballroom and pretend like I belonged. I was praying that the dim lighting made me look like a statue so that people wouldn’t take pity on me. Either that, or for the sexy man from the line to come over and say, “Nobody puts baby in a corner.” And then we’d perform that routine from Dirty Dancing, and everyone would clap, and Vogue would offer me a job because they were so impressed with my footwork.
I pulled out my phone and shot a text to Lily, my best friend back home in Texas.
Josephine: I’m standing in the corner by myself like the kid that pees his pants at a middle school dance.
Lily: Get out there and schmooze! You need a job!!
Lily: Also…nobody puts baby in a corner.
Josephine: Already made that reference in my head.
Lily: Classic. But, seriously, the longer you stand there the more you look like the pee-kid.
Josephine: Yeahyeahyeah. By the way, I submitted my resume to Lorena Lefray today.
Lily: Is that for the executive assistant position?
Josephine: Yeah, it’s just something temporary while I keep building my blog following. NYC ain’t cheap.
Lily: I’ll be moving up there soon, don’t worry.
I finished off my glass of champagne and cringed.
Josephine: Oh god, my drink’s empty. What do I do with my hands now?
Lily: Snap along to the music.
Lily: No wait. Keep touching or pointing toward your cleavage so guys will get the picture that you’re an easy lay.
Josephine: I hate you. Later, dweeb. The crab balls are coming back around.
Lily: Stop shoving balls in your mouth. You’re at a gala. This is why you don’t have any friends in New York.
I rolled my eyes at Lily’s response and shoved my phone back into the glittery purse I’d thrifted a few years back. I missed Lily, but I really needed to find some friends in the city. In the two weeks I’d been there, I’d only made two, and that was counting the old Jewish man in my building and my landlady.
After finding a new glass of champagne to hold in front of the small stain made by my previous one, I ventured out of my comfortable corner and ambled through the party.
The gala organizers hadn’t changed much of the hotel’s original Art Deco décor for the evening. Ornate gold sconces and extravagant crown molding surrounded the party from above. Cocktail tables were spread throughout the room with small groups of people crowded around them. I was too intimidated to attempt to join a conversation already taking place, until I spotted a few women I knew from the blogosphere. I’d only met them once, at a small blogger conference, and they hadn’t been the nicest women in the world, but a bitch in need is a friend indeed. Or something like that…
I was almost upon them, having worked up the nerve to reintroduce myself, when a hand reached out to touch my shoulder. I paused and turned to see a smiling older woman standing behind me. She had a chic gray bob, layers of colorful jewelry, and was clutching the “it” Hermès bag of the season. I had to resist the urge to snatch it and run.
“Excuse me, are you Josephine from What Jo Wore? The blog?”
I all but gaped at her, completely stunned that this regal-looking woman would know of my blog and recognize me from my posts.
“I am,” I said, putting my hand on my chest before reaching out. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met?”
She smiled wide and a few lines near her eyes hinted at her age.
“I’m Maxine Belafonte, the U.S. director of operations for House of Herrera.”
I laughed.
I laughed because I was too stunned to do anything else. I was two seconds away from asking, “Are you serious?” when I remembered where I was. Of course she was Maxine Belafonte, because this was a dream that I would soon wake up from.
“It’s such an honor to meet you,” I fumbled quickly, proud of my brain for having acquired appropriate social skills some time during my several years of life.
“Likewise,” Maxine said, smiling wide and shaking my hand. “I’ve been following your blog for several months and I think you have a real eye for fashion.”
I stood there holding her hand for an inappropriately long time, then finally spoke.
“I’m sorry. I think my brain just stopped working for a second there. Could you repeat what you just said?”
Maxine laughed, patted my shoulder, and then gently extracted her hand from my death grip.
“I’m serious. I’d love to hear more about your story. Do you have a few minutes to chat?” she asked, gesturing toward a free cocktail table a few feet away from us.
I nodded. “For you, I’m free for the rest of the night.”
She smiled. “See! That’s why I wanted to meet you. I love your humor. It really comes across in your posts. I think a lot of fashion bloggers tend to take themselves much too seriously. But not you.”
I nodded my head, unsure of what to say. After striving all night to just blend in with the herd, this request for individuality caught me off guard.
“How long ago did you start your blog?” she asked as we settled across from each other at the table.
“It’s been five years.” I inwardly cringed as I thought about her going back to read my very first posts. “But those first few years were rough. I was just starting college at the time.”
“NYU?”
“Um, no,” I corrected. “A small fashion school in Texas.”
She smiled, and I hurried to change the topic away from the fact that my degree wasn’t from a prestigious New York fashion school.
“I’m sorry, but may I ask how you even happened upon my blog in the first place?” I asked before taking a small sip of champagne.
She smiled wider, but before she could respond, a pair of dress shoes hit the marbled floor right behind me and I caught the scent of spiced cologne. There was a hint of fresh citrus with a unique blend of cinnamon and geranium. The combination was intoxicating.
“Ah, there you are Maxine,” a deep voice said behind me.
Six of the sexiest syllables I’d ever heard gave me no choice but to turn and put a face to the voice. I shifted to look over my shoulder, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, and then openly gaped as I came face to face with the handsome stranger from earlier.
His eyes shifted to me and he nodded, the tip of his mouth lifting in a silent acknowledgment that he recognized me as well.
“Julian! I wasn’t sure if you’d make it. I’d assumed things were too hectic with your family right now.”
“It was a last minute decision. You know how I like to fly by the seat of my pants.”
If I was a provocative temptress from a James Bond movie, I’d have picked up my champagne, held his eye as I took a sip, and then seductively whispered, “Is there room for two on that flight in your pants?” or y’know, something equally as seductive. But since I am Josephine, weird-girl-from-the-country, I stayed silent and took another sip of champagne.
Maxine cleared her throat and then held her hand out in introduction.
“Josephine, this is Julian Lefray.”
My eyes widened in shock as I fought to keep from choking on my champagne.
Julian Lefray. Julian Lefray, as in the brother to Lorena Lefray, the designer I’d submitted a resume to just that afternoon. He was the silent partner of her brand, heir to his family’s old-money fortune, and apparently keeper of all my hopes and dreams.
I pulled it together and held out my hand.
“You look nothing like your sister,” I noted, trying to reconcile the fact that they were related. Lorena was a lithe, pale woman, all skin and bones. Julian was…the polar opposite: tall and tan, with a captivating smile and those bright, hazel eyes.
“I got more of the Spanish blood,” he said as he took my hand. “She took after our mother.”
I nodded as I let his strong grip encase my hand. His touch was hard to reconcile, and for a moment, I glanced down at where our hands met, surprised by the connection.
“Do you have a last name Josephine?” he asked as he dropped my hand. I gripped my fist after losing contact with him, trying to maintain the fading warmth in my palm for as long as possible.
“Keller.”
“Josephine Keller,” he repeated, testing it out on his tongue. “Well, it has been a pleasure.” He motioned around the room. “Unfortunately, I have to keep making the rounds.”
To his credit, he didn’t look too pleased about it, but before I could come up with a reply, he excused himself to greet other party guests. I was left staring out after him, trying to understand how someone could possibly be that gorgeous.
“He’s quite a lot to take in, no?” Maxine asked once we were alone again.
I laughed and brushed off her question, careful to keep my silly feelings under wraps.
“So anyway, I believe you were saying something about how awesome my blog is…” I joked, letting the laughter rescue me from the ether of Julian’s presence.
It wasn’t until I was in the bathroom later, fixing my red lipstick, that I realized my mistake. I’d had Julian Lefray right in front of me and I hadn’t even mentioned my desire to work for his sister. He probably didn’t have much say in the hiring process, but I’d been a fool not to mention it. Wasn’t this how it worked? Insider jobs were given to people willing to go the extra mile, to put themselves out there.
I clasped my clutch and evaluated my look. The rented gown had only been available in a size smaller than I normally wore, which meant my chest was a bit more on display than I would have preferred. Thanks a lot for the boobs, Mom. I pulled up the strapless bodice and tried in vain to hide a bit of my cleavage. Yeah. Nope. Not happening. They had minds of their own.
I blew out a puff of air, checked that I didn’t have any red lipstick staining my teeth, and then finally exited the restroom.
After a few minutes of searching, I finally spotted Julian in the middle of a discussion with a group of men near the bar. They were older, with thick beards and hard lines across their foreheads. They looked like a stock photo of investment firm big wigs, but I couldn’t let that stop me. I just needed a moment to speak with Julian.
I subdued my nerves and waltzed up to the group. I inhaled his cologne as I stepped close; it was just as captivating as the first time. He was in the middle of a conversation, but I didn’t want to take the chance that I’d lose him again. I ignored the curious stares from the other men in his group and cleared my throat.
“Mr. Lefray, do you have a moment to speak with me?” I asked, reaching up to tap his shoulder.
One of the men stepped forward, sloshing his drink over the brim of his glass.
“I’m available to speak sweetheart, if Julian here is too busy,” he said with a leering smile and a roaming gaze that never quite met my eyes.