Carl left us his massive TV, two beds, and some other furniture that probably cost more than my college education.

Due to the fact that our old landlord wanted us out and Carl’s was available now, everything was in by mid-afternoon Wednesday. Lex was up to her ears with her day job, working in the ads department of the lifestyle magazine where she’d interned the summer before our last year of college, so I took over the move.

Satisfied with what I’d accomplished in five hours of unpacking and rearranging, I connected Carl’s speakers and cranked my playlist obsession of the week. The eclectic mix of indie dance and mellow rock always put me in the mood to draw. I curled up on the couch with my sketchpad.

Travesty had been a dream of Lex’s and mine since high school. We’d launched the label just two weeks before graduating college this May. Our first season of clothes would hit stores in a month.

I’d been hooked on clothes before I could stand, making outfits for my dolls and Bedazzling everything in reach. My mom and dad thought I’d grow out of it. At least my parents, unlike Lex’s, weren’t holding out for me to run a bank or something.

Moving to New York a month after launch was risky. Sure, we had supporters, Lex’s boss at the magazine and a circle of coworkers who offered advice and connections. “Team T” had seen us through some bumps already. And gotten us into the emerging designer showcase that had landed our Claire skirt on one of America’s hottest asses.

Now with weeks until the fall season and the reality of running an actual business upon us, there seemed to be a lot of promoting, which I did, dealing with problems, which Lex did, and keeping our fingers crossed that people loved the rest of the line. We had enough cash to last us and Travesty through the winter thanks to money Lex had stashed from her job. I’d gotten an award on graduation in recognition of my designs. And we’d borrowed some from our parents, with the promise to pay it back. Someday.

Frustration washed over me, and I shredded what felt like the millionth sheet of paper, throwing it on the pile next to the couch. I was seriously missing my mojo. Since moving, every time I sketched a top or a skirt or a spring dress, it ended up in the garbage. A sleeveless blouse, sheer and airy—too girly. A gray leather mini—too stale. Echoes of last year. Nothing fresh.

I set down what was left of my sketchpad and tucked my pencil in my messy bun. I propped my chin on my crossed arms over the back of the couch, admiring the skyline scattered with endless rows and pockets of perfect buildings. I was still soaking in the view when the door creaked behind me.

“You’re wasting our time.”

I jumped guiltily before realizing Lex was on her cell. She took off her shoes, phone cradled between her shoulder and ear. “What? No, they’re expecting shipments in a week.” Lex screwed up her face in a way that meant she was thinking hard, then rolled her eyes at no one in particular. “That’s in the contract.” Her frustration was evident from the tension in her body. “Then what’s a contract even for?” She walked a few steps, then turned and paced back the other way, a habit Lex had picked up from Dylan. “OK, well, please keep me posted? Thanks.”

She hung up and collapsed on the couch next to me.

“Rough day at the office?” I chirped.

“You wouldn’t believe. Our distributor’s pushing back on the deliveries we promised. If we don’t deliver on time, vendors will start pulling out. Not matter how much they want the Claire skirt.” Lex tucked her feet up underneath her and wrapped her arms around her knees.

I knew almost zero about the business side of what we did—it was part of why we made a great team. But I was an expert in best frienddom. “That sucks, Lex. Maybe we can find someone to help out with the distributors.” I glanced at my phone and realized it was dinnertime. “Wanna get food downstairs? I saw a takeout place that looks good.”

“Yes. Definitely.” Lex stood and stretched. “The apartment looks amazing, by the way. You’re a genius, A.”

“It’s a start.” I pitched her ideas for the rest of the floorplan as we left the apartment.

After dinner, which was at a teeny Thai place a block away, Lex tucked herself in her room to phone Dylan. Beat from a long day of moving and unpacking, I lay on my bed and switched on a reality TV show. But I found myself tuning it out when my mind drifted back to Nate’s words on Monday.

“Your design bears an uncanny resemblance to one created by my client.”

I remembered the last time I’d heard that voice, and suddenly it was like surround sound. My skin heated, my body tightened. Words, feelings, sounds. Touches. Tastes.

Maybe if I just …

My nerves tingled, head shooting down my spine.

I growled and slapped the duvet in frustration.

No way was I getting myself off to the guy who was suing us.

The memory dissolved, leaving me hot and unsatisfied. Because two things were clear: one, that night was undoubtedly the most brain-melting sex of my life. And two: Nate Townsend was bad news.

Inspired, I dug my checkbook out of the bag on my dresser and wrote “two hundred fifty thousand dollars” on the top, scribbling “Pretty Boy Townsend” in the To line. No fantasy involved me shelling out more money than I had ever seen in my life.

I pinned it to the bulletin board over my desk between two pictures. One was of me and Lex at a fall fashion show last year, where we’d won an award for our designs. In the photo we were hugging Blake Evans, a designer who’d made connections with LA boutiques for us in the spring. The other picture was of me with my siblings, Kate, Ethan, and Dylan, and my mom and dad, standing in our backyard.

Everyone in those pictures had done something to support Travesty. Believed in us. Gave their time or money to help.

My eyes flicked back to the check.

Nate Townsend was the enemy. By attacking our label, he’d declared war. I refused to spend another second thinking about his eyes, his voice, or any other part of him.