Stiletto Sisterhood

Original Edition: Cait| Whatever, SpongeBob

"And who are you?" Karl asked, elbows set to the table and fingers steepled.

She took a quick, calming breath before answering. "I'm Caitriona Emerson. The stylist for the Femmenizer campaign. And a huge admirer, if I may add" She reached across the table to shake his hand, and he accepted it with a limp grip of thumb and two fingers.

"So tell us what the vision for tomorrow will be?" he asked, bringing a forkful of tender beef to his lips.

"Oh, well, I'm pulling pieces of a monochromatic. Layering tone on tone but breaking the pieces with texture to—"

"Yes, yes, thrilling." David Nast interrupted, the Chairman and the most senior member of Vogue's board of directors.

"I don't do monochromatic," Karl lamented, his gaze pinned to Evan.

"Well I plan to use different cuts and fabric," Caitriona spoke up, "so as to achieve—"

David's doughy palm flashed before her face. "Evan, we'll also need to discuss the trajectory for the subsequent issues. I want each feature to gather in speed and momentum. Are you sure that this...mixture is a good idea?"

"We think the eclectic tonality of faces will speak to a broader public audience," Evan answered, sliding his knife through his Chilean sea bass. Pale white flesh glistened against his fork. "And the models were all hand selected by Cait."

"Hm." David's head bobbed stiffly. "Yes, well, I hope you had a hand in this process, Evan. A million-euro campaign is beyond the scope of an assistant."

Caitriona's jaw unhinged, her mouth spilling open and she had the barest flicker of gratitude that there was nothing in there to tumble out on to her lap. "I'm not his assistant."

A spark of indignation surged and as her body jerked to stand, Evan's hand closed over her knee and squeezed hard. Holding her steady as he laughed the comment aside.

"I've reviewed the numbers," Evan spoke, carrying on as if she'd never uttered a single outraged syllable. "And I support the plan. Thea and I have modified in a few areas, all of which we covered in this afternoon's board meeting."

"Yes, but I'm still concerned about the timeline. It's rather...tight. Tighter than anything else we've done in the past."

The conversation steered around her, over her. All questions lobbed to Evan or Thea, but never—never—directly to her. She might as well have been one of the chandeliers or a chair for all it mattered. And the longer she sat there steeped in it, the more furious she became.

Caitriona stayed as long as was deemed acceptable before escaping the bullsh!t, moments after Iona was whisked away by her manager and agent to rest for tomorrow's shoot. And got as far as the rooftop elevator bank when Evan caught up with her.

"Let me go!" she snapped, jerking her arm out of his grasp.

Slicing in front of her, Evan held up his hands, beads of sweat dotting along his hairline. "Will you hold on a second? What's gotten into you? A table full of board of directors are sitting a dozen feet away and you want to walk out barely a second after dessert is cleared? Do you have any idea how that makes you look?"

"F*ck how I look. And f*ck you, Evan." Pain scored the back of her throat. Bitter and sharp and raw. Tonight's spectacle was a cutting blow she hadn't expected or braced herself for Maybe it was because they'd slept together several times since she'd signed the contract last week that added fragmented layers of disbelief and hurt. The longer he blinked at her like a stunned owl, the more her rage burned away the dense fog of her hurt. "What the actual f*ck was that?"