Stiletto Sisterhood

Original Edition: Cait| The face to launch a thousand covers

"I didn't...I never, Thea—she was the one doing the drugs. I didn't give them to her, encourage her. And when she persisted, I brought her back to the hotel."

Blazing eyes narrowed. "The fact that you were there and that you partied with Iona is a massive strike against you, period. Even if I believed you didn't have any part to play in giving Iona the drugs—as she so claims, might I add, my question is simply this: why did you fail to notify Evan of what happened that same night?"

Galled, Cait's mouth tumbled open with a gasp as Thea's words lanced her like arrows fired at close range. She'd known Iona had been pissed about being dragged back to the hotel—but to accuse her of this was beyond malicious and vindictive. As for calling Evan...what the hell was she supposed to say to that? Sorry, Thea, I had a little hissy fit after the Board of Directors dinner and took it out on Evan, would only tack on another nail to her already over-hammered coffin.

You should've called Evan, a small voice whispered inside of her. The small voice she often impulsively ignored but was almost always right. If you hadn't have lost your temper at the dinner in the first place—none of this would've happened.

This mess is your fault.

"You're right." Cait smoothed her hands over her lap and lifted her gaze to meet Thea's directly. Honestly. "I have no excuses for any of this."

Those flexing fingers on Thea's left hand twitched but otherwise stopped jerking before she flashed that hand through the air. "I hope you understand the full implications of this fiasco. Iona aside, we still have the issue of Yoren to tackle. Photographers of his calibre don't come cheap, or easy. We lost a sizable deposit when he walked off that set—with every justifiable reason. We violated the terms of agreement. He was promised Iona, and instead we delivered a no-name walk-in off the street. And now we've lost Iona and Yoren." Thea crossed her arms and cocked a hip. "Which means everything we had going for this campaign in terms of name recognition has been obliterated. Added to that, all of our marketing materials will need to be redrafted—the team is going to love you for that, by the way, and secure rights for a new model, a new photographer...you can't just pluck these things out of thin air, Cait. Should come as no surprise when I say that the Board wanted you fired. Gone."

Shoulders hunched, Cait swallowed a hard knot of panic. But before panic gave way to blubbering sobs of defeat, a single word rang back with promise. Wanted. She'd said wanted. Past-tense. As in... "I...I still have the contract?"

"By the skin of your f*cking teeth." Her voice ended on the sharp edge of the consonant which faded into an aggrieved sigh. "Evan stepped in for you and faced the Board. Practically threw himself on the bomb. Shouldered all the blame. All the responsibility."

"He did?"

"Oh, yeah." Thea laughed, a single, dry note. "In a big, big way. Threw his neck on the block and said if they were going to lop off your head for this debacle, then his should be taken as well. Naturally our Board sat up and took notice. His sterling reputation stretches over twenty-three years. You're fortunate to have him in your corner."

"He didn't...he shouldn't have done that."

"Oh yes, he did. It's called accountability, kid. Something you're going to have to learn if you plan to survive in life and in business. On photo shoots, changes have to come from above, and Evan isn't the final word on these projects. There's a hierarchy in place for a reason—to prevent clusterf*cks like this from happening."

"What saved your ass, what saved both of you, is this." Lifting from the edge of the table, Thea reached for a dossier and fanned out a collection of printed images before Cait, much like a detective would with evidence while interrogating a suspect. "According to Evan, I was told I have you to thank for these?"