"Ms. Rosalind, does this look good?"
"I think you can add a purse or bag to it, and that will complete the look," I said and walked off.
I'm a fashion designer; I have been for the past few years, and I have made a pretty big name for myself.
I started off making and designing hats out of my little studio in my mom's attic, and now I am making giant ballroom dresses and full outfits that models walk up and down the runway with—a real dream come true, to say the least.
The atmosphere was ever-changing. People came and went, and the fashion scene always wanted more. Sometimes more than I could make and come up with. But I still did and always will until I get old and can't even lift my fingers to sew or knit.
"Don't add that; the show is in 2 minutes," I said, and the person nervously took it off.
I continued to walk up and down the backstage area of the runway show. I am trying to keep my composure right now, but deep down, I am nervous. I always am. I am scared of what people will think about my designs and my models.
At every show, they were the same group of people with different interests; it was like they were trying to make my life miserable and ruin my once-fun hobby.
"Ma'am, we are down one model; we can't do the show if we don't find a model," one of the backstage people said. The show was starting in 1 minute, and I was down one model.
"Go find someone, please," I said sternly, and everyone started to freak out.
"We will deal with it. Right now, you need to go out and introduce yourself."
"But-."
"Ms. Rosalind, please." And just like that, the cheering started, and the lights went down. This was one of my biggest fashion shows of the year, and everything had to be perfect.
"I'm trusting you," I said, and I quickly ran out on stage.
I waved with a smile. I had to keep my composure and be calm and collected.
"Ms. Rosalind, we are so happy to have you today. What was the inspiration for today's looks?" and she shoved the microphone in my face.
I wasn't sure; I just created it; I don't have certain themes. "The ocean; I was on the beach recently, and just the beauty of the ocean and nature itself was my inspiration," I said, lying straight through my teeth. The lady laughed, and people started cheering.
"Magnificent as always, do we have any new models today?"
I don't even know.
"You will see," I said, smiling at her.
"You always have the right answers, Rosalind; everyone give it up for Rosalind and her latest collection," and everyone started to cheer as I walked off and went to sit down in the crowd.
The runway started, and model after model walked. They were all the same models, and they looked great.
"I didn't know you had Mark Camacho as one of your models," the lady next to me said as a good-looking man walked onto the runway.
"He is very handsome. I heard his dad is the CEO of some huge company, and he's made a huge name for himself in the fashion industry as a charismatic model; his height, dark brown hair, and blue eyes make him stand out," the lady continued to talk, and I watched as the model, Mark Camacho, walked, smiling.
I didn't even know models could smile. He seemed handsome enough.
"I got him at the last minute; I can't believe I squeezed him in," I said, playing into her and the people around me.
He really did stand out; his handsome features amaze me. Maybe I should get him in another one of my shows.
The lights dimmed down, and people started to filter out of the building. I got up and made my way backstage.
I scanned the room, and he was nowhere to be found. Strange.
The image of him kept playing over and over again in my mind; he was extremely handsome. Now I can't even get over myself.
I think it's the way he smiles—like he rules the world, like he knows he is amazing, like he is some sort of villain or something weird like that.
His eyes were a warm blue, so they weren't scary-looking, just eye-catching and nice to look at.
His hair was dark brown, and it was kind of shaggy. And he was tall.
He was oddly handsome, and his presence just made me intrigued and made me want to get to know him.
He emerged from a dressing room in regular clothes, and he started talking to people. He was very charismatic in the way he spoke.
He went from person to person, shaking their hands like they were all famous supermodels, and he was so happy to meet them for the first time.
He made it to the last person and shook their hand with a smile. "I am glad I could model with all of you today," he said with a smile, and he started walking towards me.
He rolled his eyes and mocked the models and his sincerity. Damn. He cared about his image, but not about being sincere. He looked me in the eye as he walked. It's like he slowed down; it's like the world slowed down.
He smiled at me, and then he walked past me without even saying a word.
I looked behind me as he walked away. What a weird guy!
"He's handsome," Asa, my secretary, said, and I raised my eyebrow at him.
"For you, of course," he added.
"Right."
"He is the son of Bryn and Mariah Camacho; Bryn is the CEO of some company; I don't know what it is, it doesn't say, and Mariah was a maid and she was a supermodel for a short period of time. Mark is their only son, and he has been modeling for 10 years now," Asa said, reading off his iPad.
"You did research on him?"
"Of course I did. I could tell you were worried about some random model in your show, so I did some research, and it turns out he is one of the most sought-after models in today's fashion world."
"That's what the lady next to me said."
"There's something weird about him, though," Asa said as she pulled up a few pictures.
It was of him, walking in and out of this place that had been abandoned for years.
"He likes to explore abandoned places; what's so strange about that?" I asked.
"Nothing, just a weird vibe, but I know you're into that." I shoved Asa away before he could finish his sentence.
"Stop being weird and go follow him on Instagram or something."
Or something? Maybe I should ask him to be on another one of my shows. That would be cool.
"I knew he was your type," Asa said, looking at me following him on Instagram.
"I'm just trying to follow him so I can ask him to be in another show."
"Sure. Sure, you are," Asa said with a smile. I rolled my eyes. I mean, he was my type, I guess?