All The Pretty Lights (The "A" List #1) Read Online Free Page B

myself to face her. She’s playing with the corner of one of her fingernails.
    “I take it you didn’t get the job then?” I watch her as I say my words.
    She rolls her eyes. “That’s an understatement.” A moment passes before she elaborates. “I didn’t get the job, and I had my life’s work bashed to pieces by one of the biggest names in fashion today.”
    She’s a designer. Of course! I thought she was some kind of an artist or a painter judging from the drawings I’d helped her pick off the ground hours ago in the airport. They must have been her design sketches.
    “Ouch,” I empathize. “Good thing there are other designers out there that you can interview with.”
    Daphne, the designer, scrunches her eyes tight and lifts her small hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. “ No . It’s not that easy. When you get passed up by Katharine Harding, there aren’t very many doors left open.”
    “Katharine?” I repeat the name. “Katharine Harding ?”
    She watches me suspiciously. “Do you know her?”
    I nearly wake the person sitting behind me with my loud laughter. “Sweetheart, if you avoided working for Katharine Harding, then consider yourself lucky. She’s a bitch. I’ve worn her designs a few times for award shows and it was a nightmare. I saw first hand how she treats her employees.” I shake my head, “Half of the people get chewed up and spit out and the other half wind up getting their designs stolen and called a Katharine Harding Original in her next collection.”
    She’s looking at me like a six-year old kid who just found out Santa Clause doesn’t exist.
    “It’s true. You dodged a bullet.” I reassure her. I don’t need to go into any further detail about how I know all this. Besides, what am I supposed to say? I fucked a couple of her girls over the years and heard firsthand how they were backstabbed by the fashion icon?
    I can just picture Daphne’s face if I were to tell her about the nameless girls on Katharine’s staff that I’d made my way through. And that doesn’t even take into account the models that work for her. There must have been six or seven of those girls that had slithered out of my bed with huge grins on their faces the next morning.
    Nah, it’s best that I keep those things to myself.
    The tabloids get wind of my dating life from time to time and my PR team has their hands full keeping most of those girls from talking. What can I say? Who wouldn’t take the opportunity to spend time with the beautiful women that throw themselves at me?
    “You’re not just saying this to make me feel better?” She’s wary.
    I bite the inside corner of my lip and playfully angle my eyes upward. “No. Do you feel better?”
    She thinks on it. “Yeah. I do.”
    I smile. “Good. Now, tell me. What do people do in coach? There’s no TV, no Wi-Fi…”
    Daphne mockingly covers her mouth and gasps. “Oh, no! No Wi-Fi!” She’s making fun of me, and having a good old time doing it, too. “You won’t be able to tweet, or post a selfie, or check your Facebook, or check in on your millions of fans. What will become of civilization?”
    I can’t help but smile through the scowl I’m forcing myself to wear. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t do any of those things. I pay people to do those things for me.”
    She acts as if I’ve just solved world hunger. “Of course! Because that’s what normal people do, right? We pay people to tweet little pictures of cats who say funny things for us so that thousands of people can comment on it.”
    “Alright, alright. You’ve had your fun. But it’s so much more involved than you could know.” I lay the bait.
    I don’t know her very well yet, but I can already tell that she’s a spitfire, and she doesn’t like to be underestimated. “Oh, really? Then please, by all means… enlighten me.”
    “Beverage?” Our private conversation is infiltrated by the flight attendant who’s parked her blue cart in the aisle next to