Rock Dirty (Rock Candy #2) by Virna DePaul

Author:Virna DePaul [DePaul, Virna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-04-05T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

Nikki

“You know, at least people liked the Mona Lisa. I bet that Da Vinci didn’t have to worry about people making fun of him or shitting all over his designs.”

“I guess not, but he wasn’t making art you could wear,” Tucker said.

I sat down beside him and looked at the crowd huddled around the surprisingly small frame of the Mona Lisa. “Maybe, but I think this week has done more to prove my mom right than anything else.”

Tucker frowned but didn’t say anything. What could he say?

Over the past week, I’d loaned shoes to four designers for their fashion shows; twice the response to my shoes had been lukewarm, and twice downright disdainful. I had my own show coming up in a week but considering how badly my shoes had flopped on four different runways, I was expecting a massive crucifixion—all witnessed first hand by my mother, who’d probably smile at me the whole time to really rub it in.

I was dreading it so very much.

A protracted death by a firing squad I couldn’t avoid.

“I wouldn’t have thought it,” Tucker said suddenly.

“What?”

“That you’d have such a thin skin. You’ve got to toughen up, Nik.”

He side-eyed me, which should have clued me in that he was deliberately baiting me, but of course I fell for it.

“Excuse me,” I said, my voice a deadly whisper. “You don’t know how I feel.” The instant the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. Because…

“I think I do,” he countered, smirking back at me.

I swore that grin should be outlawed. That expression should be illegal in all fifty states because it made it incredibly easy for Tucker Benning to talk anyone into anything.

“Look,” Tucker continued. “We had a shitty sophomore album, sold out a lot to the studio and almost came up with a boy band sound. We got raked over the coals pretty damn bad. We had tweets hating on us, our forum crashing, all the hate mail you can imagine. I know exactly what it’s like to have people shit on something you worked hard on. And come on, your stuff is hardly mainstream.”

“But that’s not what high fashion is about. My designs are pushing the boundaries. Establishing new frontier.”

“Is that from your site?” he teased, his eyes twinkling back at me. “Your pending PR material? You don’t have to sell me that your shoes are intense,” he said gesturing to the ones I was currently balancing in.

They were from the new line, of course. The shoes were black leather and adorned with silver-plated studs on every conceivable inch. They had a rounded body like a clog but then slid down to concave platform heels. It was only four or five inches, not the back-breaking eight I could sometimes pull off, but they were as intense as anything else I created. They were what the world was expecting from me.

“Then I don’t understand how you can see them and get it but the Paris fashion scene can’t.”

“You make your stuff for the people who love it, not the ones who don’t.

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