Matched by design, p.1
Matched by Design, page 1
Matched by Design
A NO MATCH FOR LOVE ROMANCE
LINDZEE ARMSTRONG
Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Sneak Peek!
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Copyright © 2020 by Lindzee Armstrong
Published by Snowflake Press LLC
All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author.
“We accept the love we think we deserve.”
STEPHEN CHBOSKY
Chapter One
Jasmine had often envisioned how she would spend her twenty-first birthday—sipping Mai Tais in Hawaii was her favorite fantasy, with a well-muscled man in swim trunks stretched out on the pool lounge beside hers, dark skin glistening in the sunlight. But the reality was proving far different.
She took a steadying breath, trying to calm her nerves. The work room at Dallaire Designs was usually her happy place. Sometimes she dreamed about this smell—the earthy scent of dozens of different textiles, everything from wool to organza, mixed with the sharper tang of the mechanical oil used to keep the sewing machines running smoothly.
Her ears echoed with the hum of dozens of treadles, the sound punctuated by the whoosh of fabric shears gliding along cloth. The noisy air conditioner shuddered on, sending a precious breeze across Jasmine’s bare neck and knocking a strand loose from the twist she’d secured with a pencil. The work room was always warm, the friction from so many machines generating an uncomfortable amount of heat.
Jasmine glanced down at her worn sketch, then back at the two bolts of fabric stacked on her workstation. The soft silver chiffon would be perfect for the bridesmaid dresses with a sweetheart neckline and high-low skirt. At least, she hoped Skye would think so. The bride had scrapped the nearly finished dresses that were Genevieve’s design after catching a glimpse of one of Jasmine’s sketches.
Genevieve hadn’t been happy about that, and Jasmine had felt the thin ice she was standing on start to crack under the strain. If anything went wrong with these bridesmaid dresses, Jasmine knew she’d be clearing out her work station before she could blink.
Should she go with the platinum instead of the silver? Jasmine pursed her lips together, glancing between the two fabrics as she tried to envision the dress in each color. What she wouldn’t give for enough time to do a rough construction of each.
She ran her hand over each bolt, the fabric gliding through her fingers like water. Twenty-one years old and already worried the wrong fabric choice could tank her career—or at the very least get her fired.
Maybe she should have stayed in college. If she hadn’t dropped out two years ago for the unpaid internship with Dallaire Designs, she’d be close to graduating by now.
But no, she’d made the right choice. She’d hated school. Here, she’d been lucky enough to attend Paris Fashion Week. She’d been promoted to junior designer. And the time and a half pay she would earn while on a private island in the Florida Keys for Skye’s wedding would get her one step closer to opening her own design house.
No one would know the design was hers—Genevieve’s name would be the only one mentioned in magazines, and besides, most of the focus would be on the wedding dress—but just knowing Skye had picked her design gave Jasmine the confidence boost she desperately needed after the trauma of the last two months.
The rapid click of heels against the concrete floor interrupted Jasmine’s musings. Sasha, Genevieve’s assistant, had the deepest furrow yet between her brows. She was only a few years older than Jasmine, but carried her stress like a weight and it aged her a decade.
Jasmine set down the sketch, stomach knotting. “She showed up early?”
Sasha adjusted her glasses, giving a sharp nod. “Yes, and she’s asking for you.”
Jasmine gathered up the bolts of fabric, biting back a curse. She was used to flighty bridezillas, but Skye was in a category all her own.
“Did Genevieve mention me?” Jasmine asked as they speed walked toward the elevators.
Sasha’s furrow deepened yet again. “I mean, I wouldn’t take a coffee break first, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Jasmine clutched the bolts of fabric more tightly to her chest, the granola bar that had served as lunch souring in her stomach.
Maybe Jasmine would make it to Hawaii for her twenty-second birthday. She could almost smell the hibiscus flowers. Taste the tangy pineapple. With a little luck, she’d have saved enough by then to quit her job at Dallaire Designs. This Florida Keys trip would certainly get her a lot closer to achieving that dream. Her brother, Mitch, had a lot of powerful connections and had offered to help Jasmine start her own design house, but she wanted to do it on her own merits.
The image of a man stretched out in a lounge chair flashed into her mind again, his dark hair closely shaved and amber eyes glittering in the Hawaiian sun.
Isaac hadn’t sent so much as a happy birthday text today. She’d thought a lifetime of friendship would warrant at least that much. But with the wedding a mere two weeks away, there wasn’t time to dwell on him.
The elevator doors slid open, and Skye’s shrill voice instantly filled the space.
“Stay sane,” Sasha whispered as Jasmine stepped off the elevator alone.
Lucky duck. Sasha got to escape up one more floor to the offices. Although Jasmine had a hunch that Skye’s voice was audible on the floor above, too.
Jasmine took a fortifying breath, glancing down at the bolts clutched in her arms. Hopefully Skye would pick a fabric and stick with it. The pop star changed her mind more often than a two-year-old in a toy store, but they were out of time.
At least Jasmine’s suffering hadn’t been prolonged. Skye wasn’t a fan of long engagements, and Drew, her famous quarterback fiancé, just seemed to be along for the ride. When a spot had opened up at Skye’s solidly booked dream venue, she’d snatched it up despite the date being only two months away.
A lot of things had been different two months ago. Jasmine’s brother Quincy had been alive. Isaac had still been her friend. Her heart hadn’t felt like it was constantly being squeezed by an industrial-strength juicer.
But opportunity waited for nothing. Not heartbreak. Not a twenty-first birthday. Not white sandy beaches.
Jasmine made her way down the hallway, through the showroom, and back to the fitting area. Skye’s voice grew louder with every step, and the ache in Jasmine’s neck and shoulders became more pronounced.
She paused outside the wide archway that opened into the fitting area. Skye stood on a pedestal in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, the rough skeleton of a modified trumpet dress held to her body by pins and basting stitches. Luxurious bottle-blonde locks streaked with ombré pink fell around her shoulders, accentuating her pixie features and thin frame. Genevieve stood nearby, looking stunning as always in high-waisted slacks and a sleeveless blouse with a tape measure draped around her neck.
Jasmine dropped the bolts of fabric against one wall and did a quick check of the room, but it seemed only Genevieve and Skye were present today. The tension in Jasmine’s shoulders lessened just a little at the prospect of avoiding Drew. Her intense dislike of him was entirely irrational—there was no specific incident to justify her feelings. But something about him just made her feel uneasy.
Skye whipped around at the noise.
“Jasmine,” she said, holding out her arms.
“Sorry I’m late,” Jasmine said, even though she wasn’t. She accepted the hug and returned Skye’s air kisses. “Wow, this silhouette is stunning on you.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling her,” Genevieve said, her eyes narrowing as she stared at Jasmine.
Jasmine swallowed hard, trying not to let her nerves show.
“Look at me!” Skye held her hands out to her sides, then dropped them with a grimace. “My hips look gigantic in this thing. I can’t walk down the aisle like this.”
Genevieve’s smile tightened
“Skye, honey, we’re leaving for the Florida Keys in a week,” Genevieve said. “This late in the game, I’m not sure we have time to start over again. And why would you want to? Your body was made for this silhouette. Not many brides can pull it off, you know.”
“And you’re totally pulling it off,” Jasmine broke in. “Every woman at the wedding will be green with envy.”
Skye’s lips curled up ever-so-slightly as she twisted this way and that, eyeing herself in the full-length mirrors. “Is this satin?”
“Charmeuse,” Genevieve said. “It doesn’t have quite as high of a sheen, but still flows beautifully.”
“I’m going to pop a seam the moment I try to dance in this. Viv!” Skye flapped her hands in front of her eyes, blinking rapidly as she bounced from foot to foot, doing a weird stationary jog. “I think I hate it.”
She’d also hated the five other dresses they’d started and discarded when Skye changed her mind. But they’d officially reached crunch time. If Skye waffled again, she’d be walking down the aisle in sweatpants and an over-sized T-shirt, close personal friends with the designer or not.
No wonder Jasmine was losing sleep at night over the design for the bridesmaid dresses. Skye had only ditched Genevieve’s nearly finished design in favor of Jasmine’s concept three days ago, but she was already exhausted from the constant stress.
Think of the money, she reminded herself. Think of the time and a half pay. Think how amazing it will feel to one day storm into Genevieve’s office and quit.
Things hadn’t always been so difficult with her boss. Genevieve had never been warm and cuddly, but she’d at least been approachable—even taking Jasmine, a mere intern, to Paris Fashion Week. But everything had changed right along with Skye’s mind.
“Sweetie, calm down.” Genevieve clasped Skye’s hands, bringing her to a halt. “Trust me—this is the design that you want. It’s sleek and elegant and sexy. Drew will love it.”
Genevieve shot Jasmine a fix this glare. Like Jasmine had some secret ability to subdue Skye. If only.
“It’s absolutely perfect,” Jasmine agreed, making sure to gush.
If she and Isaac were still friends, she would steal over to the hospital after clocking out for the day to vent about this little meeting. He’d probably only have time for a quick latte in the cafeteria before rounds, but she’d always cherished every stolen moment together.
He was probably in surgery right now, those strong hands of his repairing the delicate arteries of a heart.
Skye’s barbed words drew Jasmine back to the crisis at hand. “And we’re still doing the waist cape in Chantilly lace?”
“Yes, and I’ll add a batiste shell to the bodice so we can put the lace appliqués down the back like buttons,” Genevieve said. “I found some so sheer that no one will know it’s there.”
“I just don’t know,” Skye said. “I’m not trying to be difficult, Viv. I just want everything to be perfect. I’m not sure lace is really me, you know?”
“This is the lace you fell in love with,” Genevieve argued, her voice tight. “The lace we had hand-stitched and custom designed just for you.”
The lace that had cost Skye more per yard than most brides paid for their entire wedding dress.
“The lace is gorgeous,” Jasmine agreed, checking Genevieve’s expression out of the side of her eye. Her boss’s frown had relaxed slightly, so Jasmine supposed she was supposed to jump in like this. “You were so smart to choose it. It’ll look effortlessly elegant on the beach.”
“Jasmine’s right.” Genevieve tugged at the waist of Skye’s dress, pulling it in a quarter of an inch and placing a pin. “If you don’t stop worrying so much, I’ll think you’re doubting my abilities as a designer.”
Jasmine flinched at the barb in Genevieve’s words. Apparently her ego still hadn’t recovered from Skye picking Jasmine’s design for the bridesmaid dresses.
But Skye took a deep breath, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “Oh, Viv, don’t be like that. Of course I trust you. I’m just stressed with the wedding, and with my new album releasing next month, and then Drew’s shoulder has finally recovered enough that he’ll be able to play next season…”
“One thing at a time,” Genevieve mumbled around the pin she held between her teeth. “Hold still. I think the shoulders need to be taken in just a bit.”
“Where are we at on the bridesmaid dresses?” Skye asked, peering over her shoulder at Jasmine as Genevieve tucked and pinned the fabric. “That will really determine whether or not this dress works. I want to make sure the bridesmaid dresses complement mine without stealing the spotlight.”
Jasmine swallowed, her hands suddenly unsteady as she retrieved the bolts of fabric from where she’d left them near the wall. “The dresses are going great. In fact, I brought up two fabrics for you to choose between so I can start cutting and sewing. What color speaks to you?”
Genevieve peeked around Skye, nodding sharply. “Those are adequate choices. Are you sure they match the color palette for the groomsmen’s vests, though? I thought they were more of a dove gray.”
Jasmine clenched her jaw, forcing herself to count to three. Would it kill Genevieve to give her a compliment?
“I had three designers compare them to the fabric being used for the vests, just to be sure,” Jasmine said. “But of course we can go down to the work room and look if you’re unhappy with these.”
“Hmm.” Skye ran a hand over one of the bolts, frowning. “The more I think about it, the more I worry that silver is a horrible choice. Maybe a soft, blush pink would say beach wedding better. Of course, we’d need to change the vests on the tuxedos to match.”
A tension headache gave its first angry pulse right behind Jasmine’s eyes. She would already be working fourteen-hour days for the next two weeks to finish these dresses on time. Was being perpetually dissatisfied a requirement of fame? “The silver is elegant and unique, which makes it perfect for a standout like you.”
“What do you think?” Skye asked, looking over to Genevieve.
“We should definitely stick with silver,” Genevieve said quickly. “And if Jasmine has compared the samples, then either one of these fabrics should be fine.”
Skye hesitated, then pointed to the silver that Jasmine had been leaning toward. “I think I like that one better.”
Jasmine nodded, but her tension headache didn’t dissipate. Skye still had ample time to change her mind and demand something different. “I’ll get started right away.”
Skye nodded, stepping carefully off the platform, arms held out to avoid the pins. “Good. Make sure Drew waits for me here, okay? He should be here any second, and seeing the dress before the wedding is bad luck. That’s the last thing we need right now.”
Drew was on his way? Jasmine’s anxiety instantly shot up by a factor of ten. She hadn’t interacted with him much, but enough to wonder why America adored him. Was he five minutes away? Five seconds?
Skye and Genevieve disappeared down the hallway leading to the dressing rooms, but Jasmine’s tension didn’t ease. She rested the bolts of fabric against the wall, willing herself to that Hawaiian beach. Seagulls squawked as they dove toward the glittering ocean waves. Isaac smiled at her, his dark hand reaching for her even darker one.
“Hey,” a deep tenor voice said.
Jasmine whipped around, the happy fantasy instantly erased.
Isaac was probably back at the hospital, saving someone’s life. But Drew Dempsey was right here at Dallaire Designs, leering at her like she was his next meal.
