She'll Get Over It (A Jesse Rutherford Fanfiction)

39

Fifteen months earlier:

Valentina:

"You are perfection." Lee kisses the puppy we've just run into on the street. I check my watch. Fifteen minutes late. 

"Lee," I crouch down, unable to resist petting the pup's little head. His owner looks desperate to leave, but Lee won't stop baby talking him or scratching his ears. "Lee, we have to go. Fifteen minutes late, come on."

Lee finally stands up, pushing her bag up over her shoulder. "You know they won't care if we're a couple of minutes late right?"

I scoff, "We're trying to get them to buy our products. I think the least we could do is not show up late."

"Alright, mom."

I roll my eyes, "You'll be thanking me when we're a couple thousand dollars richer."

I fix my blazer at the thought, beginning to walk quickly. Businesspeople stride past us, in dull browns and grays. I study the fit of someone's jacket, a woman's purse. Quickly at a glance, of course, we can't take any more time. But I have to catch inspiration, anything new or interesting to save in my mind for later. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

We barely make it to the Nasty Gal headquarters. I practically run to the front desk, my boots clacking obnoxiously on the ground as I almost crash onto the marble furniture. In any other situation this would be funny to me, but now I'm too anxious. "Hi, my friend and I are here for a meeting with Donald Meyer?"

"Donald Meyer, head of merchandise?" The receptionist looks over her glasses at me, then types away at her computer. "Can I get a name please?"

"Valentina. Valentina Orellano. And Lee Cason."

"Your meeting was twenty minutes ago." The receptionist states in a dull tone, never looking up from her computer. 

"Yes." My voice is small. Lee strides up next to me, leaning over the desk. 

"Hi, I'm aware my friend and I are late, but this L.A. traffic, you know? And well, we wouldn't want to waste Mr.Meyer's time, but we have a product he'll definitely want to learn more about. You might've heard of Pretty Vulgar?"

"Never heard of it." The receptionist looks at both of us, still unamused. 

"Well Mr. Meyers has, so if you could just let him know the founders of Pretty Vulgar are here then that'd be great." Lee looks over at me, rolling her eyes. The receptionist sighs, reaching for her phone. 

A minute later, she hangs up. "Alright, take the elevator to the third floor, two doors down, to your right."

"Thank you." Lee smiles sweetly, while I turn away and walk to the elevator. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Meyers is hip, fashionable. He crosses his legs, fixing his watch. "Pretty Vulgar."

"Phone cases, hats, bags." Lee does the talking, she's good with that. "Think Valfre on steroids."

"That might be a little bit of a stretch, no?" He smiles. His smile creeps me out a little, but I stand firm, fixing my blazer and opening my purse. I take out the packaged phone case we just designed last week. It's all black with red cherry lips biting into hearts. Eat your heart out is emblazoned in the middle of the case with red glittery writing. 

"This is our most recent design." I place the package in his hands. He looks at it, opening the package and taking the case out. Meyers rubs the writing with one finger, grips the case with one hand, and lets it drop on the package.