Make the Cut (SAMPLE)

Prologue: Poppy Black

LOS ANGELES, 2013

I cannot get fired during my first week of work.

Okay, it's only the first week of my internship, but still. I don't want to be dismissed, even if this internship is one squeaky margin above an unpaid position. (It also pays one cent over minimum wage, and my rewards include free Starbucks and being yelled at by my boss, Cynthia Renaud.)

Staring down at the dry cleaner bag soaked with an unmentionable substance because my coworker's cat decided that a faux fur jacket would be a good replacement for a litter box, I'm pretty sure I'm about to be dismissed. All because my coworker, fellow intern, Olive, decided that it would be a great idea to make today an Unofficial Bring Your Pet To Work Day. I don't think any day should be named that, and not because I don't like cats.

Most animals love me. Horses and Olive's cat, Pepper, are exceptions to that rule. (The former is a long and harrowing story). So here I am, staring into the glittery recesses of the fashion closet, hoping and praying that none of the fluid on the dry cleaning ends up on me. Or on any expensive items. With my luck, there would probably be a priceless, irreplaceable Versace dress in here that Marilyn Monroe once wore or something, and then I would spend the rest of my life scrubbing floors to pay my debts.

The fashion closet at La Mode headquarters is a space larger than most interns' apartments, packed to the brim with accessories, clothing, and jewelry. It's a mix of the Barbie dreamhouse I had when I was nine and my every clothing-related fantasy come to life. But right now, it houses a nightmare.

I sigh, hauling my boss's dry cleaning onto a towel and assessing the damage. Snapping on a pair of vinyl gloves that I may have stolen from the medical office downstairs, I get to work. Just as I steel my nerves for the arduous task of peeling back the dry cleaning bag, holding my breath so long that my head starts to spin, I hear a voice.

"Is someone in here?"

No! Go away!

Wait, yes! I need help! Please don't make me do this.

I take it as a sign from God telling me to have nothing to do with the cat-defiled bag and step away from the mess.

"Hello?"

I frown, trying to decipher who it could be. Very few of the other interns are male. The ones who are male usually have a penchant for upspeak and vocal fry, neither of which this man possesses.

"If someone's there, I could actually... use some help."

I straighten up from the feline-fluid-soaked garments and nearly whack my head on a nearby coat rack. Thank God, for once, that I'm only five-three.

"What kind of help?" Maybe he can assist me... at least, that's what I'm praying for. An exchange of favours has never killed anyone. On the contrary, it's been the start of many friendships.

"Um... the fashion variety," he says. It's weird to talk to someone and not see their face, yet know they're in the room. I push past the racks of clothes, piles of jackets, and heaps of dresses before making my way across the closet and toward...

Yep. He is definitely a man. A man wearing a pair of trousers that look like the pant legs were run through a paper shredder.

"Oh, my." My eyes trail from his half-bare legs, which are covered in scratches, over his white t-shirt with sleeves that fit his biceps too snugly, and up to his face. He looks vaguely familiar: Asian, with floppy black hair that has a streak of green in it. "Um, not to be rude to a man in such... sartorial distress, but what are you doing in the fashion closet? You don't work here, right?"