The Imperfect Match

chapter 1

Remember your first love? Your first heartbreak? What about your first rejection?

We often avoid talking about rejection because it feels like a personal failure, too bitter to discuss. But are we ready to talk about it? The best answer might be: no. The next best answer: never.

First love and heartbreak may be like old songs we can't forget, but rejection is different. It lingers, like the aftertaste of something bad, churning your insides and making you avoid it at all costs.

For years, I've dodged conversations about him. Relationships, love, commitments — I've steered clear of them all. But avoidance only numbs the pain temporarily, like slapping a band-aid over a wound without treating the infection underneath.

"Are you trying to avoid me?" A voice sneaks up from behind, startling me and sending goosebumps racing down my arms.

I spin around, the lipstick hovering above my lips dragging along my cheek as I move. I hear the sharp intake of breath from the makeup artist, Heather, when she sees the mess.

Before I can focus on the man who ambushed me, I lift the small mirror. Sure enough, there's a glaring lipstick mark across my cheek.

The hair on the back of my neck rises as he steps closer. I can practically feel the heat radiating from him as he leans down to inspect the damage, his cheek brushing against mine. I knew luck wasn't on my side when Balenciaga chose him as the male model for this shoot.

Everyone has that one person they can't stand—the insufferable type who believes they have something to offer you when, in reality, all you want is distance. For me, that person is this guy.

"If the theme is Gotham edition, you'll fit right in as the Joker. I see the vision," he says, a teasing smile in his voice. Irritation surges within me, compelling my hand to push him away.

I turn to face him, eyebrows raised. "Cool," I say, unimpressed. "Then you'd find we're both insane, especially when provoked, so I'd advise against invading my personal space, Jared." I shove him, and he steps back with a chuckle.

I storm away, Heather hot on my heels.

"I'm sorry, Allie," she says, her voice tinged with guilt.

"It's not your fault," I reply, shaking my head.

The problem isn't just Jared; it's my choice to put myself in this situation. But isn't that how it always goes? Prioritizing your career or personal relationships and enduring whatever comes with it, even when it jeopardizes your mental health.

"But the shoot will be delayed," she adds, concern etching her features.

"Heather." I stop and turn. She screeches to a halt, tears pooling in her eyes. "I told you to stop crying when you feel bad."

"I'm an emotional person. I cry when I'm happy, sad, angry, or scared," she insists, wiping her eyes.

"If you want to survive in this industry, you have to get used to feeling like this all the time," I remind her. "No one's going to coddle you. You'll make mistakes, and someone will make you feel like an asshole because of it. You can't cry every time something happens. You need to toughen up."

"I'm tough!" she insists, her hazel eyes glinting defiantly.

"You've been working for me for eight months. I still see you wiping away tears sometimes. You're literally doing it right now."

"Sorry," she whispers, looking down.

"Just...fix my makeup."

We head to the dressing room, and I sit in front of the mirror, angling my head to inspect the lipstick print on my cheek. It's not that bad, and with some concealer and blending, it'll be gone in no time.