The Masked Truth

Chapter Seventeen

Roza's picture above :)

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 Chapter Seventeen

I'd never been to a professional fashion building before, so that was exciting if I was coming on better terms. The whole situation is rather funny. From the friend I wasn't excited about making becoming the one I'm running into her work hours to talk about my exploding love life. What the heck is happening?

The building looks stylish on the outside with a sleek exteriors build upon the base of something rustic and individual. I have no problems getting in the building, but getting past their bulldog of an assistant who wants to see some identification before they even thing about retrieving Roza Volkov, is my problem.

"Please, Roza told me to meet her here." I wave my phone around with distaste.

"I need a formal identification before I can allow you any further." That seemed a bit tedious considering how spaced out this place is. I don't see any security hanging around, which would make running through their business show quit easy, but I really don't want to cause a scene.

"I can't for the final time," I grumble with annoyance.

I try calling Roza's phone, only to be taken back to the message bank.

"I'm going to ask you to remove yourself from the premises." Being asked to leave felt pretty devastating and weird, usually people were begging me to stay at their place for publicity, but this person, they didn't want a bar of me. Today is turning out to be rather rotten.

Once more, I call Roza's phone and leave her another voicemail about how I'm waiting for her in the entrance. But nothing comes from it. With my dignity half intact, I walk out the front of the building and into a frenzy of photographers.

I'd long gotten over the crazy mass of photographer, especially for something as small as this. I stop and smile, swirl around for a few photographs before calling Archer's mobile number for a rescue lift. I smile and stay relatively chatty because that usually keeps them at bay and occupied.

"Is Volkov Designs making your outfit?" one reporter yells.

"No." I shake my head.

"Who's designing your outfit then?" Another shouts while snapping four more pictures of me.

"Sienna," I hear some yell in a thick Russian accent.

I try not to look too surprised with Roza walks out the door and embraces me in a hug. I pass a few pleasant greetings before following her inside.

"I tried calling," I state.

"Sorry, my phone has been off," she apologises. "And nobody sent my any messages." She shoots a glare at the person behind the front desk.

"I honestly tried to, but they refused to let me send you a message."

"The only reason I knew you were here because of the crazy festival of cameras outside." Roza shakes her head and continues to apologise as she leads me past the office desk and down the back to her space.

The walk through the building is intriguing. Like a small child in a candy store, I soaking in all the details as we briskly move through the space. Roza leads me towards a back hole in the wall space which is relatively organised and well maintained.

"Take a seat." She offers me a fancy desk chair that I gratefully accept. I instantly spin around in a circle before sliding towards the large table desk to have a look at what she's working on.