Chapter THREE(III)

The Boy in the Spotlight. 

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. All characters, locations, and events depicted in this book are entirely the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or real-world events is purely coincidental.

 Author's Note: 

Hey, hey, welcome back! So, quick question: have you ever met someone who's just too cool for their own good? Like, "I'll make you roll your eyes so hard you see your past lives" cool? Well, buckle up, because in this chapter, Nalani meets that guy.

Also, fashion shows and awkward interactions? A chef's kiss combo. Let me know if you're Team Nalani or Team Elijah after this one. Personally, I'm Team Get Some Popcorn and Watch the Drama. Enjoy! 

Nalani lay sprawled across her bed, her phone held loosely in her hand. She wore a cropped white T-shirt with the words "Eat Me" boldly printed at the front and low-cut bum shorts that had the same words stitched cheekily on the back. Her curvy figure filled the outfit effortlessly, but her mind was elsewhere. She kept staring at her phone, re-reading the open DM, hoping—praying—that something might change. It didn't. The single blue tick taunted her, each passing second deepening her frustration. 

As her thumb hovered over the screen, contemplating a desperate second message, her phone vibrated. The sudden call startled her, and she fumbled, accidentally smacking it against her face. "Ouch!" she yelped, rolling over and groaning as she rubbed her forehead. 

She glanced at the caller ID: Professor Hothead. It was her nickname for her professor, a man who managed to be both infuriatingly strict and surprisingly supportive. Clearing her throat, she answered with as much composure as she could muster. 

"Hello, good morning, Professor," she said, her tone calm and collected. 

"Good morning, Nalani," he replied in his usual clipped tone. "I was just calling to see if you'd be interested in attending a fashion show this weekend." 

"A fashion show?" Nalani asked, sitting up straighter. Her heart skipped. That was exactly what she needed—something to distract her and reignite her creative spark. "Yes, I'd love to!" she replied eagerly. 

"Great. I'll send you the ticket shortly. If you'd prefer, I can arrange for someone to pick you up."

"No need for that, sir. I can manage on my own. You've already done so much," she said with genuine gratitude. 

"Alright then. Have a good day." The call ended with a soft click, and moments later, her phone buzzed again. Nalani swiped to reveal a sleek, digital ticket emblazoned with the words Os'Lisa Annual Fashion Show. 

"What?!" she screamed, her excitement echoing off the walls. 

Within seconds, Denise burst into her room, looking ready for a crisis. "What happened? Is everything okay?" Her older sister's urgency would've been touching if it wasn't so funny. 

She wore a crisp white blouse with neatly rolled-up sleeves, paired with light brown work pants that fit her figure perfectly. Her polished loafers added a subtle professional touch. In her hand, she held a scarf with a vintage design—blue, green, and silver hues dancing across the fabric. With focused precision, she worked on tying it into a stylish knot, her movements exuding effortless sophistication.

Nalani grinned. "I'm going to Os'Lisa."

Denise frowned, clearly unimpressed. "What's an Os'Lisa?"

Nalani gasped theatrically. "Do you live under a rock? It's only the biggest end-of-year fashion show in the world!"

"Oh." Denise shrugged, visibly relieved that there wasn't a fire or some other emergency. "That's cool, but next time, try not to scream like a banshee. Anyway, Mom made breakfast—ham sandwiches and milkshakes. I'm heading out, so check on Dad before you leave." With that, she disappeared as swiftly as she'd arrived. 

Nalani flopped back onto her bed, staring at the ticket. Her initial excitement quickly morphed into panic. "I don't have a dress," she muttered, bolting upright. She yanked open her wardrobe doors and began rifling through her clothes. Her frustration mounted with every outfit she rejected. "Shit," she cursed under her breath. 

Grabbing her phone, she opened her banking app. A quick calculation confirmed what she feared—no luxury spending this month. With a resigned sigh, she tossed on a baggy black T-shirt, gray sweatpants, and Crocs before heading out the door. 

"Bye, Dad!" she called out, pecking his cheek as he sat watching baseball. "Don't forget your breakfast!" And with that, she dashed down the street, her heart set on her destination. 

Second Choices—a thrift store she frequented religiously—came into view. The name was scrawled in bold, vintage lettering above the entrance. She pushed through the doors, greeted by racks upon racks of secondhand treasures. For someone like Nalani, who couldn't afford luxury firsthand, this was her haven. With her sharp eye and natural fashion sense, she could spot diamonds in the rough, turning forgotten garments into statements.

"Welcome to Second—oh, hey, Nala!" Jules, the cashier, called out with a grin. Jules was a classic goth, complete with messy black hair streaked with red, sea-green eyes, and a pink-and-black striped long-sleeve tee. 

"Hey, Jules. Is Bassy around?" Nalani asked, scanning the store. 

"Nah, he stepped out to cash a check," Jules replied, popping her gum. "What are you looking for today?"

"A gown," Nalani said, her voice tinged with urgency. 

Jules raised an eyebrow. "A gown? What's the occasion? Are you marrying a prince or something?"

Nalani chuckled. "No, I'm going to Os'Lisa."

Jules's jaw dropped. "Shut up. The Os'Lisa? That's like… the Oscars of fashion! Take me with you!" 

Nalani laughed, shaking her head.

"I don't know, Jules, help me find a dress first." Nalani said, her eyes trailing over Jules' outfit. 

Jules stood confidently behind the counter, her usual chaotic goth vibe radiating in full force. Her baggy black jeans were adorned with silver chains that jingled slightly when she moved, and her chunky, high-platform boots looked like they belonged to a rock concert rather than a thrift store. 

"What?" Jules asked, frowning. 

Nalani tilted her head. "I'm just saying, those jeans look like they were stolen from a military warehouse." 

Jules groaned and held up her middle finger. "Are we getting you a dress or not?" 

"Fine, fine. But no gown, no Os'Lisa," Nalani teased, setting her condition. 

Jules sighed dramatically, throwing her arms in the air as she walked out from behind the counter. "If I have to dig through another pile of lace and sequins for you, I'm charging extra for emotional labor." 

Nalani laughed, watching her friend stomp toward the clothing racks. Jules might have had a sharp tongue, but she always came through. "Let's just hope we find something decent," Nalani replied, following her to the section packed with dresses of every shape and size. 

******

Meanwhile, at Nalia's Estate. 

Nalia sat stiffly in her luxurious armchair, glaring at the image of her nemesis on her phone screen. The girl in the photo didn't look like much. What did the company see in her? she thought angrily. Talentless, cheap, and lucky—Nalani didn't have what it took to be part of the elite fashion world. 

Nalia's lips curled into a sneer as she imagined how it all went down. She must've bribed someone or slept her way into the gig. The very idea made her blood boil. In a sudden fit of rage, she hurled her phone to the floor, the expensive device shattering into several pieces. 

Her chest heaved as she took a deep breath. "No," she whispered to herself. "This isn't over." 

She stood, smoothing down her wine-red gown. The fabric hugged her figure perfectly, its corset-style bodice emphasizing her slender waist. The gown's netted sleeves draped elegantly over her arms, and the gathered skirt swirled lightly around her knees. Despite her anger, she looked every inch the composed, calculating woman she was. 

Her mind raced as she reached for the glass of wine on the table beside her. Taking a slow sip, she let the gears in her head turn. She wouldn't let Nalani take what was rightfully hers. Her sources had already informed her of Nalani's plan to bring Arielle Kate—a washed-up, past-her-prime model—back into the spotlight for the show. 

Kate's a joke, Nalia thought bitterly. She let herself be taken advantage of and still clings to her outdated glory. She doesn't deserve to walk the Newpark Summer Fit Walks. 

But Nalia wasn't above using her as a pawn. If she could sway Arielle Kate to reject Nalani's proposal, it would sabotage her efforts completely. And when Nalani failed, Nalia would step in with her team to save the day, cementing her reputation as the true queen of the fashion world. 

She reached for the house phone on the table and dialed a number. It rang several times before a soft, professional voice answered. 

"Good morning, Madam Nalia," Elise said politely. 

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Nalia snapped. "Listen carefully, Elise. I need you to set up a meeting with Arielle Kate." 

There was a pause. "Ma'am, there's no way to reach her. She's rejecting all communication from companies and individuals alike." 

Nalia smirked. Desperate people are easy to manipulate. "Kate's drowning, Elise. She needs a lifeboat, and we're going to offer her one. I'll speak to my father about having her as the face of his rubber company's new campaign. Two years, exclusive deal. Make sure she signs." 

"Yes, ma'am. I'll get on it right away." 

"And Elise?" 

"Yes, ma'am?" 

"Next time, pick up on the first ring, you stupid pig," Nalia sneered before hanging up. 

She looked down at the broken pieces of her phone, muttering a curse under her breath. Now she needed a new one. With a groan, she left the room, her mind already crafting the next step in her plan. 

Descending the grand staircase, she passed through the estate's perfectly manicured gardens. The scent of roses filled the air, but it did little to soothe her mood. 

"No one is going to stand in my way," she muttered to herself. "Not some wannabe designer. Not a washed-up model. No one." 

Her driver, waiting by the sleek, white Culivan 55 parked at the entrance, opened the door for her. "Start the car," she ordered sharply, sliding into the plush leather seat. 

Behind her, another car roared to life as her security team prepared to follow. The convoy of vehicles pulled away from the estate, Nalia's determination radiating like a storm cloud over the horizon.

******

Finding the perfect dress was proving to be a Herculean task for Nalani. She had tried on several options, but none seemed to work. Either they were too revealing, clung to her body awkwardly, or simply didn't fit the image she had in her head. 

Jules, on the other hand, had struck gold almost instantly. She'd found a sleek black dress adorned with intricate rose patterns sewn into the netting. The low-cut neckline offered a teasing glimpse of her cleavage, while a thigh-high slit added a daring edge. The open back revealed a detailed tattoo spanning half of Jules' back—a gothic masterpiece that seemed to tell its own story. 

Nalani couldn't help but stare in disbelief. "Are you planning to seduce the entire fashion show or just half of it?" 

Jules smirked, running a hand through her messy black-and-red hair. "What can I say? I aim to impress." 

Nalani rolled her eyes and returned to the pile of clothing Jules had brought out from the back. She sifted through the hangers and racks with growing frustration. It was starting to feel hopeless. 

"Why don't you try something that isn't a dress?" Jules suggested, leaning casually against the counter. 

"I'm going to a fashion show, Jules. I have to wear a dress," Nalani shot back, shaking her head. 

Jules shrugged, clearly unimpressed with her friend's stubbornness. 

Just as Nalani was about to give up entirely, the front door swung open with a dramatic creak. A tall, muscular man in his early thirties strode in, pushing a large, heavy box on a trolley. His broad shoulders and easy smile immediately lit up the room. 

"Bassy!" Nalani exclaimed, her frustration melting away as she ran up to hug him. 

Bassy laughed, scooping her into a bear hug and giving her a playful shake. "Nala! It's been a while. You disappeared on us!" 

"School and stuff," Nalani replied, pulling back with a grin. "How have you been?" 

"Pretty good. Busy, as usual. What about you? What brings you here today?" 

"Shopping. Obviously," she replied with a dramatic wave toward the racks. 

"Any luck?" 

Nalani sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Not really. I'm looking for a dress for a fashion party, but at this point, I'd settle for anything wearable." 

Bassy chuckled and patted the box he'd rolled in. "Well, you're in luck. I just got these in from the latest shipment. Not thrift—offloads." 

Nalani's eyes lit up at the word. Offloads were the holy grail of secondhand fashion: unworn clothes sold in bulk by high-end brands clearing inventory for new seasons. If you were lucky, you could find a designer gem hidden among the pile. 

"Seriously?" Nalani asked, her voice rising with excitement. 

"Yep. I was planning to sell the whole box for about (ꓘ)1000," Bassy said, "but for you, I'll let you pick one outfit." 

"You're amazing, Bass!" Nalani practically bounced with excitement. 

"Consider it payback for all the times you helped me organize this place," Bassy replied. He grabbed a crowbar, easily pried the box open, and leaned the lid against the wall. 

Nalani wasted no time diving in, her hands rifling through the layers of clothing with practiced efficiency. She was halfway through the box when her enthusiasm began to wane. No dresses. No gowns. Her excitement dwindled into disappointment, her face falling as she stepped back with a sigh. 

Then, Jules held up something from the pile—a two-piece set that caught Nalani's eye instantly. 

"Is that Tommy Harper?" Nalani asked, her tone filled with curiosity and disbelief. 

"Hey, I found it first," Jules protested, clutching the outfit. 

Ignoring her, Nalani grabbed the set and held it up to inspect it. "It is Tommy Harper. From the Frontal Collection!" 

The outfit consisted of a bubble-sleeve crop top in a light, almost violet purple. The hem and chest featured adjustable strings for a tailored fit. The matching skirt was a darker shade of purple, complete with a thigh-high slit and strings to adjust its length and tightness. It was elegant, bold, and perfect for the occasion. 

Before Jules could argue, Nalani had darted into the dressing room. 

She emerged moments later, and both Bassy and Jules froze, their eyes widening in awe. 

"You look…" Jules began, searching for the right word. "Amazing. Like, really beautiful." 

Bassy nodded in agreement. "She's right. You look great." 

Nalani gave a playful spin, the skirt flowing effortlessly around her. "How much?" she asked, grinning. 

Bassy crossed his arms, considering. "On the open market? That outfit could easily go for (ꓘ)400." 

Nalani stopped mid-spin, her face falling. 

"But for you," Bassy added with a smile, "it's free." 

"Wait—are you serious?" Nalani asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. 

"Yeah, take it," Bassy said with a shrug. 

Nalani squealed in delight and threw her arms around him. "Thank you so much!" 

"What about me?" Jules piped up, motioning to her own dress. "My dress is super cute too!" 

"That's coming out of your paycheck," Bassy deadpanned. 

Nalani burst out laughing, and even Jules couldn't help but crack a smile as the room filled with warmth and camaraderie.

******

"Oh my gosh, you look amazing!" Denise exclaimed as Nalani descended the stairs. She wore an oversized T-shirt that hung off one shoulder, paired with bright red low-cut shorts and casual flip-flops. The look was simple but undeniably striking on her. 

Denise, ever the dramatic one, whipped out her phone. "Pose for the camera, sis!" She snapped several photos, giggling as Nalani rolled her eyes but indulged her sister's antics. 

"You look really good, though. Like, where have you been hiding all this?" Denise teased, spinning Nalani around to admire her outfit from all angles. 

"Mama! Come see Nalani's outfit!" Denise called out. 

Their mother emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. If someone didn't know better, they might mistake her for their older sister. Her youthful appearance—freckled skin, curly black hair, and soft brown eyes behind a pair of reading glasses—was a testament to good genes. 

"You look lovely, Nala," her mother said with a warm smile. "You should dress like this more often." 

"Come on, Mama," Nalani groaned, shaking her head. "You know how much effort it takes to pull this off." 

Denise, ever the joker, gave Nalani a playful smack on the backside. "Girl, you're fine as hell!" 

"No cursing," their mother chided, though her tone was light. She walked closer, placing a hand on Nalani's shoulder. "Baby, listen to me. Your father was captivated by my looks when we first met. Back when he wasn't such a bum, he would do anything I asked him to. You'll find the right man who'll do the same—" 

"Cut it off, Mama," Nalani interjected with a laugh. "I'm going to a fashion show, not some 'pop the question' event." She dug through her purse as her phone buzzed. 

It was Jules. 

"Where you at?" Jules asked. 

"I'm just stepping out. What about you?" 

"I'm already at your front porch. Is Mama around? She makes the best baked potatoes in the city." 

Nalani chuckled, calling out to the kitchen. "Mama, Jules says hi!" 

Her mother popped her head out. "Where is she?" 

"She's outside!" 

"Tell her to come in!" 

"No, Mama," Nalani replied. "We're late already. Love you, Mama. Love you, Denise. Love you, Papa!" She kissed her father on the cheek as he walked by, then headed toward the door. 

"Remember, my sweet rose," her mother called after her, "be home before midnight!" 

"I'll try, Godmother," Nalani teased, waving as she opened the door. 

Jules was leaning casually against the porch railing, grinning as Nalani joined her. She waved at the family before the door closed. 

"I already ordered a ride," Jules said. "It should be here... oh, there it is." 

A sleek black car rolled up to the curb. Jules confirmed the driver's details and gestured for Nalani to hop in. 

"Let's go see some really cool dresses," Jules said as the car pulled away. 

******

The ride took about forty minutes, traffic eating into their schedule, but they made it just in time to grab decent seats. The venue was buzzing with anticipation as they settled in. The lights dimmed, plunging the room into darkness. Then, with a dramatic flair, the stage lit up, revealing a model standing tall and poised. 

The model wore a white gown that cascaded elegantly to the floor, her every step radiating confidence. The dress shimmered under the lights, the subtle details of its fabric catching the audience's attention. 

"She looks amazing," Jules whispered. 

"Shh! I'm trying to focus," Nalani replied, snapping a few pictures and scribbling notes into her notepad. 

"Someone's taking this seriously," Jules muttered, smirking. 

As the model exited the stage, a voice interrupted Nalani's concentration. 

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" 

Nalani turned to see who was speaking and froze. "Oh no, it's free—wait, you?" 

Her voice rose with recognition before she quickly covered her mouth. 

It was the boy from the coffee shop. Though he looked slightly different, she'd never forget his face. He wore a double-breasted black suit, the sleek fabric bearing the unmistakable insignia of Herod Hellow's limited collection. Nalani's fashion-savvy mind immediately registered the exclusivity of the suit—it was custom-made and practically unattainable. 

"You again," the boy said, his tone dripping with annoyance. 

"Who's the hot dude?" Jules asked, nudging Nalani. 

"Coffee boy," Nalani replied under her breath. 

"Coffee boy?" they both echoed in unison, Jules with amusement and the boy with utter disgust. 

Jules burst into laughter as the boy scowled. "What are you doing here, peasant girl?" he sneered. 

"Peasant girl?" Nalani shot back, narrowing her eyes. 

The stage lights dimmed again, drawing their attention. 

"Good evening, everyone," a man's voice boomed through the speakers. The spotlight revealed him standing at the center of the stage, wearing a striped brown-and-white suit. "Welcome to the greatest fashion show in the world!" 

"Greatest show, huh?" Nalani muttered, her voice just loud enough to carry. 

The boy turned to her, his face blank but his eyes sharp. "You don't know when to shut up, do you?" 

"Make me!" Nalani retorted, blowing a raspberry at him. 

Jules, seated beside her, was trying—and failing—to contain her laughter as the show began. 

He pulled out his phone and began scrolling, deliberately ignoring Nalani. She sighed, turning her attention back to her notes, reading through them with furrowed brows. 

The presenter's voice boomed over the speakers, drawing everyone's focus. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce our host and the visionary designer behind this event—Margaret Hughson!" 

The room erupted into applause as a short woman with a warm smile made her way to the stage. She was handed a microphone, waving graciously at the crowd before tapping it lightly. 

"Good evening, everyone," Margaret began, her voice steady and inviting. "I must say, I'm absolutely blown away by tonight's turnout. Thank you so much for being here—it means the world to me." She paused, her eyes scanning the audience. "I'd also like to give a special thanks to my son, who has been an incredible help throughout this process. Elijah, are you here?" 

The crowd's applause grew louder, expectantly looking around for this "Elijah" to step forward. Moments passed, and the clapping gradually died down when no one appeared. 

"Elijah?" Margaret repeated, a hint of confusion in her voice. 

Nalani perked up at the name, glancing around to see if anyone would respond. Beside her, the boy groaned under his breath, his exasperation barely concealed. 

"Just get on with it," he muttered softly, sounding as if he was on the verge of falling asleep. 

Nalani raised an eyebrow at him. "Who hurt you, dude? Chill out. It's not like they're looking for you anyway." 

He turned to her, and for the first time, a mischievous smirk spread across his face. "Oh really?" he said, his tone almost daring. 

Before Nalani could process his words, he stood up. 

"Get back down!" she hissed, her voice rising slightly. "You're going to embarrass yourself!" 

Ignoring her protests, the boy casually made his way toward the stage. Nalani watched in stunned silence as he climbed the steps with the ease of someone completely at home in the spotlight. 

Margaret's face lit up when she saw him approach. She pulled him into a tight hug, her joy evident as she turned to the audience. 

"And my son, everyone—Elijah Hughson!" 

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Nalani's jaw dropped, her mind scrambling to piece together what she'd just witnessed. Her wide-eyed gaze locked with Elijah's for a fleeting moment, and he smiled at her—a smug, knowing smile—before turning to wave at the audience. 

"Yo, that chick is his mom?" Jules blurted out, entirely oblivious to the tension in Nalani's expression. 

Nalani didn't answer, her shock rendering her mute as Elijah took the microphone. 

"I just want to say a big thank you to everyone for coming," Elijah began, his voice smooth and confident. "And to my amazing mother—you are an inspiration. I love you very much." 

The crowd collectively let out a heartfelt aww at his words. He bowed slightly, offering the audience one last wave. "I won't keep you waiting any longer. I hope you all have a wonderful evening." 

As the applause swelled again, Elijah made his way back to his seat, moving with the same calm composure that now felt maddeningly familiar to Nalani. 

He sat down beside her, slipping his phone back out of his pocket as if nothing had happened. 

"What do you think now?" he asked casually, not even glancing her way. 

Nalani stared at him for a moment, her lips pursed. Finally, she leaned closer and mouthed the word, Showoff. 

Elijah smirked, eyes still on his phone, clearly enjoying her reaction.

Author's Note:

And there you have it! Our dear Nalani just found out the "coffee shop guy" is actually the prince of fashion shows. Talk about a glow-up, huh? But let's be honest, did anyone see that coming? (If you did, I owe you a cookie. Virtual one, though.) 

Anyway, drop a comment! Is Elijah charming, infuriating, or that annoying mix of both? Oh, and if you were Nalani, what would you have said after his little mic-drop moment? Personally, I'd probably just order a coffee and leave. Until next time, stay fabulous, folks!