Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“Bonjour!” sings a heavily accented woman’s voice over the laptop’s speaker. “It is wonderful to see you again, my dear Nora.”
Again? I think. Nora and Jacqueline have never met, but I’m sure someone of Jacqueline’s status probably forgets the ‘little people’ and plays the odds. It’s not like anyone would dare correct her.
“Madame Corbin, how lovely to . . . see you,” Nora answers, catching herself from saying ‘meet you’ just in time. Mentally, I swipe at my brow at the close call. “It’s such an honor.”
“Yes, yes,” Jacqueline replies, sounding dismissive. “Shall we do away with the niceties and get down to brass tacks, as you Americans say?”
I’ve never once heard anyone say that, especially not Nora, but she smiles congenially. “Of course. What would you like to discuss today? I have a current collection available that focuses on fine fabrics, particularly silk, and a small seasonal offering coming soon.” Nora pauses hopefully.
“Hmm?” Jacqueline hums as though she wasn’t listening. “Oh, yes. About that . . . your designs are quite lovely. I saw them just this morning, in fact. I was particularly pleased with the patterned silks you used.”
The compliment is kind, but if Jacqueline only saw Nora’s designs this morning, then why did she schedule this meeting days ago? Nora seems to have skipped right over that, hearing only the praise, because she glances up at me over the laptop screen with dancing, bright blue eyes.
“Thank you,” Nora gushes, completely failing at keeping her cool. “I sourced them from Karnataka, India, especially for the collection. The designs—”
Jacqueline cuts Nora off. “Dear, if I may . . . While your designs are quite lovely, this call is not about your work, unfortunately. It’s about your assistant, Autumn.”
My head jerks up so fast that I lose my balance and fall out of the chair I’m sitting in, my red heels clattering before going airborne. “What?” I mouth to Nora, my eyes bugging out of their sockets. I probably look like one of those cartoon tomcats when they see a sexy girl cat to chase. Aaaoooga!
Nora recovers before I do, and off-screen, waves a staying hand in my direction. I don’t dare move, afraid that if I try to stand, I’ll fall over in shock once more.
“Autumn is amazing. She’s been vital to my last two releases,” Nora says easily. Talking about herself, she’s nearly puking on my shoes. Talking about me? No biggie, I guess.
“Yes, well . . . Ms. Fisher entered a contest with House Corbin. The Fashionable Females Under 25?”
She doesn’t pause, though my heart completely stops in my chest, remembering how Nora encouraged me to complete an application as my first post-graduation project. It had been a way for Nora to familiarize herself with my work style and methods to see where we could best work together. The application itself had been the culmination of that work, mostly the cherry on top of a pipe dream.
Jacqueline’s still talking. “I’d like to invite Autumn to Paris, to House Corbin, for a month-long contest of sorts with the other finalists. It will be all-expenses paid, of course, including flights, lodging, and materials. Some of the other young ladies are not currently associated with designers, but seeing as Ms. Fisher is on your roster, I felt it only proper to notify you first.”
I’m shaking. I’ve managed to sit up, at least, but I’m still on the linoleum floor and there are interns looking through the glass on the side of the room in concern. I flash them a shaky smile so they don’t barge in to rescue me from myself.
Nora smiles, well aware of my shock. “Of course. I’ll be sad to lose Autumn for a month . . . or more” —she tacks on with a wink— “but I know she’ll be head over heels at this opportunity.”
Is she seriously making fun of me at a time like this? I’m going to kill her. After I kiss her for making me apply in the first place.
“In fact, Jacqueline, Autumn is here, taking notes for me. May I ask her to join us?” Nora inquires politely.
I flail about, trying to get up and get my dress smoothed down my legs—not that Jacqueline will see that far down—and slip my hair behind my ear. I take a steadying breath and step around the table next to Nora, waving stupidly at Jacqueline Corbin, the CEO, head designer, and model of House Corbin. She began as a one-woman show and is a long-time force to be reckoned with.
And I just waved at her like I’m Forrest Gump about to talk to her about shrimp.
If I could smack myself in the forehead, I would.
Jacqueline Corbin is thin, her face angular and interesting. Her trademark hair is pitch black, cut through with a single streak of silver. From what I can see, she’s wearing a black, high-neck blouse with a tiny, delicate ruffle along the collar. It’s the only nod to femininity or softness in her entire look.