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)
“What if the positive outcome is that I do my best work, inspired by the beauty of Paris, and fall in love with a wonderful man?” I suggest, aware that I sound like the most ridiculous silver-lining finder in existence.
Any warmth or sense of warning evaporates as she becomes the cold, shrewd businesswoman she’s known to be. “Let me be clear, Mademoiselle Fisher. You will stop seeing Simon. When he tries to see you, you will decline. Focus on your work. Find fulfillment there, and there alone. You are talented, so perhaps you will still have a chance to work with House Corbin in the future. Maybe even as the result of the competition.”
It’s an order if ever I’ve heard one. And a warning . . . don’t do as I’m told, and I will never get to work with the House.
Without waiting for my reply, Albert steps forward from behind me. I didn’t even hear him come in.
“Autumn?” he says.
I’m clearly being dismissed, and I turn slowly to follow Albert. But I look back over my shoulder to Jacqueline. She’s placing the folder with my photo into a tray on her desk as though I’m completely disposable.
Pressure tightens around my chest, complications piling up on my shoulders. Well, the complications were already there, but having a light shone on them makes them seem that much more real.
I’m going to have to choose. Do I care more about making my dreams come true? Do I care about winning this competition and becoming a successful fashion designer?
Or do I care more about Simon Corbin?
And can I even choose at this point?
CHAPTER 18
SIMON
I bang on Autumn’s door, calling out, “Autumn! Open the door! Let me in!”
A door behind me opens and a head pops out. I look back and point at Autumn’s door, demanding, “Have you seen her?”
The neighbor points down the hall where another door opens and Autumn appears.
Did I have the wrong door? But no . . . the numbers are correct. Is she coming out of someone else’s apartment? The thought leaves me frozen in angry shock for a moment. It’s then that I realize she’s simply coming out of the shared washroom because she’s wearing flowy pants and a camisole and carrying a towel and shower caddy.
“Simon? What are you doing here?” she asks, rushing down the hall to me. “Is everything okay?”
I snort out a derisive laugh. “Non, non, things are not okay. We need to talk.” Tobias and Albert are friendly, and as soon as Tobias heard what Jacqueline did, he hunted me down to inform me, thankfully with zero judgment. He’s a good friend, and one who can keep his mouth shut when the situation calls for it, or let the right person know what they need to know in other situations.
Like this.
She opens her door, and I push my way inside, slamming the door behind me. “Shh, my neighbors!” Autumn hisses.
I don’t care about them. Don’t give a fuck about disturbing them when Autumn and I need to talk about what I heard at the office tonight.
The apartment isn’t small, it’s miniscule. There’s barely room for the bed and a desk, but Autumn has made the most of it. There are countless drawings tacked up to the wall, along with fabric swatches and scribbled words creating an inspiration board of sorts.
“What did Jacqueline say to you?” I snarl. I’m furious—not at Autumn, but at my aunt.
“The long and the short of it? We can’t see each other,” she answers, plopping down onto the bed. She crisscrosses her legs, her hands in her lap.
I drop to my knees in front of her, my feet nearly flush against the wall in the tight space, and cover her hands with my own. “It’s too late for that, Princesse. You said you didn’t want casual, and I agreed. We’re in this now, no turning back.”
“I need to focus on the competition, Simon. This is a big opportunity for me,” she pleads, her face filled with pain. “She can end me.”
I don’t care. Nothing has changed between us. Only Jacqueline’s interference.
“You and I have nothing to do with the competition, and you know it. Others might have a hard time believing that, but we know the truth. You are a talented designer who earned her way here, and then the fates intervened, bringing us together.” I speak slowly and softly, wanting my words to wash over her and take away whatever damage has been done.
I grip her hips to pull her to the edge of the bed, and she unfolds her legs, placing one on either side of me. I wonder if she realizes that she’s squeezing me as if she doesn’t want to let me go?
Cupping her cheek, I whisper mindlessly in French into the small space between us, our lips brushing with the words as I tell her how much I care for her, am glad to have met her, and how much she’s quickly come to mean to me.