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)
In school at FIT, the guys understood the fashion obsession since they were equally affected, but the competitiveness was sharp and fierce, leading to friends with benefits situations at most.
“What about you?” I ask Claire, remembering that she told me about a customer she was considering taking up on an invitation for sushi.
“Crash landing on Steve-O. He came in again, ordered two drinks. Second one was a half-caf, double-whip, stevia, oat milk, caramel hazelnut frappe.” She gives me a knowing look.
“Would you have rather he ordered a plain, black coffee?” I guess, confused.
“I would’ve preferred he tell me upfront that he was looking for a third for him and his wife. No guy drinks that, so I asked who the chick was.” She purses her lips, her hands a bit aggressive with the machine’s buttons she’s pushing. “Said he didn’t want to spring it on me until he checked our chemistry,” Claire says in a mockingly high pitch before, in her own sultry tone, adding, “Told him the only chemistry we’d be having is the Ex-Lax I’d be slipping in his drinks if he came back.”
She laughs, and after a mental check to make sure she’s kidding, I join her. “Damn. Sorry, girl.”
She sets my latte in the tray, slipping a straw between the drinks and apparently already over the potential loss of Steve’s ‘opportunity’. “All set. They’re on Nora’s tab.”
“Thanks,” I tell her, slipping a five in her tip jar. “I can see if Clay could set you up with someone?”
That draws Claire’s attention, and she shoots me a middle finger and retorts, “Have the day you deserve. See you tomorrow, Autumn.” Before she looks down, she’s already grinning again.
I grab my tray of drinks and beeline for the door. “Excuse me . . .”
It’s a hard habit to break, even though it doesn’t work the way it does at home. I back into the door, pushing it open with my butt, and join the morning rush of people on the street once more.
I make it to the corner and go through the glass double doors simply marked Jacobs in a beautiful gold script font. Nora’s storefront has a small selection of off-the-rack options, but the bulk of her work is through custom designs and the few boutiques she works with directly. Inside, I’m hit with a bustle of activity as assistants run back and forth to set up racks in the conference room.
“What’s that for?” I ask an intern.
“Backdrop scenery for the call. Nora’s early morning, brilliant idea,” he replies, never pausing.
In the conference room, Nora’s presence is commanding as she gestures and gives orders to the people scurrying about to do her bidding. At five feet eight in her bare feet—not that many see her that undone—she’s sharply dressed in a white pantsuit with a custom hand-embroidered rose on the lapel of her jacket. It’s her own design, of course.
She looks around sharply, her detail-focused eyes missing nothing. Including me.
“Oh, thank God! I need that to settle my nerves,” she declares, beelining toward me and her precious caffeine. She snatches her Americano, taking a deep pull and then sighing happily. I keep my mouth shut, not mentioning that coffee is probably not the cure for nervousness. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Nora presses her hand to her belly and a burp escapes her pink lips. “Oh, my goodness!”
I give her a questioning look, noting that there are concerning growls coming from her midsection that would make Sesame Street’s Oscar the Grouch proud. “Nora, you good? What do you need? I’ve got Tums in my bag,” I offer.
She waves me off. “No, just been queasy all morning. Touch of gas, probably. Nerves, you know, from my impending meeting with The Jacqueline Corbin.” She goes a little pale, and I get it.
“Sit down. Put your head between your knees and let us get everything ready. We’ve got you.”
I take the vow seriously and shove Clay’s drink toward an intern. “Take this to Clay, now.” She squeaks and does as instructed.
I step back to give an analyzing look to the backdrop that’s been created. “Switch those two,” I say, indicating a black gown and a white jacket. “The jacket will blend with Nora’s hair.” They make the switch, and I imagine Nora’s premature gray-white bob backed by the black. “Better.”
And just in time. Nora’s laptop makes a dinging noise, alerting everyone to an incoming Zoom call. There’s an anticipatory squeal from someone, and then everyone scatters. I set a piece of paper on the table next to the laptop and tell Nora, “If you forget what to say, here’s some ideas focusing on the upcoming collection and future plans.”
“Thanks, Autumn. What would I do without you?” Looking at the computer, she straightens her spine, focuses her eyes, and then clicks her keyboard. I stay out of view, pen at the ready to take notes for Nora.