He grins. “That, I have.” He points a finger at me. “Get that navy suit ready. I think you look very distinguished in it. When you’re killing snobs, Dor, you gotta do it with a flair of formality.”
“Don’t I know that?” I quip.
“Doesn’t hurt to refresh your memory, especially after seeing you so pussy-drunk earlier.”
I tip my head back and laugh out loud. “You’re such a dipshit,” I tell him.
He gives me a two-finger salute. “Gotta maintain that reputation somehow.”
“Just go before I clock you in the head, Chris.”
He chuckles as he turns and gets into his car. He stops before shutting the driver’s side door, though, and looks at me. “I’ll see you on Saturday. And, if you or the crew decide to alternate the plan, then shoot me a text. I need your A-game on this, Dor, you hear me?”
I incline my head at him as I start walking backwards. “Loud and clear, boss. I’ve got it.” With that, I pivot on my feet and start walking towardsFinesse, just as Solo revs up his engine and speeds away.
I’m not going to tell Cignette about the kills, obviously, but because I’m going to be undertaking them at her mom’s party – I mean,charityball– there’s a strong chance that her and I will cross paths. It will definitely be interesting to see how my Little Swan reacts when she sees me in my element, or how my mind’ll behave with her in such close proximity to me.
Either way, I’m fucked, and fucked forgood.
8.
“I’m sorry, but why wasn’t I told about this charity ball thing untilnow?” I ask, beyond baffled. When I’d walked into the HQ 15 minutes ago with Mave by my side, Mom’s team of stylists had all but dragged me into the fitting room to get my measurements for an outfit for an apparent “charity ball” I was supposed to attend this Saturday.
“Umm, because you’re literally Miranda’sdaughter,” says Julian, one of Mom’s stylists. “And also, you know, because the two of you live under the same roof and everything. You of all people, babe, would, andshould, know about this.” He fixes his blond ponytail and gets back to whatever it is he’s drawing in his sketchbook.
I catch Mave’s eyes in the mirror that’s in front of me, then make a face.
He’s standing next to the door, with his hands clasped behind his back, and gives me a look full of amusement before subtly shaking his head at me.
He’d been just as confused by the charity ball news as I’d been. It seems like Mom isn’t going with the regular security team for this event; she’s changing course. Because if shewas, then Mave would have received an order to scout the venue, set up the guards’ posts, and plan the exit routes at least two weeks before the actual ball. But we are only three days away from Saturday, so it’s safe to assume that Mom’s just doing whatevershethinks is right.
Again.
I lift my arms sideways when Julian’s assistant, Melina, comes around to get measurements of my bust, arms, and shoulders.
“How long has she been planning this charity ball anyway?” I ask Julian, only because he now knows that my mom hasn’t discussed shit with me about this event. So, it shouldn’t exactly be a big deal if I get some information from him. And, because he works so closely with her, I’m pretty sure he knows just about everything pertaining this ball.
He looks up from his sketchbook and furrows his brows. “A month ago, I believe.” He sets the pencil he’s holding, behind his left ear. “She proposed the idea to me and the team, and said that it’d be a great opportunity for us to launch part of our newest collection as a teaser – sort of – to gauge the elites’ reactions to it, get their feedbacks on it, etcetera.”
This time when Mave and I lock gazes, it’shimwho makes a face.
How predictable of Mom to deceit people by finding ways to promote her brand whilst also appearing cool and generous in the process.
“And…” I bring my arms down, and touch my legs together when Melina crouches in front of me before wrapping the measuring tape around my hips. “What collection are we displaying at the event?”
“The winter-wear one,” Julian says. “So, we’re going to introduce the neutral colors for now, and keep the pastel ones for the full release promo.”
“Gotcha.” I sigh when Melina finally steps back and jots down the last of my measurements, then walks over to Julian and hands him the cream notepad.
I relax my stance and turn around, then settle into the white accent chair that’s next to me. The soft fabric of my floral, flowy dress sighs against my skin as I cross my legs and place my elbows on my thighs, then look around the beige-themed room.
Three of the members of Julian’s team are working on sewing machines that are stationed on the far left of the room. The furniture in here is elegantly muted, accented with rose gold to give it a chic appearance. There’s a little coffee and snack area to the right, along with a trial cabin next to it.
Julian’s worktable is a massive mess of papers, pencils, iPads, sketchpads, fabrics, and threads, exactly in the center of the room. The light in here is bright as shit, and kinda makes the ivory faux carpet appear washed out.
This fitting/designing room is one of the six workrooms in the HQ – each one of said rooms belonging to a head stylist. Julian is one of them, and has his own team, just like the others. But, because I’ve known him the longest and trust his sense of style, he’s the only one who gets to design my dresses for events and such.
“So, sugar,” he shifts in his plush chair and gives me a grin, “what are we thinking in terms of the vibes for this one?”
