Chapter 1
Camille
Igrip the steering wheel, the leather slick beneath my sweaty palms. The GPS announces I'm five minutes away from Kingsley Tower, and my heart skips into double-time. I glance at my phone propped on the dashboard, Izzy's face filling the screen as she chatters away, her voice the only thing keeping me from pulling a U-turn and speeding home.
"Cami, you're going to crush this interview." Izzy's voice blares through my car speakers. "Like, absolutely demolish it. They won't know what hit them. I'm talking blown minds, jaws on the floor?—"
"Girl, please," I cut in, flicking my blinker to change lanes. "I just want to get through it without failing spectacularly."
"You're not going to fail," Izzy says, her tone shifting into something calmer. "You're the most talented designer I know."
"You don't know any other designers."
"Not the point." She waves a dismissive hand. "The point is you're going to walk in there and dazzle Alexander freaking Kingsley with your brilliant designs, and he's going to hire you on the spot."
I snort, the sound ugly and unladylike. "Right. The billionaire who only works with the best of the best is going to be impressedby me. I only got this interview because my dad once did him a favor."
"A favor he obviously appreciated enough to give you a shot," Izzy counters. "But that's just getting your foot in the door. Your portfolio is going to blow him away."
The skyscraper looms ahead, a gleaming spire of glass that seems to pierce the clouds. My stomach clenches. Inside that building sits one of the most powerful men in the country, a man whose reputation for perfectionism and coldness precedes him. A man who could change the trajectory of my entire career with a single nod or shake of his head.
"What if he takes one look at my portfolio and realizes I'm a fraud?" The question spills out, voicing my deepest fear.
"Then he'd be wrong," Izzy says firmly. "You're not a fraud. You're just starting out. There's a difference."
I signal again, turning into the underground parking structure. The sunlight disappears, replaced by dim fluorescents that cast everything in an eerie glow. "That’s just another way to say inexperienced. And inexperienced is another word for 'not what Alexander Kingsley is looking for.'"
"Listen to me," Izzy says, and her face on my phone screen leans closer to the camera. "You've been designing spaces since we were eight years old, and you rearranged my entire bedroom."
"Your mom was so mad," I remember, a ghost of a smile tugging at my lips.
"Because you used her good sheets as curtains," Izzy laughs. "But even then, you had vision. You've always had vision. You just need to show him that."
I pull into a parking space but leave the engine running. The air conditioning continues to blast cool air against my face, but it does nothing to calm the heat of anxiety crawling up my neck.
"You know what this job would mean for me," I say. "Designing the interior of a Kingsley resort? That's career-making. That's the kind of project that launches a career."
"Exactly," Izzy nods emphatically. "Which is why you're not going to let the fact that your daddy called in a favor stop you from owning this opportunity."
"It's just—" I pause, trying to organize my scattered thoughts. "I don't want to be seen as the girl who only got a chance because of who her father knows. I want to be taken seriously."
"Then make him take you seriously," Izzy says, as if it's the simplest thing in the world. "Make him forget how you got in the room and focus on why you deserve to stay there."
I check my watch—twenty minutes until the interview. Just enough time to find the right floor, use the bathroom, and have one final panic attack.
"I should go," I say, reaching to end the call.
"Wait!" Izzy shouts. "One more thing."
I pause, finger hovering over the end button. "What?"
Her face splits into a wide grin. "Remember when Mrs. Wilson cried—actually cried—when you showed her the designs for her dream kitchen? Remember when that asshole professor told you your vision was too bold, and then your final project won the department award?"
"I remember," I say quietly.
"Good. Hold onto that. Not the fact that your dad knows a guy who knows a guy. You've earned this shot, Cami. Now go take it."
I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "Thanks, Izz."
