I tapped my nails against my laptop, thinking. "What happened to the stylist’s pulls?"
"No clue. She was supposed to confirm today, but now she's just gone."
I’d need to source fast. Most of my usual showrooms in SoHo would be closing soon—if they weren’t closed already.
"You need at least one killer fur-trimmed coat, a slinky halter dress, and some platform boots. Do you have any of that?" I asked.
"We’ve got platforms, but no coat. No dress either."
I rubbed my temple, feeling torn. I didn’t want to cancel on Romolo, but I couldn’t leave Eliza stranded. She was one of my oldest clients, and she needed me right now. Not to mention I still felt weird about how Romolo had strong-armed her into inviting me to the ball.
Guess I still had leaps to go when it came to being selfish.
"All right. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try my best.”
"You’re a lifesaver. Can you be at the shoot tomorrow?"
I pulled up my calendar. My morning was free until about two p.m., when I then had a prep meeting with my dad’s team. I was expected to attend an evening event where I had to say a few words. It was tight, but if I started early and talked to Jenny about coming late to the prep meeting, I could maybe pull it off.
“We’d have to start first thing in the morning if you want me there for most of it. Like six.”
"Done. But will you have time to gather everything?"
“It’ll be tight,” I admitted. “I’ll pull what I can from my closet, hit up contacts, and if I have to, I’ll buy a few pieces. Can you drop off what you already have at my studio in a few hours?”
"You got it. You’re an angel. Thank you, Mia."
"See you in a bit.” I hung up and fired off texts to my showroom and PR contacts, then I grabbed the burner and sent a text to Romolo. My fingers drummed against my thigh as I waited for a reply.
A few minutes passed. Romolo didn’t respond, and neither did most of the other people I'd messaged. The ones who did answer came back with the same answer—“Sorry, nothing in stock.”
Damn it.
I tucked a strand behind my ear, mind racing. There had to be something. Somewhere.
Then it hit me.
Two weeks ago, I’d walked past a boutique on Madison Avenue—Late Republic. Their window display had a full seventies-inspired capsule collection. Velvet suits, slinky halters, faux-fur coats.
I grabbed my bag and slid my laptop inside. If they still had inventory, I might just have a shot at pulling this off.
I started down the stairs just as a familiar Mercedes pulled up to the curb. Guilt crept up my back. Guess Romolo hadn’t seen my text.
His gaze lasered in on me as I slid inside the passenger seat. The car smelled like him, and it made me want to burrow my face against his chest before I broke the bad news, but there was no time for that.
“I’m sorry. I can’t?—“
He reached over, pushed his fingers into my hair, and slanted his lush mouth against mine. I let out a small moan at the taste of him. Heat licked at my skin, coaxing me to deepen the kiss. He felt so good, and I wanted to melt into him, but there was an incessant buzzing in the back of my mind, reminding me that I had no time to waste.
He let out a frustrated groan when I tore myself away. “Rom, I have a work emergency. I sent you a text.”
“Yeah, I saw. Decided to come anyway.” His jaw hardened. “Getting cold feet, Berry?”
If only he knew how badly I wanted to climb all over him right now. “No. It really is an emergency.”
His brows furrowed. “What happened?”
I brought him up to speed on the situation with Eliza.
