Which was saying a lot, considering Kassandra was the self-appointed Grim Reaper of my career. But at least she had no connection to my dad and no interest in politics.
I tried to look calm as I unlocked the door.
Over the past year, Kassandra had gone out of her way to poach my clients. She'd flooded their inboxes with offers and sent weekly emails to make sure they knew she’d always be more available than I was.
I didn’t blame my clients for leaving me when I wasn’t able to meet their expectations, but Kassandra seemed to take sick pleasure in taking me down.
What did she want now?
“Kassandra. Can I help you?”
She stood there in her usual monochrome ensemble, a silk wrap covering her red hair. She was the queen of sad neutrals.
“Hello, Mia, sweetheart,” she cooed. “Just stopping by to let you know Angie has decided to join my client list.”
The client who’d gone radio silent. The last sliver of hope I’d had for her melted into nothing. I’d known it in my gut.
Kassandra adjusted her glasses. “I thought it was only professional to tell you in person. Since, you know, we’ve had so many clients migrate from your list to mine.” She sighed dramatically. “I think that makes it eleven now. Honestly, I feel like I should be paying you a referral fee.”
The polite smile on my face was frozen. I was barely holding on tothe fraying edges of my composure. My day had gone from bad to worse to apocalyptic.
With another client gone, I was going to have to dip into my savings just to cover the studio's rent next month.
My throat itched.
Don’t. Cry.
I would not. Not in front of Kassandra, who’d probably feign pity and only make me feel worse, and definitely not in front of Romolo, who could hear every word of our conversation from behind the curtain.
“Thank you for the heads-up.” Despite my best efforts, my voice cracked.
Kassandra’s smile sharpened. “Of course, sweetheart. I know you’ve had a lot on your plate lately, but in our industry, clients expect excellence. If you can’t deliver… Well, you can’t blame them for going elsewhere.”
It stung because it was true.
I’d disappointed my clients by being flaky and unreliable. I was trying so, so hard, but it wasn’t enough. Whenever I tried to push back against Jenny dropping something on my calendar at the last minute, she’d lay on the guilt trip so thick it felt like I was suffocating.
I dug my nails into the palm of my hand, hoping the pain would distract me from the tears blurring my vision.
It didn’t.
“Oh, and—” Kassandra added with a triumphant glint in her eye “—if you’re ever looking for work after your father’s campaign, I’d be happy to bring you on as an assistant.”
Don’t. Cry.
“This fits well, Mia." A deep voice cut through the air. "But I think we’ll need something more dramatic for The Golden Circle party.”
I whirled around to see Romolo stepping out from behind the curtain.
What is he doing?
He slid his palms over the front of his suit, as if he’d just put it on and was straightening the folds.
“Did he just say The Golden Circle?” Kassandra asked, her voice hushed.
I thought so, but I must have been hearing things. The Golden Circle was the most exclusive social club in New York City, with a membership fee of a hundred grand a year, and a waitlist longer than Fifth Avenue. Their parties were legendary, filled with only the cream of the crop of this city’s high society.
Romolo was a member? I guess he had the connections and the money to find his way in, criminal reputation notwithstanding.
