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I swallow hard, doubt creeping back in. “You can’t be serious. This is impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible unless you believe it is. You are our showstopper, babe.” She giggles with excitement, her energy infectious. “We keep it a secret. No one can know what we’re working on.” Harper darts her pinkie toward me. “Swear it.”
“But …”
“Lock it in,” she demands, and I know she won’t let me wiggle out of this one.
We hook our pinkies together and lock them, a promise sealed.
“I have a good feeling. It’s one I never ignore,” she says, a radiant smile lighting up her face. Harper claps her hands together and laughs. “This is our comeback.”
“I don’t have a name for it,” I say, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension.
“You’ll think of something,” she encourages, her belief in me unwavering.
“And what about our original lineup?” I ask, still trying to grasp the situation.
“We’ll keep what we have with one addition.” She points down to the dress. “This one.”
I sigh. “It’s risky.”
“It’s unexpected. A risk I’m willing to take,” Harper confirms with a bright smile. “Looks like you have work to do.”
“Harp,” I whisper.
“I’ll contact Lucia, the head of product development, and we can work on getting a pattern cut by the end of the day tomorrow,” shesays, her voice steady and confident. “No more playing small, Billie. Show them why Bellamore is thebest.”
My emotions flood in. “What if I can’t?”
“You can. Youwill. I believe in you.”
“This isn’t our brand,” I say.
“Weare our brand,” she confirms, her eyes sparkling with conviction. “Just be you. That’s what everyone wants.”
“Asking you to be my partner was one of the best decisions I ever made,” I tell her. “I’m proud of you, Harp.”
“I’m proud of you, Little Miss CEO. Now let’s fuck them up. Show the world what we’re made of instead of lying down for these shitty men who think they understand women’s fashion. This isourindustry, not theirs.”
Harper looks at me, fire igniting behind her eyes, like she’s ready for us to burn down the whole damn place to prove a point.
After my pep talk, Harper leaves me to gather my thoughts.
The pressure on my shoulders feels almost unbearable. I haven’t designed like this or walked a runway in over a decade, and I’ve never created a runway-worthy concept in this amount of time.
I glance down at the ball gown I sketched last week. It fades from burnt orange to red, a fiery masterpiece that seems to pulse with life. When I close my eyes, I can vividly imagine it fluttering at the hem. The fabrics and fit are so clear in my mind. Sparkling embellishments will line the bust; the painstaking task of hand-beading will take hours.
Dread tightens its grip around me, but I push through it the best I can as I contact Fallon, our design director who works directly under Harper.
I leave work the moment the sky melts into shades of orange and pink. I sneak out the back exit of the building and slide into my car, eager to shield myself from the paparazzi and return to my elusive self. When I make it to my building, I let out a relieved sigh.
Once I walk inside my loft, I head straight to the couch, setting my satchel on the floor. I lean my head back against the cushion,staring up at the ceiling, letting my mind drift for a moment. My phone buzzes in my bag, and I dig inside to pull it out.
Brody
He’s been made aware.
I hurry to respond.