The next morning, I woke up determined to stop thinking about Damian.
I showered, put on one of the new dresses Renée had left deep red, fitted, powerful and went to the workspace before he could find me. If he wanted to act like I didn't exist, fine. I had a brand to build.
Piper called at nine.
"Grace, I have a photographer for your lookbook. His name is Julian Cross no relation to Mr. Cross, I swear. He's very in-demand, but he had a cancellation and agreed to meet with you today. Can you be at the studio by one?"
I checked the time. "Yes. Text me the address."
For the first time in days, I felt excited.
Julian Cross was good. I'd seen his work in magazines moody, editorial, full of story. Having him shoot Noir & Co. would give the brand credibility. And it would mean I was doing
