I strutted past Cassandra like I was floating, the smirk on my lips so smug it could’ve slapped her. Her eyes narrowed the second I gave her that “I win” look—our little Cold War was escalating, and I was clearly winning the latest round.
Whatever. She could pout her lips into oblivion and bat those fake lashes till they fell off in clumps. I had better things to do. Like running an empire.
Back at the boutique, the familiar scent of lavender candles and fresh fabric calmed my nerves. Reports were stacked on the desk, orders were coming in, and customers were actually buying things that weren’t on sale. It was a beautiful, productive mess. We were managing three stores now—and I had full intentions of franchising quickly and getting my name out there before Josephine Astor could ruin it.
