My phone rings at 5:47 AM.
“Em, don’t freak out.”
It’s Derek. Derek doesn’t call before noon unless something is burning.
I groan as I turned in my bed, half asleep, half freaked out. “Derek, telling me not to freak out is sure to freak me out. Is something wrong?”
“The spring collection is online. Every piece. Published at 2 AM on a fashion blog. Credited to a brand called Maison Lune.”
I can’t speak. My mouth opens and nothing comes out and the ceiling above my bed blurs because my eyes are filling and I haven’t processed the words yet. My body understood before my brain did.
“What?” I whispered, hoping it was a dream.
But Derek letting out a pained sigh was sure to assure me my nightmare was a reality.
Twelve weeks of fittings and late nights and ripped seams and the neckline that final
