Imogene Scott
My hands fly to my mouth.
Diane is even more striking in person than in the countless magazine spreads and interviews I’ve seen. Her presence commands the room, even though she’s just walking towards the reception desk.
She’s dressed in a chic, tailored black suit, her dark hair slicked back into a low ponytail, and there’s an air of effortless elegance about her that immediately makes me feel both awed and incredibly self-conscious.
I’ve admired her work for years. And now, here she is, just a few feet away from me. This is the woman I’m up against. This is the woman whose design could very well outshine mine.
Diane spots me as she approaches, and I quickly snap myself out of my daze. She smiles—a small, polite smile—and I realize I’m still staring like a starstruck fa
