—Mabel—
“Everything is ready. The team is waiting for you downstairs,” Mr. Martins announced.
I glanced again at the vanity before me in the extra room of my office.
Today was the first official meeting for the contract, scheduled to take place at the Ronald Reagan Building by 10 a.m.
The wall clock behind me read 8:45 a.m.
I'd reported to work as early as 7. The triplets were still asleep after an energetic movie night that somehow turned into a pillow fight.
Upon arrival in my office, I’d slipped into another of Mr. Émile Laurent’s creations: a custom-tailored emerald-green power suit, matching it with a pair of wide-leg trousers and polished black stilettos.
The glam team had come and gone. My makeup was soft yet defined.
My hair was pulled into a low bun, and my accessories wer
