Emma
Something about Eleanor's piercing blue gaze nagged at my memory, but I couldn't quite place it. Like déjà vu, or a word stuck on the tip of my tongue.
"Please, sit." Her voice carried the kind of authority that probably commanded boardrooms. Her Chanel suit probably cost more than my yearly rent – former rent, I corrected myself, still getting used to living with Dominic.
I reached for my portfolio. "Would you like to see some samples of my work?"
"No." She waved away the folder with perfectly manicured fingers. "I prefer to know the designer first. Tell me about your background in fashion."
"I studied at Parsons," I began, then hesitated. The familiar ache of interrupted dreams pressed against my ribs.
"And?" One perfect eyebrow arched.
"Family circumstances required me to le
