Paloma Perez.
I don’t think I’ll be able to speak to Mrs. Flora today. The clock on the wall ticks closer to 5 PM, and I already know I’m going to have to leave a little early. Across the couch in the workspace, the document Rodrigo handed me still sits in plain sight. I’ve probably looked at it thirty times while working. I can’t stop. Every time my eyes land on the embossed Vega crest, my heart just flutters.
I’m so happy. So, so happy.
I want to tell Eva so badly. I want to see the look on her face when I do but I swear, I’m bursting. I don’t think I can hold it in much longer.
Somehow, between tasks, I even found myself browsing online checking out the world’s best protégés professors who are going to be taking same fashion classes. Their names attached to those classes are like go
