The Billionaire's Muse

2🌸.

Chapter Three

ALEXANDER

I could use a good drink. A really good one. Not the one being passed around here.

I look around the big hall. Even though it isn't as extravagantly decorated as I expected, there is a quiet elegance about it. The lighting is soft, the tables are neatly arranged, and the room is filled with people dressed in expensive clothes.

Designers.

Models.

Business owners.

Influencers.

People who have probably spent more money on tonight's outfits than some people make in a year. I glance around, expecting Ashley to appear out of thin air. She does that a lot. I see her walking towards me, and I smile. Speak of the devil and she appears.

“I'm so glad you could make it,” she says with her usual bright smile while giving me a big hug.

“I'm glad I could too. I brought you a gift, and I've handed it to your assistant,” I say with a smile.

“Aren't you a sweetheart? Thank you. Are you enjoying yourself?” she asks.

“I like it so far, although I haven't seen anything that has particularly piqued my interest" I answer without a shrug and she gives me a look.

“Have a little faith, Alex,” she says with a laugh. “You haven't even seen half of what people brought tonight.”

“I've seen enough.”

She rolls her eyes. “You're impossible.”

“I've been told.”

She laugh again.

“I have a few people to attend to, but we'll catch up in a while.”

“Sure.”

I watch her walk away with a smile on my face. Although we met in business school, Ashley devotes her life fully to fashion while being a business consultant officially. She is a designer more than she is anything else, and it makes me proud of her. I have known her for what feels like forever, and now she is launching a fashion show that has attracted some of the biggest fashion brands in the world. Her rise to fame has been quick and very sudden. She designed a wedding dress for the wedding of a social media influencer, and since then, she has been on a fast rise to fame.

She's the official consultant for my fashion brand and she takes it upon herself to do some actual work. She's a perfectionist like that. She handles both the practical and theoretical parts of it. I trust her and I love how she is able to handle all of it without feeling overwhelmed. This woman loves what she does.

I look around, scanning for any designer who might be lucky enough to pique my interest tonight. I spot a familiar blonde walking towards me. Her head is held high as she moves through the room, stopping every few seconds to offer smiles and hugs to important people.

Maria Devon.

Oh, s**t.

She's already so close. There's no way I can walk away without making it obvious that I'm avoiding her. She's still smiling when she gets to me. The smile won't be there when our conversation is over.

“Hey there, Aly,” she purrs and wraps her hands around my neck.

I clench my fist amd force myself to stay calm. She knows how much I hate that nickname.

“Hello, Maria,” I reply, my voice completely uninterested.

“How are you enjoying the event?” she asks. “You shouldn't be sitting here on your own. There are so many people to socialise with."

“I'm fine.”

She ignores my answer.

“You mentioned a while ago that you were searching for another designer. This is your chance.”

“I am searching,” I reply.

“That's a lie. You've been standing here since you walked in. I saw you.”

“So you've been watching me?” I ask with a low chuckle.

Her face turns red instantly. “No, I haven't. I... when you came in...” She pauses, clearly trying to find the right words. “You know what? Enjoy your evening.”

She storms off. I watch her go, amused. She's actually right. I've been standing in the same spot for too long. I start walking around the hall, looking for designers.

The first designer I speak to is a young woman wearing a beautiful cream-coloured coat. At first, I'm impressed. The coat has a clean structure, a fitted waist, and delicate stitching around the sleeves.

“Did you design this?” I ask.

She smiles proudly. “Yes.”

“It's beautiful.”

“Thank you. I wanted something timeless but still modern.”

I study the coat again.

“Can I ask what inspired the cut?”

She hesitates for a second then starts talking about the fabric, the buttons, and the colour. Nothing about the actual design.

I repeat my question.

“Did you make it yourself?”

Her smile falters.

“My team helped with the production.”

“That wasn't what I asked.”

She looks away. “I have a seamstress who works with me.”

I stare at her.

“So you didn't design it?” I ask.

“I designed it" she says defensively.

“Then why can't you tell me anything about the construction?”

She goes quiet. I already have my answer. I don't need someone who puts her name on someone else's work.

“Thank you for your time,” I say politely and walk away.

The second designer is even worse.

She's young, beautiful, and has more followers on social media than actual designs. She spends the first five minutes talking about herself and the countries she has been to.

“My page has over three million followers,” she tells me excitedly.

“That's impressive.”

“I know. I'm actually one of the fastest-growing fashion creators in New York.”

I nod. She pulls out her phonr to show me pictures of her work. The designs aren't terrible. They're just... forgettable.

“You're looking for someone to work with your brand, right?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Imagine what that would do for my page.”

“My brand isn't interested in increasing your followers" I say coldly.

She laughs like I have made a joke.

“No, of course. But think about it. Your brand gets my audience, I get your platform. We could become huge.”

“What about the clothes?”

She looks confused.

“What about them?”

“The designs. What do you want to create?”

She shrugs. “I want something that will go viral and increase my social media following.”

That is enough for me. I thank her and leave. I'm tired. After conversations with two different “designers,” I'm even more convinced that I don't want any of them. I start walking back towards my table in the VIP section before somebody catches my eye.

She stands a few feet away from me, her back turned. Her dress immediately stands out. The blue satin material catches the dim light every time she moves. It's a short dress, but it isn't revealing. The bodice is fitted closely to her body, shaped neatly around her waist before opening into a soft flare at the hips The skirt falls just above her knees, with enough volume to move beautifully whenever she takes a step. The neckline is simple but elegant, sitting just above her collarbone. There are no unnecessary decorations.

No giant flowers.

No excessive crystals.

Nothing screaming for attention.

The fabric does all the work. The blue is deep and rich, almost like the colour of the ocean at night, but the satin gives it a softer appearance under the lights. I notice the stitching around the waist.

Clean.

Precise.

The seams are almost invisible. The dress looks effortless, but I know enough about fashion to understand that effortless is usually the hardest thing to achieve. She turns slightly, and I catch sight of the full view of the back.

There is a small opening that exposes just enough skin without taking away from the elegance of the dress. Whoever made this understands restraint. I find myself staring.

She's standing with another woman who seems completely absorbed in whatever she is saying. I don't recognise the dress and that interests me. I've seen most of the important collections represented tonight. I've seen expensive dresses. I've seen beautiful dresses. I've seen dresses designed to attract attention but I haven't seen anything like this. I decide to wait and bid my time.

If she's the one who made the dress herself, then I've found myself a designer. The woman beside her eventually walks away. I wait a few more seconds before approaching. She doesn't notice me.

“Good evening,” I say. She turns around.

And it takes everything in me not to open my mouth in shock.