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“I’m good, Soph, I promise.” I give her an encouraging smile. “Cynthia asked me to be in her office at ten. I’ll see you later?”
“Bye, babe.”
I hurry into the bathroom, smooth my skirt, and apply gloss to my lips. In the mirror, I study my reflection. My grandmother has always sworn I’m a carbon copy of my mother. I’ve seen pictures, and the resemblance really is striking. Cash and I look like her, whereas Carter is my father to a T, and Chase is…well, he’s a mixture of both of his parents. But we don’t talk about his mother. The affair happened after my mom died, and his has never been in the picture.
Growing up without a mother was hard on us all. But at least Carter had Mom until he was nine. I can recall snapshots of time with her. Her smell. Her laugh. But I don’t know what she was like. Who she was. I wonder what she would think of my job. From the pictures I’ve seen, her beauty appeared effortless, and she was the epitome of fashion. I can’t imagine she would condone the diets or the teas. From what little I do remember, she enjoyed lying in bed, snuggling with us kids. Dancing around the kitchen, laughs, smiles, comfort.
Before I can get misty-eyed, I halt that train of thought. I have a job to do and a boss to impress. After one last glance in the mirror, I pull my shoulders back and head to Cynthia’s office.
Rose is perched in one of the guest chairs when I step inside. I give her a friendly smile as I drop carefully into the chair beside her and am met with a blank stare in return. Miraculously, I manage to hold in my eye roll. She’s the stereotypical assistant to the editor at a fashion magazine. Straight down to the willowy frame and resting bitch face.
“Catherine, how has your week been?” Cynthia asks from across the desk.
Realizing I’ve been caught staring at Rose, I place my hands over my lap and fold my ankles like my grandmother taught me. “Great, good—I mean, everything has been fine.”
She smiles. “Excellent. Mr. Hanson mentioned that the kitchen couldn’t accommodate you last week, so he scheduled a tasting for today. They’re expecting you at twelve.”
I have to hold back a jolt at the mention of his name. “Wonderful. That will take care of all the big things for the masquerade, then.”
“Yes, I’m impressed with how quickly you’ve moved through all the tasks. It’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. Aside from the Hanson thing.”
Hanson thing? Shit. Does she know about us? Did he say something? That bastard.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Rose inspecting me. She’s likely ready to dance in excitement over the way I’m squirming.
I clear my throat and sit a little straighter. “Hanson thing?”
“Lunch,” Cynthia replies, quirking a brow.
“Oh, right.” God, I’m an idiot.
“Anyway. Every spring, I take two interns with me to Paris. We work from our office there through May. A few of those who have traveled with me have even been hired by Jolie Paris.”
My toes dance in my pumps at the mere thought of Paris in the spring. Working there, exploring, even living there. More than anything, I long for a fresh start.
“That’s amazing,” I breathe out.
Rose frowns but doesn’t join in on the conversation.
“Anyway, I’ve been watching you. I’m impressed, so keep up the good work.”
“I’ve actually been working with Sophie Parsons on something as well,” I say, pressing my lips together and scooting to the edge of my seat.
Cynthia raises her brow and leans forward, but Rose’s frown only deepens.
“It has to do with the Christmas list,” I explain.
Rose scoffs, “You’re not to be working on that.”
I turn to her. “You’re right. It’s something I’ve been toying with after hours,” I explain, looking to Cynthia.
Without a word, she dips her chin, signaling me to proceed.
“It’s just that, several interns have been tasked with testing products that, well”—I take a deep breath and get to the point—“they’re geared toward white girls…and if I’m being completely honest,skinnywhite girls.”
In my periphery, I swear Rose’s eyes bulge, and she opens her mouth, likely to defend her boss.
But Cynthia merely twists her lips and nods. “You’re not wrong. But what does your project have to do with that?” she challenges.
