Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“Hello, Madame Corbin. I’m shocked . . . and elated at the opportunity. Thank you,” I say, vowing that I will tell Mom how much I appreciate her teaching me manners, even if I didn’t use them earlier, because they’re thankfully not failing me now.
“Ah, yes, dear. Then you accept?” Jacqueline says. She’s looking down at a piece of paper on her desk, and I realize that, for me, this is a life-defining moment, but for her, this is a mere formality. One call of several. It’s a bit disappointing, as I want to jump around and celebrate and squeal all at once.
Nora pinches my thigh under the table, out of sight, and I jerk my eyes to her. She’s smiling from ear to ear, happy for me. I let my eyes jump to the windows where the concerned interns were a moment ago to find them all wide-eyed with excitement for me too. I realize that I will be able to celebrate the way I’d like to with my family here at work.
I swallow and primly tell Jacqueline, “Of course. I would be honored to participate.”
“Excellent. I will have Albert send over the details today, and we will see you soon, dear.” Jacqueline glances up, but not to the screen, and nods. It must’ve been an order to her assistant because the screen goes blank.
Three, two, one . . .
“Oh! My! God! Autumn!” Nora screams. She jumps up, pulling me to my feet to jump with her. I can’t help but be infected with her excitement, and it replaces the shock, slowly changing my thoughts from ‘what the hell?’ to ‘I’m going to Paris!’
“I’m going to Paris!” I shout, letting the idea loose to the universe, daring it to disagree. But it doesn’t . . . because it’s real!
The interns rush us, squealing in joy. “So happy for you,” several people say.
“I knew it,” someone else says confidently.
“I get her chair!”
“Not IT on coffee duty!”
Okay, so some people are more pragmatic, but I can’t blame them. I know how cutthroat fashion is. I’ve worked my way to my position too, and my being gone for a month means the fight will be on to fill my shoes.
“Nora! I promise I’ll come back as soon as I can. And I’ll make sure Clay is caught up on everything before I leave,” I rush to tell her, knowing that the interns can handle the professional stuff. But Clay, as Nora’s personal assistant, will need some calendar information too. I work hand-in-hand with him most days to keep Nora on track and able to focus on the creative aspects of her work.
“No, you won’t. You’re going to get out of here. Go home, pack, prepare.” She pauses, looking at the crowd around us. “And when you get back, you’ll step right back into being my right hand. Unless you win the whole damn thing and go off on your own. Then I’ll stand back like a proud mama and clap louder than anyone else for you.”
I really hit the jackpot with Nora. She’s the best mentor anyone could ever wish for.
My head spins, the room whirling wildly, but it’s because everyone is hugging me and then passing me on to the next person for a hug. “Is this real?”
“Oh, it’s real, alright,” Nora says. “Go show those Frenchie-Frenches what us NYC bitches can do. It’s about damn time.” She claps as she says it, and I can’t help but grin.
I, Autumn Fisher, a NYC designer from small-town Massachusetts, am going to Paris, France to design for House Corbin.
It’s a bigger dream than I could’ve ever dreamed. And it’s coming true.
CHAPTER 2
AUTUMN
“Mom, listen. It’s going to be fine,” I repeat for the dozenth time.
“Honey, it’s so far!” Mom frets. “New York was far enough, and I worry so much. At least you have Nora there, but France is on the other side of the world! And you don’t know anyone there. You don’t even speak French! How are you going to make do or expect to win?”
She’s a bit hysterical but hitting all my worry points too. Like the fact that I don’t speak French, though a quick Google search told me that a few phrases in French go a long way in creating some goodwill with locals, who might then be willing to speak English if they’re able. I’ve already downloaded an app to start learning and another to do translations.
“I’m gonna be fine. This is an amazing opportunity for me,” I tell her, wishing she could understand what this means to me. She’s supportive, or she wants to be, but sometimes her fears come through in ways that sting and hurt. My dreams are so much more than hers ever were, and she has a difficult time relating.
I want to be more than just another Masshole. I want more than a nice, boring husband, two-point-five nice, boring kids, a nice, boring, hypoallergenic dog, and a job at the local theater doing costume design, which was Mom’s grand suggestion to fulfill my designing dreams after I shot down being a specialty bridal tailor. That’s her dream for me—a combination of her hopes and my fashion interest. But that would never be enough for me.