I guess I needed to talk more than I realized because before I know it, I’ve told Madame Laurent everything that’s happened in the last month. She listens quietly, holding my hand and reacting with horror when I explain about the show on Saturday.

  “Mon cherie, you need to find her at once. Love is not to be taken lightly, and if you’ve truly found it, you must do right by the fates. Do not take it for granted. It is much too special and rare a treasure to give up so easily.” She nods her head wisely, completely sure of her sage advice.

  “More? I don’t know how to find her. I’ve been everywhere.” I look up and down my street as though Autumn will somehow magically appear.

  “No, you haven’t, or else you would’ve found her. Non?” She pushes a baguette my way, and I reach into my pocket to pay her for it. “No money today. Only help. Eat. The bread will help you think, see your path clearly.”

  I don’t know how that’s remotely possible, but I’m not one to turn down Madame Laurent’s bread or her advice, so I take it from her shaking hand and press an appreciative kiss to her cheek. When she’s not looking, I drop a bill in the can she uses to hold her cash. “Merci, Mademoiselle.”

  She smiles at the slight improvement in my tone and the smart flirt. “Oh, you are much too young for a woman like me, but perhaps you’re exactly what Autumn needs.” She winks and shoos me off down the road.

  Somehow, I do feel better. Or at least like I still have a mission—find Autumn. Then what? I don’t know, but we have to talk this out. If it doesn’t work, I will have to find a way to accept the loss, but I won’t do that without trying. Autumn and I deserve to have that, without anyone else’s interference.

  At the office, I fall into my chair and take a bite of the baguette as I gauge how long it will take me to pack up. No more than an hour, which is ridiculously pitiful considering how much of my life has been wrapped up in this office, this company, this life.

  My door swings open unceremoniously. “I found her,” Tobias pants out.

  Normally, I’d give him shit for being so rushed and mussed, but not today. “Where is she?”

  “America.”

  “What?” I hadn’t considered that option at all. I’ve been searching all over Paris, trying to catch her at one of the places she enjoyed so much, hoping something in my city would call to her.

  I should’ve realized that home is where most people go when they need comfort. It simply didn’t occur to me because . . . I don’t have one.

  The closest thing to a home I’ve ever known is curling up with Autumn in my arms. And now, like before, I’m homeless. It has nothing to do with a roof over my head but rather, a sense of aloneness in the world.

  “I’m going to the airport. Can you see when the next flight to Massachusetts is?” I ask Tobias.

  He shakes his head. “New York. She went home to New York.”

  My brow drops low, furrowing. “Not home to her mother?”

  Tobias shrugs. “I don’t know. I texted her that I needed to make sure she was safe or we would call the police, and she responded that she’s fine and home in New York.”

  “Okay, New York, then. I’m heading to the airport now.”

  Tobias blocks my way, his hands spread wide on the doorframe to stop me. “Non, you are going to the meeting this morning. Do what you need to do, say what you need to say. Tell Jackie to go fuck herself, and I will book your flight so that you can leave as soon as it’s done.”

  I look at him shrewdly. “How do you know I would dare tell my aunt anything of the sort?” Tobias lowers his chin. He’s probably seen this coming long before I did. I nod, telling him that he’s right. “I already told her. Gave my notice, effective immediately. I’m only here today to clear out my office, which seems useless when I could be on a flight to Autumn.”

  “Go to the meeting,” Tobias urges. “Do it publicly and professionally, not only between you and Jackie. You deserve to walk out with your head held high, on your own terms, not whatever she tells the board.”

  He has a point. A small one in comparison to reaching Autumn a moment sooner, but a good point. “Fine. Book me that flight, please.”

  I enter the conference room, and all eyes turn to me, then flick back to Jacqueline at the head of the table. I wonder what she was saying before I entered, which makes me grateful for Tobias’s advice.

  “Pardon me for my lateness. I have another matter to attend to, but I very much would like to hear the final results of the competition.” I sit in my usual chair, holding Jacqueline’s eyes steadily.

  She has no power over me anymore. At most, she can kick me out of this room, and I’m leaving in moments, anyway. I know it, and she knows it too. She also will not air private laundry in such a public setting. It would be distasteful to her.

  Unfortunately for her, I hold no qualms about brutal honesty.

  “Not that the results will be authentic,” I declare, “considering the entire third show was sabotaged by Jacqueline, Chloe, and Beatrice.”

  The murmurs of shock around the table are music to my ears, a crack in the foundation of House Corbin. If my aunt wants to play games with my life, I’ll return the favor with the one thing she holds dear as well.

  “Simon!” she hisses. Seeing the eyes looking at her in horror, she plants her palms on the table and stands to her full, powerful height, looming over the board who remain seated. Having garnered everyone's attention, she delivers her verdict. “The winner of the competition will be Beatrice Dupont. I have decided.”

  Venerable does me a solid for once and challenges Jacqueline before I can say more. “As if you know what is relevant? Wasn’t that the whole issue and reasoning behind the competition?”

  All the air is snatched from the room.

  There is no room for anything but Jacqueline’s iron fist here. She earned the right, building House Corbin from nothing. It’s her right to run it into the ground and see its demise as well.

  I’ve already given my notice, but this only solidifies it for me. I can’t be here when all I want is Autumn.

  I meet Jacqueline’s eyes on an even level and feel the attention in the room turn to me. “On that note, I’d like to inform you that I have given Jacqueline my notice of resignation, effective immediately. I am here today only to empty my office and have closure on the competition, because while it was not my design in the end, it was my idea from the beginning. It has been a pleasure working with you.”

  I give a polite slight bow, glancing around the table quickly, and step out from my place at the end of the table for the last time.

  “Simon,” Jacqueline calls after me, desperate.

  I don’t turn around.

  CHAPTER 27

  AUTUMN

  I’m back in the hustle and bustle of New York City, but I’m the one plodding along, barely keeping up with the crowd. The noise of the traffic, the city, and the people is both familiar and alien after the month in Paris, where things are quieter and slower.

  I stop and grab a hot dog from a street vendor. It’s not what I should eat, and definitely not a good breakfast option, but the smell attracts me, and given that I haven’t eaten much of anything in the last few days since arriving back in the States, I’m going to eat while I can force something down.

  Standing there as I eat a few bites, I see a homeless man in the doorway of a deserted store. Without thinking, I buy another hot dog and cross the street. “Excuse me, are you hungry? You want a hot dog?” I ask the man.

  “Huh?” he mutters, still half asleep. But when he sees what I’m holding out, his eyes pop open and he reaches out instantly. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  He’s talking around a huge bite, and I wave as I continue on. My destination is the same as every morning in New York. The coffee shop. Inside, the smell of roasting beans hits me and I take a large inhale of the comforting aroma.

  “Oh, my God! Autumn!” Claire shouts, leaving her post behind the counter to come around and hug me fiercely. A few customers grumble, but she ignores them in New York style—by flashing them a middle finger. “How are you doing? How was Paris? Did you win?”

  Her bullet-quick questions slam into me at the same time she does. “Uh, okay. And no.” I huff out a wry laugh at the idea of my winning. “I kinda went out in a blaze of not-so-much-glory.”

  Her usually grim expression turns sour. “What do you mean?”

  She holds me out at arm’s length, scanning me with narrow-eyed calculation. I look back into her black-rimmed eyes, noting that she has white dots framing the cat-eye liner. She’s wearing a red tank top, black denim shorts, a flannel shirt tied around her waist, Dr. Martens boots laced up to her knees, and thigh-high red fishnets. She also has plastic horns clipped in her black hair.

  Despite her appearance compared to mine, she asks me, “Why do you look like you took a trip to hell, toured the fire pits, and came back a hollow-eyed shell?”

  “Gee, thanks,” I answer dryly. But I know she’s right. I feel empty—a cavernous void left where my heart used to reside. “I, uh, met someone there. It didn’t end well.”

  Claire calls over her shoulder, “Tommy, I’m taking ten!”

  “What? We’re in the middle of a rush,” Tommy answers. Claire whirls around, a dark look on her face, and Tommy pales. “Sure, yeah. No worries.”

  She cuts in front of the line, completely ignoring the dirty looks the customers give her as she reaches around the counter to grab two cookies from the case. She offers me one and guides me to a table in the corner. There’s a guy sitting there already, but with one look from Claire, he gets up to leave. “See you tomorrow, Claire.”

  “Sure thing, Logan,” she says easily. We sit and then she orders, “Spill it. Give me all the filthy tea.”

  Over the next fifteen minutes, I tell her the rough and dirty about Paris, focusing mostly on Simon.

  “And then,” I tell her as I wipe away a tear with a cheap paper napkin, “she kissed him. Like, not that whole European kissy-kissy, air-kiss type either, but . . . you know.”

  “Fuck. Men suck, ya know?”

  I eat my last bite of cookie. “After the show, I went a bit psycho bitch. I yelled at her, got in his face, and learned that this other model was his ex. She conspired with one of the other designers whom I thought was a friend to sabotage me. That was bad enough, but then his aunt, the designer I went there to work with, came in to gloat and I basically read her the riot act. And . . . well, I was on the first flight I could book back to New York.”

  “Good!” Claire says with a victorious point my way. “Look, I can see your thoughts written all over your face, and you’re completely wrong. You’re a strong, badass bitch who protected herself and did the right damn thing. Now, as for this dickface you were catching feelings for? Karma’s a bitch, baby. He’ll get his.”

  I laugh, but it’s flat and hurts my stomach. Still, talking with Claire helps me get to the office, even if I am a little late. But everything feels dreary, especially with Nora being a happy, bouncy ball of pregnancy hormones.

  “Oh, thank you!” she says gleefully when I hand her the decaf coffee. “I know it’s just a mental thing, but I miss these so much when they’re not part of my morning! And don’t tell Clay, but wherever he was going, or whatever he was ordering, was nothing compared to this.” Clasping her cup in both hands, Nora looks at it affectionately.

  “Glad I could do something right.”

  “You do lots of things right. That’s why I’m so glad to have you back. Wish it were under better circumstances, but you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  We talked over the weekend so she’d know to expect me back at the office, and I spilled my guts to her more fully than I did with Claire. Nora knows everything.

  “You did. I’m sorry I didn’t listen,” I admit.

  “I’m not. It sucks, I know it does, but what’s that saying . . . it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all?”

  “Right now, I disagree vehemently with that and would gladly tear Tennyson a new one for making that a thing.”

  “Agree to disagr—”

  Despite Nora’s love affair with her coffee, she dives for her small wastebasket and heaves. I pull a tissue from the box on her desk and wait for her to be finished to hand it to her. “Sorry,” she says as she dabs at her mouth. “Still happens.”

  “It’s okay. Do you need anything?” I ask her.

  She shakes her head. “No. I’m used to it now. Small price to pay for the end result.” Rubbing her still-flat belly, she smiles gently.

  I’m happy for her, and Nora is over the moon thrilled about her pregnancy. Her mood is like Teflon. Nothing can piss her off at this point. Honestly, I probably could come in with nothing but a cup of hot water and a pack of instant latte from the corner store, and she’d be happy. I could set her coat on fire, and Nora might sit back with a dreamy little smile and tell me I’ve got an interesting vision for next fall’s outerwear line.

  But it's hard to reconcile that with my bitter mood.

  I’m plowing my way through some emails to suppliers when Clay comes in. He’s still the same great guy he was before I left, but I’m not the same.

  “Hey, Autumn,” Clay says, propping himself against the edge of my desk. “You still in need of a couple doses of happy juice?” That’s his way of letting me know that he’s aware of my heartbreak. Nothing dramatic, nothing sorrowful, just . . . let’s get drunk and talk shit until you feel better.

  I shake my head, leaning back. “More like a couple of nights of ugly crying, a Netflix binge or two, and some internal reflection time. Happy juice would just fuck with that. What’s up with you?”

  “SSDD,” Clay proclaims, his acronym for ‘same shit, different day’ before grimacing. “Except I had to make my Grindr profile private again.”

  “Damn, again?” When Clay nods miserably, I ask, “Why?”

  “Blind date. Bad Dragon. Don’t Google it, just trust me.” He holds his hands up, waving them back and forth with wide eyes as he shakes his head slowly. “Not kink shaming, but not my thing. I prefer dildos that are . . . humanoid?”

  That sounds like a question, but I’m not sure I can go there right now. If it’s not human, what kind of penises—penisi?—are we talking? Thankfully, I don’t get the chance to find out because Clay’s phone rings and he looks back to his desk. “Good to have you back. Let me know if you change your mind about the outing.”

  I get back to work, getting up to speed with what I’ve missed, but it feels different now too. It’s as hollow as I am.

  I’m almost glad when my phone rings and I see that it’s Molly. She’s a welcome distraction, and her enthusiasm for life is undeniable. I’d like to wallow in self-loathing, but my internal therapist says talking to Molly will likely be good for me.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, bitch, I got a bone to pick with you,” she says, but there’s no fire. Just friendship.

  “Well, on that note, I think I have a website for you to check out,” I say, looking over at Clay who’s head-down working now.

  Molly laughs. “That I have to hear. Tell me tonight because I’m taking you out.”

  “Uh, Mols . . . I’m not in Paris anymore.” Shit, I left mad and hopped on a plane as soon as I could, and ever since, I’ve been so deep in my own pity party that I didn’t message any of the other designers, writing them off along with Beatrice even though she was the only one who betrayed me.

  “Duh, I know that. I’m in New York too, which is why we’re going out. You’re going to tell me all about you and Simon, I’m going to tell you what happened after you left, and we’re going to bitch about House Corbin until we’re too drunk to understand each other.” She informs me of all of this with complete certainty and even a bit of a sparkle in her voice.

  “Wait, what? You’re here?”

  I don’t want to go out, not tonight and not for a long time. But I can’t tell her no, especially when I’m surprised that she’s stateside and confident that there’s no telling when she will be again. But I also don’t want to relive the scene I caused backstage and answer her impending, and unending, questions. Because I know she’s going to want every gory detail of it all.

  She can hear my resistance but doesn’t allow it for a second. “Oh, yeah, I’m here. Like, right here.”

  I look up to Molly standing at the door with a grin, her phone pressed to her ear. “You want to tell me how you’re sooo busy washing your hair, or don’t feel well, or some other excuse, or are we gonna go?” She’s talking into her phone, and I hear her in stereo, the double impact letting me know without a doubt that I’m not getting out of this.

  “Uh, hey. What are you . . . I mean, hey, Molly!” I try to inject some excitement, but I’m shocked and was kinda looking forward to curling up on the couch alone for pity party round ten tonight. I’ve got Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince already cued up to watch and my book on the coffee table so I can follow along and point out all the differences.

  Belatedly, I stand and hug her. To my surprise, it feels good to have Molly’s support, even if it’s out of the blue. She was there, she knows what it was like . . . at least a little bit.

  “Are you fucking with me? ‘Hey, Molly!’ is all you’ve got for me? I flew across the Atlantic for you, to New York City, during the hell months of heat, you know?”

  I crack a smile at that. We used to say our favorite season in New York is fall, because it’s cool and pretty, and that’s when fashion week is. Right now, it’s hot outside and a walk down the street can leave you wetter than a good fuck.

  Not that I’m thinking about being wet, or fucking, anytime soon.

  “Thanks. I appreciate your coming. I really do,” I say much more earnestly. “Let me tell Nora that I’m stepping out, and we can go.”

  Molly looks me up and down, then makes a harrumph sound. “Not like that, you’re not. I have just the thing.” She holds out a bag, more travel than gift, and I take it slowly.