Page 26 of When Fashion Turns Deadly

Marit put her hand on Isabelle’s back and nudged her forward. “You’re going to do great.”

Isabelle lowered her voice. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“The first look is always the hardest. Consider this a practice run.”

Isabelle drew a deep breath in an effort to settle her nerves and the nausea churning inside her. It didn’t work. She needed a distraction, like figuring out who was behind the theft so she wouldn’t have to step on a runway in front of an audience.

“Is the show for this designer before or after the one for Ralph?”

“Before.”

“What about the other shows you’re already scheduled for?”

“Dior and Chanel are on the last day,” Marit said. “I only have two others already booked. One is on opening day. The other is the next day.”

“Which ones are those?” Isabelle asked.

“Camille Allard and Peter Wade.” Marit kept her voice low. “They’re both still casting. Esmee should be able to get you auditions. I told her to only put you up for auditions that happen before Ralph’s show.”

“When did you talk to her about that?”

“When you were getting your bag from Cole’s hotel room,” Marit said. “We have this one and two more later this afternoon.”

“I don’t know if I’ll surviveoneof these, much less three.”

“Just pretend we’re back in the flat,” Marit said. “Shoulders back, chin up, and pretend everyone in the room is Cole right after he woke up.”

“You want me to pretend all these people are my boyfriend with unruly hair?”

Marit nodded. “The whole picturing people in their underwear is just too weird.”

Isabelle laughed. She couldn’t help it.

“You’re next. Are you ready?”

“No.”

“You can do it,” Marit encouraged. “It’s all about attitude. Go out there like you belong, and you will.”

A woman stood at the front and took Isabelle’s name before snapping a photo. She then motioned her forward.

Isabelle moved to what, in essence, was the top of the runway. Attitude. It was all about attitude.

She lifted her chin, straightened her back, and started forward, lengthening her stride the way Marit had taught her. A pivot turn halfway down the runway, followed by a second so she would once again be facing the right direction. A T-stop when she reached the end, before turning to the right. One more turn and a handful of steps to the left. Then it was over.

Isabelle swallowed the sigh of relief that fought to escape. It wouldn’t do for the others in the room to witness how grateful she was to have that over with.

A man in his early twenties held up his hand to stop her from going beyond him. He looked over her shoulder, then nodded at someone behind her.

“Name?”

“Isabelle Rogers.”

The man handed Isabelle a small slip of paper. “Your callback is tomorrow at ten.”

Isabelle’s jaw dropped, but she recovered quickly. “Thank you.”

She continued toward the exit, turning around in time to watch Marit walk the runway, a little smirk on her face, her hips swaying just enough to showcase the silk pantsuit she currently wore. Confidence and poise. Marit had both in spades.

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