Page 14 of All the Drama from New York

A tired, contemptuous sigh came down the phone. “Yes, I’m sure. Neil made me realize that the main reason why he and I kept breaking up was you. He had wanted to marry me all along, but felt you judged him. In the end he said it was a choice between his love or my job. I chose him.”

Camille’s left hand curled into a tight fist. Neil had never liked her. He enjoyed making fun of her French accent. Hope’s new husband seemed to think that his jokes about Camille looking like one of the Parisian rats in theRatatouillemovie were the height of comedic talent. He had taken one of her favorite films and weaponized it against her.

And now he’d emotionally blackmailed Hope into marrying him.

Why didn’t I see this coming? He was never going to let her go.

Blindsided, Camille hastily scrambled to salvage something of Hope’s departure. To keep what was left of their friendship. To allow a door to remain open. To give Hope an escape route if she ever needed it.

“Can we at least arrange a farewell lunch when you are back in town? I mean we should make your send off a proper one. Go somewhere really special. My treat.”

“I’ve got to go,” said Hope, and the line went dead. Camille stared at her cell for a long minute. What on earth had just happened?

Was this what people in NYC meant when they said life had thrown you a curve ball? One day she was holding Hope’s hand and feeding her sweetpetit foursfrom Andre’s Bistro, the next she was being dumped via a brutal middle-of-the-night phone call.

Camille took in a slow deep breath. Neil had to have been standing right next to Hope when she’d called, making sure she did and said exactly what he wanted.

She’d lost the battle, but this war was far from over.

I am not giving up on Hope.

Her PA might have resigned, but that was not the end of their friendship. Hope had to know that she had someone in her corner if she ever worked up the courage to leave Neil.

But in the meantime Camille had a PA roll to fill.

She glanced at the time. It was now almost two thirty, the chances of being able to go back to bed and actually get some sleep were next to nil. Slipping on a robe, Camille headed upstairs to the design studio.

Seated at her desk, she opened her laptop, and clicked on her inbox. Hope’s email sat at the top. Camille fought back tears as she opened it.

The email contained what her former PA said it would. A long, long, long list of things. Dot point after dot point. Camille’s vision blurred just trying to read it all. She hit print, then sat listening as page after page churned through the home office multi-function machine.

She’d always felt guilty over using too much paper, but trying to read and comprehend documents on the computer screen had never worked for her.

While she waited, Camille clicked onto various social media platforms, looking for another way to reach out to Hope. She’d been blocked on Facebook. Unfollowed and blocked on Instagram. Even TikTok was a bust. Every avenue of communication was gone. The woman whom she had trusted with so much of her career and business had been forced to methodically wipe Camille from her life.

Camille’s fingers raked through her hair, and she gripped it by the ends. A sense of panic was slowly rising as the weight of abandonment settled heavily over her.

The Hope she thought she knew would never have done this, would have found a better, kinder way to end their connection. This was Neil taking a spiteful swipe at her, with the sole intention of hurting Camille as much as possible.

I need to get passwords and bank account details changed as soon as possible.If Hope was going to cut her off, that had to run both ways. A former employee with access to the core of Camille’s business could do real damage.

“I’ll call Bryce in the morning, and ask him for some advice. He’s sure to have dealt with this sort of thing in the past,” she muttered.

Camille was still offering up curses about Hope’s new husband to the universe when her gaze fell on another email. This one had arrived late last night. And from the littleopened envelope icon it appeared that Hope, who had access to Camille’s email account, had already read it.

She clicked on the email. The second she read the first line, all thoughts of Hope and what she had done slipped from her mind.

NEW YORK FASHION WEEK RUNWAY SHOW OFFER

Her pulse kicked up a notch. This was big. Really big.

As the printer continued to happily chug away, Camille took in the formal offer from the fashion week booking committee. They wanted her to be the warm up act before one of the big shows.

Her collection would be featured in an area located to one side of the large presentation space. After watching Camille’s show, guests would then move to take their seats along the main runway where a major designer who supplied garments to several international retail chains would be launching their new season collection.

“All those buyers and guests will get to see my clothes first.”

This was a huge career opportunity.

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