Page 24 of Wild Omega

Her mouth opens and closes a few times. “For Saturday? That’s cutting it close.”

I sigh. “You’re telling me.”

A tall woman with platinum hair pinned up in a neat knot with an elaborate, dangling hair pin thrust through it comes out from a dressing rooms and spies me. “Rickon, dove! What are you doing here?”

I breathe a sigh of relief. Years of fostering connections might pay off today. “Hello, Hannah. I’m in a pickle.”

After she hears my story, Hannah Sorentito tracks a finger down her cheek as if she’s tracing a tear. “Such a shame you don’t have a booking. If you wait for an hour, I’ll fit you in for fifteen minutes during my lunch break.”

“Has anyone told you you’re a saint?” I murmur, slumping in relief.

“Only daily, but it’s special coming from you.” She winks at me. “Have a look and see what catches your eye.” She turns on her heel and strides to the racks of gowns to select a handful for whoever’s inside the dressing room.

The first attendant brings me a rolling clothes rack and a pair of white gloves, and I work my way through the dresses, looking for something that might suit Lyra’s complexion and shape. With each formal gown being individually created, we have zero flexibility for sizing options, and Lyra’s a little wider in the hips than some of these allow for.

Only one dress from the Winter Collection catches my eye, a silver off-the-shoulder dress with a fishtail skirt. I hang it on my rack and move on to check the other collections.

Movement stirs as a pair I recognize exit the dressing room. Donna Feraski, the actress Lyra stole the leading role from, stiffens as she catches sight of me.

The smile she pastes on gives me the creeps. “Fancy running into you here. Shopping for Lyra?” she asks. She’s a talented actress, but Lyra mocks her for moving into TV shows.

“Yes.” I nod at the hint of pink tulle hanging out of the dress bag over her manager’s arm. “Looks like you found something nice.”

She sizes me up and down before snatching the silver dress off my rack. “Yes, but I have two events. I’ll take this one as well.”

“I’ve already reserved that one,” I inform her, resting my hand on the coat hanger and tugging.

“When’s your appointment?” she asks, fluttering her lashes.

“In an hour.”

Donna shrugs one elegant shoulder and smirks. “Too bad. House rules say those with an appointment get served first.” She pulls the hanger out of my grip and lays the dress over her attendant’s arm.

Hannah comes up behind the actress and flashes me a lopsided smile. “Sorry, dove, she’s right.”

All the wind knocks right out of my sails as I watch Donna sashay up to the cashier and flash her platinum credit card. Imagine being able to drop fifty grand on dresses like that, just to say “fuck you” to an actress you don’t like. Donna’s manager mouthssorryas they leave the showroom—while the divas wage war, we managers weave across the battlefield, dodging shrapnel.

I sigh as I turn back to the rack, already knowing the only thing left in the Winter Collection is a vanilla satin piece that would hang all wrong on Lyra.

By the time my appointment comes, I’m thoroughly discouraged. Hannah catches my disappointed look. “Nothing’s taken your fancy, has it?”

I force a smile for her sake. “They’re beautiful but won’t suit Lyra.”

She asks for Lyra’s size, and twirls her hand around while she thinks, and then beckons me with her head. “Come, come.”

I follow her through a staff door and my eyes widen as we step into the heart of her workrooms. This is my kind of place, bursting with fabrics, mannequins, and beautiful outfits. “We’re in the thick of planning for the Summer Collection right now, but I have something show you.”

“Seashells are in?” I muse, looking over the scalloped necklines and shell embellishments.

“Mm-hmm. Sea breeze is the catchword. Now, this isn’t a personal design, but I approved it as a signature piece.” She spins a mannequin around and my breath catches. The stiffened bodice looks like it has mother-of-pearl molded over it, and the side opens completely right down to the hip. It wouldn’t fit Lyra perfectly, but I could make it work.

“Radical, isn’t it?” Hannah says, watching my face.

“It’s stunning,” I murmur, holding the frothy white skirt out for inspection. The dual-tone threads shimmer from pale pink to cream depending on how the light hits them. “A clam and pearl?”

Hannah winks at me. “I knew you were a clever lad. I’m uncertain if Lyra Gray can pull it off, but I’ll give you a chance. In return, she needs to name drop and bring it back for the show.”

I nod. That’s a small price to pay for such a gorgeous dress, released before the official collection. “Do you have a matching headpiece to go with it?”

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