Page 8 of The Boss Situation

Does Prince Charming exist?Hell no.

I remove the lid from my tiny cup and step outside, breathing in fresh air. The sun beams against the sidewalk, lighting the path like it’s a yellow brick road. Spring is upon us, which means Harper and I have to nail down the fall fashion line within the next month. Afterward, we’ll pitch to merchandisers and make our order for production. We need to triple our baseline orders to survive until next year.

Harper and I can turn the shit show around, can’t we?

If she called Banks and somehow convinced him to meet withme, knowing how we feel about one another, then she believes our problem is beyond our control. That’s the hard reality I’m trying to swallow.

The espresso doesn’t help force it down.

Has my best friend given up hope?

Two blocks later, I approach the Crystal Palace. Right across thestreet is his company: Banks Advertising and Marketing Firm. The gold letters reflect sunlight, making it shine.

I shake my head. He purchased that building as soon as it was posted for sale. It was on the market for less than a day. I’m convinced he did it so I’d see his stupid fucking name in gold every day. It’s like he wanted me to have a front-row seat to watch him climb to the top of the business world. Yes, he’sthatpetty, and he always has been.

Even at Stanford, he was like my shadow lurking close by. He even changed his schedule several times to match my classes. I had to see his stupid face for four torturous years. It didn’t help that he was one of the most liked men on campus. Athletic. He even played soccer on the university team. Then there was me, the girl who spent her weekends studying and designing outfits for Fashion Week and the Met. While he was having fun, fucking random women at frat parties, I was busy building Bellamore in my dorm.

After graduation, I officially asked Harper to partner with me to make our dream legitimate. Our dreams were endless, and now they’re ending. It hurts so much.

Our entire lives, we were never given the proper credit for our accomplishments because of who we were. It’s why Harper and I created Bellamore. Wearemore than our names or our looks. This company represents our hearts, and it means everything to me. But still, failure looms on the horizon. This is personal for me.

I take the elevator to my office, and as I move down the hallway, no one speaks to me, which I prefer.

I’m an introvert, like my brother Easton, and prefer silence. While Easton and I have a lot in common, I’m closer with Weston. He’s the comedic relief, my fun, extroverted brother who always brings out the best in me. Weston is pure sunshine, just like Harper.

The rumor is, I’m unapproachable, and sometimes, it’s easier to let people believe whatever they want. And when they finally get the balls to approach me, they realize how wrong they were. I can hold a conversation, and I’m kind to those who deserve mykindness. I might not always smile or go out of my way to be friendly, but it doesn’t mean I’m not. Why would I randomly approach someone if I don’t want to be approached?

The nicknames are endless too. Last year, an article coined me as the Wednesday Addams of Fashion, and it stuck.

Every picture they captured of me for the next year, I made sure I was wearing black. The styles changed with the season, but the color never did. I leaned so heavily into it that I became an icon. It’s been said that I’m the only woman who can make black look great in the spring. The world wanted Miranda fromThe Devil Wears Prada, so I gave it to them.

The badass-bitch persona saves me a lot of headaches. One look, and most people just stop talking. Most sentences need to end a few words earlier anyway.

Before I enter my office, my assistant, Hannah, meets my eyes. “Your eight o’clock is confirmed.”

“Thank you,” I tell her, closing the door behind me.

When I approach my desk, I look toward Banks’s office. Across the glass is a sign taped to his window. I step forward to read it.

YOU WILL BEG!!

My mouth falls open. He even underlined it.

I scream at the top of my lungs, unable to control the rage that soars through me. There’s nothing I can do about what’s in his office. I will have to look atthatfor who knows how long.

“I cannot do this,” I mutter, shaking my head.

I pick up the phone and call Harper. Her office is on the opposite side of the building, so I know she hasn’t seen it yet.

“Good morning,” she singsongs, and I can hear Taylor Swift playing in the background.

“You’re listening toReputation?” I ask.

“It’s my fight-song album. It motivates me,” she says, and I can tell she’s smiling. “Anyway, what’s up?”

“Can you pretty please come to my office?” I try to stay calm.

“Give me five.”

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