Page 52 of Scoring with my Bestie's Ex

Now, she’s inspecting my work as I stand here, twiddling my thumbs.

Thank Goodness she’s not one of those movie fashionistas who will slit my throat if she doesn’t like what she sees.

I just hope she doesn’t think my work has suffered because of this.

My position as her assistant means I don’t do the actual sewing for her work, but I am still responsible for checking the product before it’s ready for her.

This is my stuff, though. I’ve done everything on weekends, my days off, in the evenings.

Imogen lifts the skirt of the final dress and checks the hem. Finally, she turns to me with a grin.

“Before I say anything about this, how goes the production for my part of the show next week, and the one in Moscow?”

I gulp. “We’re running a little behind for Moscow. Everything is ready for next week, though.”

“If I gave you next week off work entirely, how many more of your designs can you prepare?”

My eyes widen. “The whole week?”

Imogen grins. “We’ve all been working hard. I want to pull half the designs for the show next week and put them in with Moscow so everyone can breathe a little easier.”

My head spins.

“Do you think you can make up the difference?”

I hold up my hands. “Give me a minute to pass out, and then I’ll answer you.”

Imogen laughs. She leads me to a bench, where she sits me down. Today she has her natural hair, twisted into elaborate shapes atop her head.

She looks phenomenal.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and while I’d hate to lose you as an assistant, you’re wasted in your current role,” she explains. “I want to give you a promotion to start your own line. At first, you’ll have to produce under my label but with full credit to yourself. But you’re going to need to have more designs out there before we can start.”

I ran the in my head. It’s a small show; I was originally meant to put in five of my own, while Imogen would do fourteen.

Her pulling half means I’d have to make seven more dresses.

One a day, and I could do it. Only, I need to have a couple of days in there for last-minute fittings on the models.

“I know it’s tight,” Imogen says. “But I believe in you.”

I chew my lip. If I accept, I won’t have time for anything else.

“A friend had a charity dance on the same day,” I say. I explain about Aaron and his plans.

Imogen nods slowly. “I see. So you can’t do both. Will Aaron be able to pull off the dance by himself?”

“Yes,” I say slowly. “But I promised to help.”

“Mmm. To launch your brand, we need to give you a wide variety of designs shown to the world. We can postpone, of course, wait until you have more time,” she says, her brows pinched. Then she grimaces. “To be fair, I don’t know how long that will take.”

My heart sinks.

“So basically it’s get seven designs ready in one week, or who knows when I’ll have the opportunity again?”

Imogen lifts her hands in the air. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” I sigh. “You’re doing me a favor. I just have to make that decision.”

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