Page 46 of Prodigal Son

“I have a face cream I was going to lend you,” Raven said, matter-of-fact.

Axelle snorted. “That crap made outta your dad’s stem cells or whatever?”

“What? Ew, darling, no. I meant Lancôme. Now, listen: Ryan Anders isthename in the fashion business around here. She knows the where and when of every show, has an in with every designer, and she’s got all the good gossip. I’ll do all the talking. Don’t make eye contact with her, and don’t try to draw her attention.”

“Why the hell did you even bring me, then?” Axelle muttered under her breath, and then the elevator arrived with a polite ding.

She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but the scene the doors opened onto was somehow fitting. Rather than ranks of cubicles, this floor seemed to be one large office, open from end, to end, to end, to end, silver sunlight blasting through from all sides. The design was minimal; everything was glass and bare-bones Scandinavian furniture. A few potted succulents. There were walls, she realized, as they walked up to the receptionist, but they were glass, fading from view. But Axelle got a look at one as she walked past it, and realized they werethick. Soundproof probably, she guessed.

The girl at the desk was done up even more severely than Axelle; hair cupped tight around her head like a helmet, stiff with product, her clothes shapeless and dark, her skin white-white, her makeup invisible save a swipe of bright gold eyeshadow across her lids. It was dramatic.

This was why Axelle had never had any use for high fashion.

“Raven.” The girl’s accent was French. Her smile seemed genuine, but restrained. “I didn’t see your name on the itinerary. Here for lunch?”

Raven gave a little casual wave. “Come to beg a favor, actually. Is she free?”

“One moment.”

Axelle could see Ryan Anders through a glass wall, sitting at a massive glass desk, poring over what looked like sketches, sleek bobbed hair tucked behind her ears. But the girl picked up the phone and made a call to check. People in places like these didn’t rap on walls and shout, Axelle figured.

They got the okay, and Raven led them into the inner office.

“Hello, Ryan.”

Ryan held up a finger, eyes still scanning what were indeed sketches. Menswear, it looked like from upside down. Severe-cut, high-necked jackets in blacks and military greens.

Raven took one of the two visitor chairs and gestured for Axelle to take the other.

Silence. Silence that stretched.

Finally, Ryan lifted her head and pulled off her rimless reading glasses. She looked exhausted, and unfriendly. “Raven,” she greeted. And that was it.

“Ryan. Darling.” Raven’s cheer was gag-inducingly fake. “Did you have the lobby redone downstairs? It’s to die for. Listen.” She hitched up to the very edge of her chair, leaning forward. “I know you’re dreadfully busy, I just wanted to ask a favor.” At some point, she’d dug the jar of Pseudonym face cream out of her purse and held it up now.

Be on the lookout for anything, Raven had said, and Axelle noticed Ryan’s gaze arrest, and narrow. Watched her spine stiffen. An interesting reaction to a jar of lotion.

Real subtle, Raven, she thought with an inward eyeroll.

But Raven was paying attention, too, because she rolled with it. “Remember the event where they handed this out? Which designer was that? Della Capricorn? I might have had a little too much champagne that day.” She chuckled. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to Della about her in with Gleaux and see if she could snag me some more samples for Mom’s show in two weeks. I’ve tried emailing the company, but they’re either really secretive, or really exclusive.”

Axelle could tell that Ryan was suspicious. “Why not just contact Della yourself?” Her tone was bored, tired, but her gaze was fixed on the little jar of product Raven still held.

“Well.” Raven lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. “That’s the thing. Della’s been poaching models out from under us, so…”

Ryan’s mouth twitched in a fractional, humorless smile. “Ah. I see.” She leaned back and plucked her iPad up off the near corner of the desk. “I know the CEO over at Gleaux. I can put you in contact, if you like.”

“Oh, I’d hate to be any trouble…”

“No, it’s fine. Clive is an old friend.” A quietwhooshsounded from the tablet. “I’ve just emailed him and CC’d you. You should hear from him shortly.”

“You’re the best, Ry.”

“Yes.” She sat forward again, elbows braced on the desk, a speculative look coming to rest…on Axelle.

No eye contact, she remembered belatedly, and ducked her head over the legal pad she carried.

“Speaking of models, this is one of your new ones?”

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