Page 151 of The Wild Charge

“God, yes,” Raven said with a sigh. “Gallons of it, if we’re going to spend all day chasing our tails.”

They ducked into a crowded coffeeshop, joined the back of the line – and Raven spotted a familiar bit of floral blue silk tucked away at a corner table.

She tapped Ian’s arm and nodded when he looked down at her. “Look. It’s that designer and the model from upstairs.”

The model had changed out of the ugly yellow dress into a hoodie and leggings, hair scraped back in a loose ponytail. She’d had a proper cry after they’d left Nikola’s office: her eyes were red and raw, and she swiped at her nose with her hoodie sleeve.

“Testimony, you said?”

Ian lifted his brows and inclined his head as if to say,it’s worth a shot.

“What?” Albie asked.

“You go and keep watch,” Raven said.

He made an unhappy sound. “Don’t get used to me following your orders. It’s not going to become a habit.”

“Sure, darling.” She led the way, Ian following, over to the table. Neither woman noticed their approach. When Raven said, “Excuse me,” both jumped and whipped their heads around, matching petrified expressions on their faces.

Raven offered a smile – a real one, rather than the tight facsimile she’d given Nikola. “Hello, sorry to intrude, but I saw you both earlier, up in Nikola’s office.”

The designer recovered first. “Oh. Um.” Her gaze shifted between the two of them. “I’m sorry, but I don’t–”

“Recognize us? Completely understandable. You both seemed to have a lot on your mind.” She turned to the model, and noted, with a pulse of alarm, that when she laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder, she flinched hard. “How are you, dear? You seemed rather upset earlier.”

“Oh.” She sniffed and swiped at her face. “I’m okay.”

Raven frowned. “Nikola’s rather famous for her temper, I’m afraid. Do you mind if we sit?” Ian snagged two chairs from a neighboring table and dragged them over.

“Uh…sure,” the designer said.

“I’m Raven,” Raven said, as she settled. “Raven Blake. And this is my friend Jean-Jacque.”

Ian made a quietly amused sound.

“RavenBlake?” the designer asked. “Oh, wow, I love your line.”

“Thank you. You’re Emily, yes? And I didn’t catch your name, I’m afraid.”

Though the designer had softened visibly now that she knew who Raven was, the model was still uncomfortable-looking. “I’m Siobhan,” she finally said.

“Siobhan. Lovely to meet you.”

Ian, French accent back in place, said, “Madame Howard wants to do business with Raven, but” – he turned a serious glance on Raven – “I don’t think that’s the best idea after meeting her.” To the women: “Do you ladies enjoy working for her? Is she a generous employer? Because I don’t want us partnering with someone who mistreats her people.”

Emily and Siobhan shared a look. Their expressions turned guarded – and faintly afraid. “She pays well,” Siobhan said, but Raven could tell there was plenty she wasn’t saying.

“That dress,” Raven said, “is it your design?”

Emily frowned, then shook her head. “No. Nikola’s. She’s having me…perfect it.”

“It should be perfected right into the rubbish bin,” Ian said, and Siobhan snorted in surprise, a hint of a smile touching her lips. “I’m sure you could do much better.”

“Well, I don’t know about–”

“She could,” Siobhan piped up. “Em’s sketches are gorgeous.”

“No,” Emily demurred. “I have a lot left to learn. And besides, we shouldn’t be talking about Miss Howard like this.” She fidgeted in her chair, nervous, suddenly, and glanced out through the window at the passing throngs of shoppers.

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