Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Leave as in . . . ?”
“Leave leave. All of it.”
“Oh shit.” Her voice drops. “The designs?”
I look at the necklace pieces spread across my workspace. The winter collection—my winter collection. Except it’s not really mine, is it? None of it is. The materials, the studio, even the tools I’m using—it all belongs to Cole. I signed something about that, didn’t I? Pages of legal documents I’d carefully read, too excited about the opportunity to worry about the fine print.
I try to imagine packing up, sneaking out in the middle of the night like some stupid movie scene. The thought makes me laugh out loud—partly because it’s ridiculous, partly because I know I couldn’t do it. Not just because of the legal mess it would create, but because . . . I don’t want to.
“He’s never given me any reason not to trust him,” I say.
“Except the maybe-murder thing?”
“That’s not him. That’s Julian. And we don’t even know if that’s true.”
“You know,” Chloe says dryly, “most people wait at least an hour before calling back with their murder-related anxiety.”
I think about Cole bringing me coffee in the mornings, asking questions about my design process, genuinely interested in understanding how I work. The way he geeks out over engineering specs with the manufacturing team. How he notices when I’m stuck on a design and gives me space to work through it.
Those aren’t the actions of someone playing an elaborate game. Are they?
“You know . . . like I said,” Chloe says after a moment, “you could just ask him.”
“I told you, you can’t just blurt out something like this,” I hiss into the phone. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey Cole, quick question—are you involved with the mob? Also, why are there cameras everywhere? Oh, and by the way, moving all my stuff without asking was kind of weird.’ He’s going to think I’m insane. Or worse, he’ll be offended that I even considered . . .”
“Not exactly what I meant.” I can hear her rolling her eyes. “But yeah, actually. Talk to him. About everything. That’s kind of how relationships work.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll talk to him,” I say. “I need to anyway—I’m drowning with this deadline. I could really use an assistant to help with the collection. Maybe he’ll let me bring someone on.”
“Oh!” Chloe’s voice brightens. “You need Hailey. She’s an incredible designer and I’ve worked with her before—she does these amazing gothic-inspired pieces. I’ve worn some of her stuff in my shoots. She’s between projects right now.”
I hesitate, and Chloe adds quickly, “Trust me, she’s perfect for what you’re doing. Her aesthetic is exactly what your collection needs.”
I think about some of the dramatic pieces Chloe has worn in her photos—beautiful but with a dangerous elegance to them. Perfect for what the Midnight Frost collection is becoming. “Wait a minute. Wouldn’t Hailey be crazy to work here after everything she found out?”
“Are you kidding?” Chloe snorts. “When I mentioned you might need help, she literally said ‘Potential mob ties and a chance to design luxury jewelry? That’s literally my jam.’”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. She also said something about how the fashion industry is basically organized crime anyway, so at least this would be being honest about it.”
“Oh my god.” I’m trying not to laugh. “She’s insane.”
“She’s perfect is what she is. Plus, she figures if things go south, she can always use it as inspiration for her next collection. ‘Confessions of a Mob Jeweler’ or something.”
I shake my head. “Can you ask her? Maybe you both could come by later if Cole’s security team approves it?”
“Of course. See? This is what happens when you actually call me back instead of ghosting me for days.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I smile despite everything. “I’ll talk to Cole about all of it—Hailey, Julian, everything.”
“Good. That’s what normal people do, you know. They talk about things.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Love you too. And Sloane? It’ll be okay.”
I end the call and stare at the cameras again. Talk to him. Simple advice. Impossible execution. How exactly does one start a conversation about potential murder connections over morning coffee?
Chapter Twenty-Two Sloane
Late into the night, I’m still at my workstation, thinking about Hailey. I’ve always hated the idea of collaborating—design is personal, intimate. But with this impossible deadline looming, I don’t have much choice, and getting it cleared with Cole hopefully won’t be an issue. And maybe having someone else here wouldn’t be the worst thing, especially someone whose work I’ve actually admired. The few pieces of Hailey’s I’ve seen in Chloe’s photos have that edge I’ve been trying to capture—that understanding that beauty doesn’t always have to be vanilla in nature. Fresh eyes might be exactly what this collection needs.
Through the studio windows, I watch snow starting to fall over the city’s Christmas lights. Perfect conditions for frost . . . and something a little more dangerous.