Read Chapter 13: THE COVER

In May, Threadline named Bellwether's Margaret dress one of the season's ten pieces to watch.

Then American Mode requested it for a cover shoot.

The model was an actress with two films opening that summer. The photographer was famous enough to be late by three hours without apology.

Camille attended the shoot with Julian.

The studio in Brooklyn was all white cyclorama walls, cables, assistants, music, and expensive indifference.

When the actress put on the dress, Camille felt the same shock she had felt in the fitting.

There.

Movement turned severity into surprise.

The photographer noticed too.

"Again," he said.

The actress crossed the set.

The side panel opened.

The shutter fired.

Julian stood beside Camille with his arms folded.

"Don't react," he whispered.

She elbowed him.

The cover appeared six weeks later.

Bellwether's website traffic doubled for two days.

The dress sold out online in four hours.

Merchandising reordered.

The board sent congratulatory emails containing phrases like "brand momentum."

Mara printed one and taped it beside the concept wall with the handwritten title: PEOPLE WHO DISCOVERED DESIGN THIS MORNING.

Camille's name appeared in the article.

Julian's did too.

For the first time in her career, she saw her work described publicly with her authorship intact.

She read the paragraph six times.

Then she closed the magazine and cried in the bathroom.

Not elegantly.

Not briefly.

Mara found her.

"Oh, sweetheart."

"I am not sad."

"I know."

"This is humiliating."

"Yes."

Camille laughed through tears.

Mara handed her paper towels because Bellwether's bathrooms contained nothing soft enough for crying.

When Camille returned to the studio, Julian was waiting near her desk.

He did not mention her red eyes.

He placed something beside her keyboard.

The magazine.

Open to the article.

He had circled her name.

"You are very sentimental for someone who hates workplace families."

"Don't tell anyone."

She touched the page.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"You know."

He did.

That night, they went to dinner in the West Village to celebrate.

It was the first dinner that felt like a date rather than two exhausted colleagues eating near each other.

Camille wore a red dress she had owned since Paris.

Julian arrived without a laptop.

She stared at him.

"What?"

"I did not know you could travel without one."

"I have pockets."

"For what? Feelings?"

"Keys."

They drank wine.

They talked about everything except Bellwether for forty-three minutes, a personal record.

Julian told her he had studied architecture for one year before transferring to fashion.

Camille confessed she had once lied to get into a private Balenciaga exhibition by pretending to be a Belgian journalist.

"Were you convincing?"

"No. My Belgian accent became Swiss under pressure."

"Criminal."

"Survivor."

After dinner, they walked toward Washington Square Park.

Summer had arrived. The city felt porous, every restaurant open to the sidewalk, strangers carrying conversations into the street.

Near the arch, Julian stopped.

"What?"

He looked nervous.

Camille had never seen him nervous.

"I got an offer."

Her stomach tightened.

"From whom?"

"Halden."

Halden was a major American luxury group. Bigger than Bellwether. More stable. Their creative director had recently resigned.

"For what role?"

"Creative director."

Camille understood immediately.

It was the job Julian had spent a decade earning.

Just not at Bellwether.

"When?"

"Yesterday."

"And you are telling me now?"

"I wanted tonight first."

The romance of that answer made the news worse.

"What will you do?"

"I don't know."

She nearly laughed.

"You tell me not to make career decisions for romantic reasons."

"Correct."

"And now?"

"And now I will attempt to take my own advice."

Camille looked toward the fountain.

"Do you want it?"

"Yes."

The honesty hurt.

"Do you want Bellwether?"

"Yes."

"Do you want me?"

His eyes met hers.

"Yes."

She folded her arms.

"This is an irritatingly crowded answer."

"I know."

He stepped closer.

"I haven't decided."

"Good."

"You mean that?"

"No."

He laughed softly.

Camille touched his coat.

"When do they need an answer?"

"Ten days."

Ten days.

Bellwether's six-month deadline had two months left.

Northstar remained outside the gate.

And now Julian had been offered the future Bellwether could not promise.

Camille kissed him because there was nothing intelligent to say.

For once, intelligence was not enough.