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I drove back to my apartment.
I left everything in my car and fell on my leather couch, the large flat-screen TV staring at me as if it too was taunting me, just like that damn manila folder.
I looked at my watch. It was barely past ten.
Rebecca was long gone.
The security was long gone.
Everything was long gone.
I got a lawyer; we went to trial. My name was on every news station out there. Of course, I lost the case—settled, actually, to avoid going to prison. I plead guilty, even though I had absolutely nothing to do with it. No one from my team came forward. They all let me fall. A huge black mark now sat on my record. Getting a job in the future would be out of the question.
I was able to pay Jackson and Rye with my savings and was able to live for a few months on what I had left. Until I had nothing.
I sold every piece of furniture I owned.
I sold my apartment.
I had to give everything to them.
I had one single suitcase and my Tesla key.
I lost everything.
My money.
My home.
Everything was gone.
And now, here I was, six months later; knocking softly on Milo’s front door. I knew I could count on Milo. I had nowhere else to go. When I called him weeks before, he told me I’d always have a home with him. Milo answered the door, a look of shock on his face that instantly turned to remorse. He opened the door wider and let me walk past him. His apartment was somewhat of a mess. Random empty boxes stood in a corner as he prepared for his move and upcoming marriage. Holly was excited to see me, even showing me some of her favorite books that we could read together. Even her sweet “Uncle Clay!” and her warm hug didn't pull me from the fog that I had created over the past six months.
“Welcome home, man.” Milo hit my back and passed me as I stood in the living room, taking in my new “home.”
At least I had him.
Chapter Two
-Ophelia-
“M
y. . . own. . . boutique?”
I repeated the words over and over, trying to get them through my head. My last show in Portland had been a huge success—andthatwas an understatement—and one of my new clients wanted to open a boutique specifically for my brand. An entire store front filled withOphelia Fuller’s line.
Casual day wear, business attire, elegant dresses—dare I say wedding gowns?
“Yes.” JoAnn Harmon smiled across the table; her eyes wide with excitement. “Our boutique on Broadway completely sold out of your lines faster than we could stock the shelves. We want to open your shop on 5thAvenue.”
I was stunned. I’d worked my way up the fashion world so I could someday be right where I was sitting now. It was a dream to have my own storefront. I never expected it to happen, especially on 5thAvenue.
“Ophelia? What do you say?” JoAnn asked.
“Um. . .” I stammered.Form words, Ophelia, actual words! You can do it.
“It, of course, won’t be done right away. It will take a few months to get the location just right, and then we will need to hire a designer to set up the shop. You’ll have to provide the designs, and the clothes will have to be made. But, Ophelia, we want this to happen if you do.” JoAnn kept talking, spouting off details I couldn’t even keep track of.
