“I had Winona over, so I turned off my phone and took off my watch.” I groan, scrubbing at my face with my hands. Then I drop them to my sides. “I overslept. Do you have any idea why Thérèse would hand in her notice?”
“I’m sorry, what?” His gray eyebrows spring up in surprise. His jaw drops, and he shakes his head in confusion. Mr. Unflappable has moved from mildly flapped to somewhat rattled. If things get any worse, he might be forced to upgrade to thoroughly discombobulated. God, I hope that doesn’t happen. One of us has to have a clear head today.
“I received an email saying that she’s handed in her two weeks’ notice. Jesus, Henry. What is happening? I slept late and turned my watch off and I fucked everything up. I missed my noon meeting with Akiri, and he’s beyond pissed.”
Henry shakes his head as if to clear it.
“Ah. Yes. All right.” He takes a breath, his brows drawn together in a frown. “I did not know about Thérèse handing in her notice. I just received a text alert about Akiri. He’s spoken with a couple of reporters in the trade rags. He says that you’ve repeatedly missed meetings with him and other designers. He stated that you were begging him to include his collection at Popup Palooza, and he was considering it, but you’re too erratic and he hears the show is on the verge of collapse. It’s popping up on several social media sites.”
Already? It’s been, what…half an hour? Motherfucker. Petty little bastard.
I stand there, swallowing hard, trying to corral my thoughts. Rage battles with shame. My gut is a Thunderdome of recriminations.
But I’m a Hudson. Crisis is inevitable, as my father used to say. We’re Hudsons. We stand above the rest, and there will always be those who aim to cut us down. Remember, success is the best revenge.
Hearing his words in my head summons up an icy calm. I snap into crisis management mode.
“This isn’t the first time Hudson’s has been hit with bad publicity, and it won’t be the last,” I say crisply. “We need to address this immediately. I’m going to call up the publicity department and have them send out a press release saying that I missed a meeting with Akiri today due to an unavoidable family emergency. I will say that I have already apologized and explained this to him. I’ll end it by wishing that whiny miserable little bastard the best of luck with whomever is lucky enough to partner with his tantrum-throwing ass. But not in those words. I’ll say it in a way that makes me look like the bigger person, which will have the end result of highlighting his pettiness.”
My panic starts to subside a little. “Also, I’ll round up four or five of our best known designers and have them issue statements of support, contradicting what he’s said and emphasizing their commitment to Hudson’s and the Popup Palooza. Finally, I’ll personally call half a dozen of our most sympathetic press contacts and make sure that when they cover this, they mention Akiri’s well-known diva tendencies. He’s been rude enough to the press that they’ll be sympathetic to us.”
“Excellent, sir.” Henry nods with approval. Then he gives me a once-over, with just the faintest hint of lift to his right eyebrow. Yes, I’m standing there in my boxers. “I’ll select a suit for you,” he says. “Will you be dressing before or after your phone calls?”
“After. I’m going to my office right now. This is an emergency.”
“I will lay your suit out on your bed, and when you’re suitably attired I’ll meet you in the dining room with coffee and we can resume strategizing.”
Twenty minutes later, I’ve made all my calls and I’m dressed. Henry’s laid out a suit, accessorizing it with a plaid tie with ochre accents and an ochre pocket square. I didn’t even know I owned any plaid ties – it’s not a pattern I enjoy wearing, and ochre is my least favorite color. Henry knows all this, of course, which means he’s annoyed at me. It’s probably a comment on today’s self-sabotaging idiocy.
Sometimes I just wish he’d say, “Up yours, you jackass.” Of course, if he did I’d probably drop dead of shock.
Irritated, I fetch a different tie and pocket square. While I’m dressing, I rack my brain to think who I could enlist to replace Akiri.
There’s a hot new designer in France, very avant-garde and just starting to capture a lot of attention, who might possibly be persuaded to participate. She’d fill the hole that I was trying to fill with Akiri, providing a fresh, unique look that will appeal to the younger crowd. She’s not as famous as he is, yet, but I actually like her designs better than his.
She’s also got a lot of people wooing her. I need to talk to her in person.
I hurry to find Henry, who is in the kitchen, making an omelet for me. He glances at my tie. “My selection was not to your taste, sir?”
“You know I hate ochre. And plaid. If you’re annoyed with me for snapping at you and being a self-sabotaging idiot, don’t commit acts of sartorial vandalism, just say so.”
“So,” he says drily, and returns his attention to the omelet.
“Thank you. I apologize for snapping at you in the hallway, and for being a screwup today, and for whatever screws I may up in the future. Also, how do you like French food?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Winona
I run my fingers along the rack of clothing that’s just been delivered to my front door. There are easily two dozen outfits, each one more gorgeous than the last. Dresses, blouses, pantsuits, skirts, blazers. Every one of them perfectly suited for me – bright, colorful, with interesting patterns and a mix of fabrics that should clash but somehow just work.
The note that came with them is written in a curly, beautiful cursive. “Since you’re working for Hudson’s, you should dress as if you’re working for Hudson’s.”
“Xena, no!” I say, as our canine all-purpose shredding machine seizes the leg of a pair of silk pants in her mouth. I kneel down and gently pry the pants from her fangs. She lets out a groan of disappointment and flops down on the ground.
I scratch her behind her ear, frowning. I still don’t have a place for her to stay, and I don’t have much time left. I’ve hit up every person I know in the neighborhood. Isabella’s asked at the hospital, without success. I’ve put the word out at Hudson’s, but I had to be honest about her chewing tendencies. So that was a no.
A loud banging on the door makes me jump.
“Let us in!” Isabella calls out.
Us? Oh, horse pucky.
I hurry to the door and peer through the eyehole. Isabella is standing there in her scrubs. Of course this would happen right as she gets home from her shift. Clarita and Edna are crowded around her. What did they do, teleport? The clothes were delivered maybe five minutes ago.
I open the door and glower at them. “Really?”
They bustle past me into the apartment. Clarita wheels expertly over the doorstep. “Ariel can’t make it because she lives across town,” she informs me.
“Yeah, but we have to report back to her,” Isabella adds.
“You told Ariel?” I splutter.
“She’s part of our group text now. Didn’t you notice? And Jemma can’t come because she’s working the coffee cart, but she also wants a report.”