The Claiming of Sadie Graves Read Free Page A

I know I said I’d fit her myself, but something came up with my mom and I’d like to scoot out early…if I could?” Lottie’s mom is ill, and has been going through cancer treatment for the past few months.
    “Of course I will Lottie. Happy to help” I say confidently. Who wouldn’t want to the experience of fitting the hottest model on the scene right now? I’ve always said; most of the models we work with are lovely, humble girls who work very hard to be noticed and get magazine covers or ad work. Violet’s appointment is a fitting for a Cosmopolitan Magazine cover shoot, and Anna told me privately she’s looking forward to her design being featured. I don’t blame her. The chosen dress is a humdinger.
    A lot of things have to be done before the four o’clock session, and the day gets off to a busy start. Anna arrives around ten thirty, and there are designs to discuss, a new line of fragrance to test (something I dread, frankly) and customers to assist. There isn’t time for lunch, so I grab an apple from the tiny kitchen and keep going. At three forty-five, Anna calls me from her office, upset over a fabric shipment that doesn’t look as if it will come through. Held up in customs, we’re missing bolts and bolts of a suiting fabric that we simply must have. We’ve already dropped pictorials in the major trade magazines, showcasing the pieces we’ll have for sale. Our line depends on the right fabric. I make a phone call to Salvatore Fekkai, one of my dearest friends from design school, and leave a message on his cell.
    “Sally, I need your help. I need a boatload of suiting material, and mine is in customs , sitting still. Anna is in a state. Can you please call me back before you leave the office today? I’m desperate.” I ring off and Lottie steps into my office, looking slightly queasy.
    “They’re here.” Something in her face says she wants to tell me something and can’t. Obviously, whatever needs to be said can’t be overheard. “Can you come to the reception area and pick them up?” she asks, meeting my eyes. “Of course, Lottie. You may leave as soon as you’re ready. I’ll take it from here.” Lottie clears her throat, her wide blue eyes swinging back out toward reception. She jerks her head toward the door and mouths OH MY GOD.
    When I enter reception, I see what’s gotten her in such a tizzy. It’s not Violet Emery that she’s having a fit over; it’s her companion. Don’t get me wrong; Violet is gorgeous. She has long, tawny blonde hair and she’s easily six feet tall. If you can get past her dusky skin, full lips and deep blue eyes, you’ll notice right away; she has a body that simply will not quit. Dressing her is going to be a treat. I guess most of us in New York have gotten used to seeing and dressing models, so feminine beauty is expected and a part of our daily lives. We’ve steeled ourselves, somehow, against the loveliness of our human clothes-hangers; so we can stay attentive to the fit and design of the clothes themselves.  I can overlook Violet, but not him .
    Lottie is reacting to Violet’s…boyfriend? Lover? Husband? I have no idea. He’s taller than Violet and probably the best looking man either of us have ever seen. Geez. He ought to be on a coin. His face is perfect, his nose aquiline; his lips full and chiseled. He has copper-colored hair that’s a little long, and unsmiling brown eyes. Who am I kidding? A guy like this doesn’t have to smile. He can just stand there and wait for every woman in a fifty-mile radius to swoon; the net has already been cast. He’s looking around the space, his eyes checking out the lighting and walls, so I get to observe him for the span of about three seconds. His upper body is defined in muscle underneath a shirt that’s obviously expensive; the collar is open a few inches to show the hollow of his throat. His shoulders are wide; contrasted against a trim waist and hips. He has a leather coat slung over his