She laughed at his shocked tone. “And how. Wait till you see.”
“Please, tell me you’re not cruising Target. I would have to disown you if you embraced the perils of polyblend. I have limits.”
“No. A certain Duchamp lady has provided me with something. It’s Natalii’s new line. Reserve judgment until then.”
“Natalii’s?” Perry gave an intrigued half snort, which Maddie took as approval, and said goodbye.
* * *
The Plaza Hotel on Fifth Avenue was thumping with upbeat music and a crush of people when Maddie arrived. Her nerves were channelled into one thing, coping with the impending arrival of Elena. Would her former boss publicly flay her alive or take her into a side room for the inevitable?
“Here, over here! Miss?” A flashbulb went off, and she turned to see a few photographers snapping in her direction and several fashion bloggers holding microphones.
“Who are you wearing?” asked the closest one, standing next to a tripod-mounted camera. “I don’t recognise it.”
Maddie thought she knew her from a blog site, Daring to Dazzle? Dazzle-something anyway.
“Natalii. Two i’s.”
“Two i’s? As in Duchamp? As in daughter of Véronique?”
“Yes. One and the same.”
The woman’s expression transformed. “Oh my God,” she breathed, and hyperventilation seemed a real possibility. “Is this the world’s first look at it?”
“Yes.”
“When does the collection drop? Why you? What do the other pieces look like? How many are there? What do you know? I have so many questions!”
“All details are on her new website, nataliiduchamp.com.” Maddie caught sight of an elegantly suited, dark-skinned man in the distance.
Perry stopped dead as he glanced towards Maddie. He pointed at her outfit, then fluttered his hand over his heart in approval. He pointed inside the building and then turned and disappeared into the crowd.
She smiled. “Sorry, I have to catch up with some people.”
“Okay, sure. Any time. And thanks!”
As she moved off, out of the corner of her eye, Maddie saw the blogger tapping furiously on her phone, doubtlessly alerting the world of another Duchamp breaking into the fashion world. She threw back her shoulders and entered the ballroom with a confidence she truly felt this time.
“Maddie Grey, isn’t it?” asked a woman approaching with a genial smile. She was blonde, attractive, with keen eyes and a slow, easy stride.
“That’s me.”
“Theresa Hunter from Time Magazine. I saw your piece on broken fashion dreams in New York. That was sensational stuff.”
“Thanks.” Maddie brightened.
“So who was the business executive? The one with the groping husband? We all want to know.”
Maddie’s enthusiasm faltered. “I’m not saying.”
“It’s all anyone’s talking about. How about a hint?” Theresa grinned. “I’ll take an initial. Can I buy a vowel?”
“No. If I told you the name, then that would help identify the victims.”
“Good point. Well, if I can’t buy a vowel, can I buy you a drink?” She threw in a cheeky smile, proving she meant it exactly the way it sounded.
“Drinks are free,” Maddie said, unimpressed anyone in the media would suggest she put victims at risk. “Sorry. Right now I have some friends to catch up with.”
“A shame. I was going to introduce you to mine. Trent Dalton and Alan Kadinsky. We’ve all just come back from the Middle East. I’m a war photographer.” Her cocky smirk fell over the wrong side of the line on arrogant.
Maddie hesitated. She would really like to meet Dalton. “Maybe later. I want to talk to my friends first.”
“Sure,” Theresa said, and gave her arm a playful pat. “Later it is.”
Maddie turned to find herself caught in the laser-sharp focus of Elena Bartell, watching from across the room. Her pulse leaped as she saw Elena’s dress—a sleek, white gown, with a slit at the front up to her knees, the exact length of the plunge of her cleavage. Symmetry and style. Wow. She headed towards her.
As she closed in, a man stepped into her line of sight. “Maddie!” Perry gasped, grabbing both her arms and pulling them out wide. “Let me look at you! So this is it? Natalii’s dramatic leap from the nest?”
He studied her closely, turning her. As he did so, Maddie felt a hole being burnt into her as Elena looked at them. She glanced down at her outfit, wondering what her former boss thought of it.
Black. Sheer. Feminine. A suit. Over the wide-legged palazzo pants lay the finest black mesh, filmy and floating, so from some angles it looked as if she was wearing a flowing, elegant skirt. Her jet-black jacket was formal, like a tux, with plunging lapels all the way down. The bottom of the jacket flared out at a forty-five-degree angle, which was matched by the parallel slash of cream-trimmed pockets at the hip and chest. Underneath, she wore an intricate, cream, brocaded waistcoat, like something out of the Palace of Versailles, with tiny gold-thread-embroidered buttons. A silk scarf, in matching cream and gold, was loosely knotted, giving her the effect of a rakish gentlewoman. There was no shirt underneath the vest, so Maddie’s smooth, pale skin provided the final counterpoint. It was formal but daring; risqué yet covered everything.
“Superb.” Perry nodded. “I don’t often beg, but we need her for Style. You can’t swan around with this on and not let us do a big write-up.”
“I’ll ask her.”
“Good. Must be an exclusive, though. Oh,” he turned, “Elena wanted a word. Meanwhile, I’ll find out what’s keeping Felicity with the drinks.”
