Unconventional (The Manhattanites #4) Read Online Free

That dress and those images had launched her as a fashion icon and me as the designer who’d created it.
    Gowns start at around ten thousand dollars. We’ve dressed the First Lady of the United States as well as Meryl, Julia, and many other starlets for the Academy Awards. Using only the best Italian fabrics was our trademark. That and sexy, revealing silhouettes. We were hot.
    Were being the keyword there.
    Frickin’ A.
    “The one my husband and I funded.” Lex pulled her shiny blonde hair back behind her ear and cleared her throat. “You know in this fashion industry, one bad season may ruin a brand.”
    “Then I’ll resign from the company—” Hot, wet tears streaked down my face. I couldn’t believe this was happening.
    “Let’s not be drastic,” Blake interrupted and made his way over to me. “I may not have a vagina, but I know why women buy this brand.”
    Spearheading many of the lifestyle accounts alongside Taddy, Blake was a branding guru. Aside from his wit and intelligence, he was rather famous amongst New York City’s society.
    “Why?” Taddy and Lex asked simultaneously.
    “Because they want to feel feminine and beautiful when wearing Jemma Couture. Tell us what exactly you were thinking with those military jumper pants?”
    Insulted, I tried to stay strong and answered, “Those are raspberry mocha space gowns. Not pants. There’s a seam up the front.”
    “Yes, Miss Thing, a seam which splits the bottom of the dress into a pair of pants. Hello.” His bright blue eyes rolled dramatically at my reply. He sassed on, reading me to fashion designer shame.
    “Err …I guess I kind of went off on one of my creative tangents and lost track of the Jemma Couture consumer.”
    Usually when I veered off course, the ending would come out fabulous. The previous year’s ostrich feathers with gold-plated caviar beading was a colossal hit, and Harper’s Bazaar had hailed it the gown of the century. But the military trooper dress, not so much.
    “What was your inspiration for this collection?” The head of Brill, Inc. dipped her head in my direction.
    “Star Wars is coming back to the big screen this year and I got excited about the outer space fantasy, so I ran with it. I wanted us to be edgy. You know…different. Hence Death Star Galactica.” I said the name of the season’s collection proudly. Dammit, I still had a sense of pride.
    “Ohhh. The collection is different all right. Try ‘not wearable’. And having the models carry machine guns was over the top,” Lex stated.
    “Those were laser guns,” I defended. “They shot confetti, adding a layer of surprise to the show.”
    Everyone stared at me as if I’d lost my mind.
    “Hey now.” I sighed. “It’s not my fault when the guns went off the entire front row of attendees got scared and hit the floor, hiding under their seats.”
    “Bitch, please. I peed my pants,” Blake added.
    Lex covered her mouth, hiding what appeared to be a giggle. It so wasn’t a good time to laugh.
    “This season isn’t you,” Taddy declared, throwing her hands in the air as she stood from the high-back chair. “Jemma Couture is a formal evening gown line, not active-wear. More importantly, I’m pissed at myself for not seeing the press samples and the collection before the show started. From here on out, Brill, Inc. will need to clear all garments before they hit the runway. You’ve lost the right for final approval.”
    “ Mi spiace .” Mortified, I apologized. “Truly, sorry.”
    In reality, I never let anyone see my work before show time. Those were my rules. But would I mind designing by committee? I wasn’t so sure about that.
    Taddy paced the room like a lion trapped in a cage. Swaying her hips, the heavily jeweled bangles on her arms jingled. The noise added with Blake’s ‘tsk-tsk’ and Lex’s sighs of ‘horrific’ was causing my attention-deficit disorder (ADD) to go wonky. The littlest sounds set me off.
    Oh, God, I wish she’d