Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“So, what did you find out from the mysterious Mitchell Augustine?” Madison asked Emmy over the phone that afternoon.
“Not a whole lot,” she said, flopping back onto her bed.
“Mr. Augustine was Mom’s mentor, and she designed a wedding gown for his fiancée, but Augustine never ended up getting married.
That was all I could pull out of him.” While she cuddled up under the warm comforter, back in her soft pajamas, she explained how he’d acted during their short and perplexing coffee meeting.
“I wouldn’t read too much into it. He might have just been uneasy since you were Mom’s daughter, and he wasn’t sure how to approach you in the situation.
Also, if he was being truthful about not getting married, we don’t know what the story is with his former fiancée or the baggage he might be dealing with.
The whole topic might have made him uncomfortable. ”
“True.”
“Did you end up making something to wear?”
“Yes.” She looked over at the dress, now back on its hanger, pride filling her. “I was mortified. He asked who the designer was.”
“Stop it!”
Emmy giggled. “I told him he wouldn’t know her.”
“Em-myyy! Why didn’t you tell him you’d made it?”
“Because I’m not a designer. I’m a poor PR wannabe who can’t afford a nice dress.”
“Maybe if you’d told him, he’d have given you a job and you could afford a nice dress.”
The inadequacy she’d felt her entire life reared its head. “I made one dress, and the process was rocky at best. I doubt very seriously he’d want to employ someone who has zero experience and no idea what they’re doing.”
“Everyone starts somewhere.”
“I don’t even know if I’d want to be a designer anyway.” The word “designer” felt foreign on her tongue in relation to herself. Just saying it made her feel like an impostor. Her mother was the designer.
“I’ve gotta go, but keep me posted if Mr. Fancy Pants comes back to you with anything else.”
“Okay.”
Emmy got off the phone and checked her email.
All the talk about jobs made her wonder if she’d had a response from any of the companies she’d applied to.
But there was nothing. Even the jobs tucked away in insignificant cities hadn’t replied.
She lay there, the events from today swirling around in her mind.
She tried to fill in the blanks in her mother’s story.
Her dad said her mom had been crying in the café that day they’d met.
She’d had a bad day at work. The only work she had was at Baudelaire’s, right?
Had her tears had anything to do with Mr. Augustine’s fiancée or their canceling the wedding? Or was Mr. Augustine difficult to work for, and now he felt guilty about that? Had he run her off?
But one thing stood out: Her mother’s talent had been so incredible that her billionaire heir mentor had asked her to design his bride’s dress.
Emmy could never live up to that level of ability.
Her mom had been blessed with an incredible aptitude that very few people had, but her success was more than that.
Her ability included unwavering belief in herself.
That was the difference between Emmy and her mom.
Was Emmy selling herself short? It was easy enough for Madison to tell her to go for it. Her sister didn’t have to be able to produce creative work consistently. From the outside, it was easy to say, “Just go for it.”
But should she?
Mr. Augustine had been her mother’s mentor.
Could he mentor Emmy as well? Would he be too far along in his career to entertain the idea?
And was that what Emmy wanted? What if he was a nightmare?
With her email inbox empty, the idea of exploring the prospect was becoming increasingly more attractive.
She opened her email and sent Mitchell Augustine a message.
Hi Mr. Augustine,
It was so kind of you to meet me today for coffee. Thank you for your time and for helping me learn more about my mom. I was a little shy to mention it then, but the designer of the dress I was wearing was actually me. It was my first shot at designing. Anyway, thanks for meeting me.
Best wishes,
Emmy
While she had enough guts to come clean about making the dress, seeing herself as talented enough to ask for anything from a top New York designer was still not quite within her reach.
But before she had a chance to contemplate her abilities or lack thereof too long, an email pinged right back and she gasped, frozen, as the words registered.
Emmy,
Meet me at Harlow and Ash on Astoria Row tomorrow at noon. Tell Talia I asked you to come.
M.
While she was stunned by the fact that he’d requested she visit his headquarters, something else stood out. She gawked at the format of his message. It looked a whole lot like another message she’d seen…
Meet me on Rue des Lumières d’Automne at 8 p.m.
M.
Just then, her phone rang, startling her. She grabbed her chest and then answered the call without even looking at it to see who it was. “Hello?”
“You okay?”
Charlie. Emmy ripped her thoughts away from the email and refocused on the call. “Yes! I’m fine. I just got an interesting email.” She shut her laptop.
“Interesting?”
“It’s nothing.” She turned her attention entirely to him. “Hi.”
“Hey.”
“What’s up?” she asked.
“I wanted to tell you something.”
She went over to the sofa and sat down, curling her legs under her and covering them with the blanket she kept on the arm during the winter months. “What is it?”
“I quit my job.”
Her mouth sprung open with a gasp. “You quit your job?”
“Yep.” His pride came through in that one word.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to Wyoming to be a fishing guide. There’s a small company out there that’s willing to train me.”
“Oh my gosh.”
“Yeah.” He huffed out a little chuckle that sent a flutter through her stomach. “You’re the first person I called because it was you who inspired me.”
“Me?”
“You just walked out on your PR job, and you were willing to pour coffee and wait tables just to be true to yourself. That’s pretty awesome.”
Emmy was speechless. When she was finally able to find words, she said, “I’ve never once considered my actions awesome. Quite the contrary actually.”
“Why? You’re the bravest person I know. I often wonder how you can be so brave.”
“What?” She laughed out loud.
“You moved to New York right out of school, and while your job wasn’t what you expected it to be, you pushed yourself to figure it out. You stood up for yourself with your boss, and you’re waiting for something better. I can learn a lot from you.”
Unexpectedly, tears sprung to her eyes. This was the first time she’d been praised for her actions. But better than that, Charlie had actually seen the merit in her choices before she’d seen it herself.
“So, what was the email about?” he asked.
She blinked away her tears. “Uh... What?”
“The email you were reading when I called.”
“Oh. I’m meeting with a designer tomorrow.”
“What? Emmy, that’s incredible! Did you show the designer your sketches or something?”
“Well, I’m not sure exactly why I’m meeting him. How much time do you have?”
“As much as you need.”
Emmy lay back on the sofa and told Charlie everything—the note in the clutch, the emails from Mitchell, and her meeting at Cadeau. And he listened as if what she had to say was the most important thing in his day. She couldn’t help but fall for him a little more with every minute they talked.