Chapter 39
thirty-nine
VANESSA-TWO WEEKS LATER
I met Penelope outside a glossy high-rise in downtown Los Angeles.
She looked every bit the boss-bitch businesswoman in dark sunglasses and a hot-pink power suit—the exact kind of effortless cool I secretly tried to steal.
She was the type of woman young girls should idolize.
People assumed her success had been handed to her because of her dad, an agent to the stars, but anyone who actually knew Penelope and understood their relationship knew she had fought tooth and nail for her spot.
She spotted me and slid her sunglasses down her nose. “You ready for this?” It was the second time I’d heard that question in just as many weeks.
Was I? I had absolutely no idea. Everything I thought I knew had been crumbling around me lately, and I didn’t need any more surprises. I shrugged and looked up at the skyscraper. Lately, I hadn’t been planning anything at all; I just let whatever happened happen.
We walked into the building and immediately got screened by security—ID check, bag scan, the whole deal—before being escorted straight to the elevators.
The doors slid shut, gleaming so bright they caught our distorted reflections.
I was wearing the only pair of jeans I owned without holes, a graphic tee, and a structured blazer.
Mom had fussed over my outfit like she always did, but she was lucky I had agreed to wear the blazer at all.
I didn’t want to conform; I dressed strictly for me.
I already had my tribe. I didn’t need anyone else.
Of course, Elliott drifted right back into my head—he was always living there.
I had sent him the gown sketches through Penelope; she confirmed he received them but had never mentioned whether he actually liked them.
It was killing me not to know his plan. If the gowns were for Emma, had she approved them?
Was it her wedding to Elliott, or someone else’s entirely?
We had kissed and slept together—hadn’t we? That actually happened, right?
Ever since the wedding, I'd had way too much time to overthink. He had stayed far away afterward, completely respecting my space: no calls, no texts, no unexpected visits. Part of me was utterly devastated by it, because his silence confirmed that it was really over.
The elevator doors opened, and we were greeted by an assistant who smiled widely at us, as if we had brought food.
We hadn’t. It was confusing. A smile that massive should only be reserved for someone holding a delivery bag.
I figured that was why my food delivery drivers always rated me highly—because of the sheer, unadulterated joy on my fucking face every time I saw them at my door with a bag of takeout.
She ushered us into a massive conference room and told us she’d be right back with us.
The room was huge, and the wall facing the rest of the office was just a giant panel of glass, allowing us to see everyone bustling about.
It was the single most distracting thing to my ADHD brain.
How was I ever going to focus on whatever this meeting was supposed to be about? And what was with all the mystery?
Next to me, Penelope didn’t seem to have a single care in the world. She pulled out her laptop like the perpetual workaholic she was. I rolled my eyes, and she caught me, throwing a sharp hiss my way.
Then I noticed movement through the glass.
I watched as the assistant who had shown us met with a woman wearing a perfectly fitted black suit.
It was a beautiful suit—one I made a mental note that I wanted, no, needed to own—but that wasn't what held my complete attention. It was the fact that I recognized her. She was the woman from the Catherine James benefit, the girl who had been Elliott’s date, and the one who had shown up at the house with Elliott.
She must have felt me staring because she turned around and caught my eye.
She smiled widely. There was no food on the table, so I instantly knew I couldn't trust her.
“Some people smile to be polite, Vanessa, not because they’re evil,” Penelope muttered, her fingers never leaving her keyboard.
The door swung open and Elliott’s girlfriend—whatever her official title was—walked in, still wearing that bright smile.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said. Her British accent hit me like a physical force; no wonder Elliott had wanted to sleep with her.
Honestly, hearing her talk made me want to sleep with her.
How had I completely missed the accent? Oh right, I’d technically never heard her speak.
I didn’t smile back, prompting Penelope to kick me hard under the table.
“Get your shit together,” Penelope whispered fiercely. “What would your parents say?”
She was right. I forced myself to stand and offered my hand. “We haven’t been waiting long. I’m Vanessa Miranda. This is my agent, Penelope Juarez.”
“I’m Emma Grant. It’s nice to finally meet you properly, Vanessa—though I guess we’ve already crossed paths unofficially.”
She came off genuinely warm and kind, which only made it harder to hate her. Then a sudden mental picture of Elliott with her flashed through my mind, and the hatred flared right back up. My face flushed hot.
“Penelope said you didn’t give much detail over the phone, but I want to be upfront: Ever After Bridal holds exclusivity rights on any of my past designs, if that’s relevant to why we're here,” I said, wanting to get that out of the way immediately.
Penelope hadn’t been generous with the information, so I was left to piece the puzzle together myself.
Emma designed jeans; I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why she wanted to meet with a bridal gown designer.
She gestured for us to sit. Her assistant shut the heavy door and began taking notes, even though nothing of real value had been said yet.
“I’m sorry I didn’t provide many details. For projects like this, secrecy is the absolute key,” Emma explained, her tone sounding polished and rehearsed.
“I don’t understand,” I admitted, glancing over at Penelope, who finally closed her laptop screen.
“I’ve followed your career for a while, Vanessa, and I’m incredibly impressed. My father passed away a few years ago and left me a substantial inheritance; I’ve been investing it strategically. I’ve had my eye on you, and I would like to invest in you directly.”
My brain slammed on the brakes.
“In me?” I asked, entirely incredulous.
“Yes,” she said, pressing her lips together to keep from laughing at my shock.
I scanned the perimeter of the room as if Vera Wang might suddenly jump out from behind a curtain. Penelope finally gave the conversation her undivided attention.
“Welcome to the meeting,” I murmured under my breath to her.
“So, what do you say?” Emma asked.
“Is this real?”
“Very real,” she replied seriously.
“I don’t even know what to say,” I admitted, my defensive walls going up. “Full disclosure: Ever After fired me after some of my original designs were stolen and credited to someone else.”
Pen pinched my thigh hard enough to make me flinch.
“I know,” Emma said, her voice calm and steady. “Ever After Bridal is an institution. They’ll be here long after we’re gone.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I asked.
“I’m willing to back you financially, Vanessa. I just need to know that you’ll believe in yourself.”
My head started to throb with a dull ache.
“You think I slept with him, don’t you?” Emma asked suddenly, and the entire axis of the room tilted.
“Excuse me?” I stammered.
“You think I slept with him?” she repeated, slowing down her syllables.
My brain went into a frantic overdrive because this situation was about to turn incredibly dramatic and awkward.
“Look, whatever you and Elliott are, or whatever you had in the past, is honestly none of my business. He is none of my business. If anything, I just don’t want you to tie your money to a losing horse. ”
Penelope gave me the most murderous look I had ever seen in my life and kicked my shin again.
“He took me to the benefit so I could meet you and learn about the foundation,” Emma revealed.
“That night at the house, he was only hoping you were asleep so he could show me some of your portfolio designs in secret. Admittedly, getting tipsy beforehand wasn’t great timing on our part.
I know exactly how it looked, Vanessa, but believe me—you’re the only one I’ve been interested in from the very beginning. ”
Each sentence landed against my chest like a physical blow. My heart and head ached in tandem. He had planned all of this: the firing, the fundraiser, Emma, the thirty days. I could barely draw breath into my lungs.
“If he still works for Ever After, wouldn’t this be a massive breach of his contract?” I managed to ask.
The assistant quietly slid a thick manila file across the table. Emma opened it and turned a high-end mock-up design toward us. It was elegant, luxury storefront signage that read: Catherine James.
“He was willing to risk it,” Emma said, her voice dropping into a soft but certain register. “Risk it all… for you.”
Our eyes locked, and her gaze softened. I placed my palm flat over my heart—it felt like my chest was going to cave right in.
“Catherine built that brand, but over time, with multiple new corporate visions, it slowly drifted away from her original intent,” Emma continued.
“Elliott and I have been talking about this for months, and the only designer he trusts to handle her legacy is you. He told me that no one could carry on his mother’s vision the way you could—and we simply couldn’t make it happen any sooner without risking everything. ”
Something snapped cleanly inside of me. The bridge of my nose burned, and I couldn’t stop the tears from pooling over. He had done all of this—for me, and for his mom.
If there was an emotion running deeper than love, it was exactly what I felt right then. He had planned all of this, all along.