Read Online Christmas at Tiffany's by Karen Swan - Free Book Online Page A

three-week delay whilst the factory in Naples shut down for the summer, sadly only the left feet had been sent. And now, well, now the dresses were going to have to be trimmed with carpet.
    Cassie chewed on her lip furiously whilst she waited for the next set of orders to be shouted out. It was her first day in her new job. When Kelly had introduced her to Bebe – tall, broad-boned with a crêpey bosom, deep, rasping voice and the nearest Cassie had ever seen to a man in drag – she had called Cassie her new Senior Account Executive. Cassie had gulped at the insinuation of experience her title carried and waited with dread for the barrage of questions about her fictional CV, but Bebe had merely looked her up and down and nodded her head approvingly. Her makeover, she realized, had been her interview – now she blended correctly into the Manhattan fashionscape. She had quickly cottoned on that although she knew nothing about PR and even less about fashion, all her job required her to do was keep Bebe happy. And right now, Bebe wasn’t happy.
    ‘You know,’ Kelly said slowly, picking up a wheel of thick black lace, ‘I quite like it. It’s got that . . . fifties Sicilian thing going on.’
    ‘Sicilian?’ Bebe howled. ‘Sicilian? How can I possibly work Sicilian into my theme, Kelly? You of all people should know this entire collection is based on a turn-of-the-century Dagestani teenage bride who escapes over the Caucasus mountains into Europe and ends up as the toast of Paris. Every item of clothing tells her story. I mean, just look at the embroidery. I practically had to genetically engineer people with small enough hands to work that scale. Fricking labour laws! Why they couldn’t just let me get in some kids . . .’ she muttered under her breath. She planted her hands on her hips and shook her head. ‘No. I simply cannot detour through Sicily. There are only twelve days to go and I haven’t the time to go that far south.’
    ‘Bee, call on line one for you,’ said an assistant in an impressively unwavering voice.
    ‘Tell them to call back,’ Bebe snapped.
    ‘It’s Fiona. She wants a quote for the teaser to the show.’
    Bebe crossed the room in a flash. ‘Fee . . .’ she purred huskily, taking the phone into her office.
    ‘Who’s Fiona?’ Cassie whispered as Kelly quickly brown-taped the box. It was important to know who could turn Bebe’s mood around so quickly.
    ‘Fiona Millar,’ Kelly said distractedly. ‘Fashion critic. Real heavyweight. Her words determine whether the buyers buy.’
    Cassie nodded, memorizing the name.
    ‘Which reminds me, don’t let me forget to give you a list and photos of all the front row. You need to know who’s who. It’s vital to the success of the show.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because they all hate each other,’ she said, as though it was obvious. ‘If there’s a feud going on, they have to be seated at least three chairs away from each other, and they can’t sit there waiting for more than ten minutes. It’s too volatile if one’s getting more paparazzi attention than the other. But if one goes, they all go, and that’s death, ’ she said, drawing a hand over her throat.
    ‘Gosh,’ Cassie mumbled, amazed that feelings ran so high at a mere fashion show. Her tummy rumbled loudly and she smacked a hand over it. ‘Whooops,’ she said, smiling sheepishly. ‘I’m starved. Is it nearly lunchtime yet? We could go and get a sandwich, maybe?’
    Kelly looked at her as she tossed the box of lace towards a junior, instructed her to send it back, and picked up her bag. ‘Tell Bee I’ll be back later,’ she said to the black-clad serf. ‘I’ve told you, Cass, no carbs, and little and often. There’s no time for lunch . Where’s the box of seeds I gave you? Surely you haven’t finished them already?’
    Cassie shook her head and decided to keep quiet about the fact that she’d finished them while Kelly was still in the bathroom getting ready.
    ‘Good.