Chapter 9 - The Counter-Attack
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I stood in Clara’s office, feeling a cold rage ignite deep in my chest.
“They’re blacklisting me,” I said quietly.
“They’re protecting their territory, Kate,” Clara said gently. “In this town, money talks. You threw a ring at the Miller heir in front of four hundred people. You embarrassed them. Did you really think Charles Miller would let you walk away clean?”
“I didn't embarrass him, Clara. He humiliated himself.”
I took the cancellation paper off her desk, folded it neatly, and placed it inside my purse.
“Thank you for being honest with me, Clara,” I said.
“What are you going to do, Kate?” she asked, a hint of concern in her voice. “You’ve spent your entire savings on this line. If you don't show it this month, your studio will go under.”
I looked at her, a cold, sharp smile touching my lips. “If they won't let me build a table at their show, Clara… I’ll just throw my own.”
I walked out of the building and pulled up my phone contacts. I didn't call the high-society buyers or the boutique owners who relied on the Miller family’s funding.
Instead, I called Marcus Brody.
Marcus was the head fashion editor for Vanguard, a digital fashion magazine known for tearing down traditional runway snobbery and highlighting independent, cutthroat designers.
“Marcus?” I said when he picked up. “It’s Kate Sullivan.”
“Kate!” Marcus’s loud, energetic voice boomed through the speaker. “I heard about the charity gala incident! The whole town is talking about it! Did you really hit Brad Miller in the face with a two-carat diamond?”
“I did,” I said smoothly. “And now his father and Vanessa Carter just had me pulled from the West Coast Preview schedule.”
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A long pause hung on the line. Then Marcus let out a low, wicked whistle. “Those arrogant old bastards. What’s your play, Sullivan?”
“I’m throwing a private runway show the exact same night as their opening gala,” I said. “In the alleyway right outside my downtown studio. Rain or shine. I want Vanguard to stream it live.”
