Chapter 122: Invitation To Paris For A Fashion Show
Sean met her eyes. "At this dinner."
"Through a mutual contact," said Vanessa. "Someone who knew I’d had significant recent interaction with you as a client. They passed along the inquiry." She paused. "She wanted to know what I knew about you. Specifically about your background, your money, where it came from."
"What did you tell them," said Sean.
"That you were a client," said Vanessa. "That our relationship was professional. That I didn’t discuss clients." She held his gaze. "And then I texted you."
Sean looked at the photographs for a moment. Vivian gathering intelligence through social contacts three days after their dinner agreement. He filed it carefully, the way he filed things that mattered but didn’t require immediate action.
"Thank you for telling me," he said.
"I thought you should know," said Vanessa. "It seemed like information you’d want." She paused. "I didn’t ask why she was asking. I didn’t think that was the right move."
"It wasn’t," said Sean. "You were right not to."
She looked at him for a moment, something in her expression adjusting slightly, the specific recalibration of someone who had done the right thing on instinct and was now hearing it confirmed.
"Is that everything you wanted to tell me," said Sean.
"Yes," said Vanessa. She collected the photographs back into the folder with practiced efficiency, closing that subject cleanly. The folder went on her lap. Her hands folded on top of it.
A brief pause settled over the consultation room.
Sean’s phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. He glanced at it discreetly, just enough to read the screen.
A system notification.
[Vanessa Chen — Favorability: 40]
[Unbound Target — Beauty Rating: 8.8]
[Third Bind Slot: Available]
He put his phone away and looked at Vanessa.
She was sitting across from him with the folder closed on her lap and her hands folded on top of it, and she was looking at him with the expression he recognized as someone building toward something, the specific arrangement of composure that people assembled around words they’d been rehearsing for longer than they’d intended to rehearse them.
He waited.
"There was also something personal I wanted to tell you," said Vanessa.
"I figured," said Sean.
She looked at him. "You figured."
"Your text said something personal," said Sean. "You’ve been very thorough about covering the professional portion first. Which suggests you were working up to the second part."
Vanessa looked at him for a moment with an expression he couldn’t fully read. "You notice a great deal."
"Occupational tendency," said Sean.
She took a breath. Clean and controlled, the kind that had a decision behind it.
"I have a fashion show next Friday," said Vanessa. "In Paris. It’s a private showcase for a new collection I’ve been developing for eight months. Press will be there. Industry figures. It’s significant, for me professionally."
"Congratulations," said Sean.
"Thank you," said Vanessa. "I have two seats remaining." She held his gaze. "I would like you to attend. As my guest."
The consultation room was quiet.
Sean looked at her.
Vanessa looked back, and whatever she’d assembled around herself for the professional portion of the afternoon was doing noticeably more work than usual. Her posture was perfect. Her expression was composed. Her hands on the folder were very, very still.
"Paris," said Sean.
"Paris," said Vanessa. "Next Friday. The show itself is Saturday evening. I’d suggest flying out Friday morning, which gives time to settle before the event." She paused. "There would be additional pieces from the collection available for private viewing the afternoon before."
"You want to dress me again," said Sean.
"I want to show you what eight months of work looks like completed," said Vanessa. "The dressing is incidental."
"Right," said Sean.
Something crossed Vanessa’s face very briefly that wasn’t quite a smile and wasn’t quite the composure she’d been maintaining. More like the two of them deciding which one was going to win for a moment.
Sean heard a sound from behind the consultation room’s partial wall. The specific sound of someone shifting their weight who was trying very hard not to be heard doing so.
He glanced at the gap in the wall.
A pair of shoes was visible underneath it. Professional shoes. The kind worn by someone who worked in a fashion store and had absolutely no reason to be standing that close to a partial wall at this particular moment.
Sean looked back at Vanessa.
Vanessa looked at the partial wall. Then back at Sean.
"That’s Sarah," said Vanessa.
"Your secretary," said Sean.
"Yes," said Vanessa.
"Is she meant to be there," said Sean.
"She is not," said Vanessa.
From behind the partial wall, Sarah’s voice came through with the specific clarity of someone who had forgotten to account for the store’s acoustics. "I’m just filing some things."
"There’s no filing cabinet in that section," said Vanessa.
A pause. "I’m pre-filing."
"Pre-filing," said Vanessa.
"It’s a new system I’m implementing," said Sarah.
Sean looked at the shoes behind the wall. Then at Vanessa. "She’s been there the whole time."
"Apparently," said Vanessa, with the expression of someone adding something to a list of things to address later.
"The Paris invitation," said Sean. "Was that her idea or yours."
"Mine," said Vanessa immediately.
"Hers first," said Sarah, from behind the wall.
"Sarah," said Vanessa.
"I’m pre-filing," said Sarah.
Sean pressed his lips together.
"She encouraged me," said Vanessa, in the tone of someone making a careful tactical concession. "The decision was mine."
Sean looked at Vanessa for a long moment. At the composure she’d maintained through the entire conversation, the professional precision of it, the way she’d built to the personal thing through the professional thing because that was apparently how she navigated the gap between the two. At her hands still very still on the folder.
"I’ll come," said Sean.
The room went completely quiet.
Then Vanessa’s composure did something Sean hadn’t seen from her in either of his two previous visits or the conversation tonight.