I cried all night. Paige and I both curled up in my Aunt Suze’s bed and waited for her to come home, my tears soaking her pillow. When she did, when the early morning light was beginning to peek in through the window, she immediately made us each a drink. A very, very stiff drink. That allowed me to sleep for a few hours.

When I woke up, I forgot, for one blissful moment, what had happened. Then it all came rushing back, and the tears started flowing again. My face was a mess—my eyes red and puffy, my skin blotchy and my nose runny. And I had my interview with Sara Saunders that afternoon. If I had thought the first batch of bad publicity—the photos of Charlie and I in the alleyway—had been bad, well, they were nothing compared to the backlash from the naked pictures that Zeke had so kindly sold to the British tabloids.

I didn’t even have the energy to hate him. I just felt sad. Sad and lonely. Even with Paige by my side, trying her best to cheer me up, I couldn’t escape the reality that my name was now basically synonymous with “gold-digging whore.” My social media accounts were overrun with nasty trolls, and somehow my phone number had been made public, so I kept getting mean texts and the occasional, unwanted dick pic from strange men. Paige did her best to block the numbers, making sure to keep my phone out of my hand.

But I was still hoping to hear from Charlie. I couldn’t believe that he really meant everything he had said last night. That he could have lost his trust in me so quickly.

“Maybe I should text him,” I suggested to Paige.

She pressed her lips together. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“I just need to explain everything,” I told her. “About what happened with Zeke.”

“You’ve got nothing to be ashamed about,” Paige said fiercely. “You were young and vulnerable. He took advantage of you then, and even if he didn’t, it’s nobody’s fucking business. If Charlie tries to make you feel ashamed, then he’s just as bad as the rest of them.”

“It’s not like that.” I looked down at my phone, unable to think of the words to explain myself. Yes, I had been young, and yes, I had been vulnerable, but I could see it from Charlie’s perspective, too. He had asked me point blank if I had any secrets. And after the reporter at the tea tent, after the game, I should have said something to him. I should have warned him. But I was still so ashamed of what had happened. And that embarrassment had now affected the lives of others.

Still, it was something he should know.

It took me almost an hour to write the text. It was only a few sentences but I agonized over them, making Paige read them and re-read them until we both thought they were good enough. And then I sent it.

“Dear Charlie,” it said. “I know this doesn’t excuse keeping secrets from you, but what happened with Zeke is something I regret and was embarrassed to share. But I should have trusted you. I’m sorry.”

I waited. And waited. And waited for a response.

Hours later there was nothing.

“You need to get ready for your interview,” my Aunt Suze reminded me gently, after she caught Paige and I staring at my phone.

“I can’t go.”

“Bullshit.” Paige glared at me. “This is the chance of a lifetime, and you’re not letting that Zeke asshole screw it up for you.”

“But how can I sit there and interview like none of this is happening?” I despaired. “The whole city thinks I’m a total slut. There’s no way Sara hasn’t seen the stories. They probably won’t even let me in the building.”

“Or, she’s a professional who only cares about your designs.” Paige gave me a hug. “Don’t let the bastards win,” she told me. “Go out there with your head held high. And remember, you haven’t done anything to be ashamed of. Fuck, if I had your body, I’d be taking naked photos 24-7.”

I managed a smile. “You wouldn’t say that if they wound up in the front page.”

“Of course I would.” Paige beamed. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it, baby.”

* * *

With the help of one of Aunt Suze’s wigs, a wide-brimmed hat, and a pair of sunglasses, I was able to evade the paparazzi that had once again set up shop outside the apartment. Paige served as my decoy—wearing a shirt I had been photographed in before and offering to answer questions at the coffee shop down the street. No telling how long it took them to figure out that tall, willowy Paige was definitely not the short, curvy tramp they were all hoping to interview. But by that point I was already halfway across town.

My wig, hat, and sunglasses shoved into my oversized purse, I did the requisite “check your teeth, check your eyeliner, check your boobs” that all women did before entering into a situation where they aimed to impress. Teeth were clean, eyeliner was neat, and boobs, well, they were as under control as they could be.

I had decided to wear all black—black capris, black V-neck, and black flats. I wanted to look like a busty Audrey Hepburn, with my hair pulled back in a ponytail. The goal was to look professional, not flashy. To let my designs speak for themselves. Because that’s what I wanted Sara Saunders to remember. My drawings and my ideas.

Not my naked boobs on the front page of every tabloid in town.

The cab pulled up in front of the address I had been given by the secretary, and I took a deep breath. Before I got out, I checked my phone one last time, hoping that Charlie had responded to my text. He hadn’t. I swallowed my self-pity and turned off my phone. The last thing I wanted was for it to start ringing or vibrating during my meeting. I wanted no distractions. I didn’t want anything to interrupt my time with my idol.

Paige was right. This was the chance of a lifetime, and even if everything else was falling apart, I had to keep it together for the next hour, or I’d regret it for the rest of my life.

And I already had too many regrets in my heart today.

Smoothing back my hair, I grabbed my bag and my portfolio, paid the cabbie, and headed into the building. The receptionist, who gave me a knowing but kind look, led me back to a meeting room where I was given a glass of water and told to wait. Somehow, without my phone to tell me the time, it seemed like I waited forever. I was starting to get sweaty when the door opened and the woman herself walked in.

She took one look at me and started laughing. We were wearing almost the exact same outfit, only she actually looked like Audrey Hepburn, with short brown hair and a long, elegant neck.

“I can tell we’re going to get along great,” she said, shaking my hand.

“Thank you so much for meeting with me,” I told her, sitting back down at the table. “Especially considering . . . you know.”

She waved a hand. “Oh please, I was absolutely dying over that dress you wore to the gala. Gorgeous!”

I flushed, overwhelmed by her praise.

“I see you brought your portfolio.” She gestured towards the notebook, and I passed it over.

I watched nervously as Sara flipped through the pages of designs, mentally chastising myself for including certain drawings and leaving out others. When she was finished, she closed it and laced her fingers together on top of it.

“Tell me about your inspirations,” she asked.

I managed a nervous laugh. “Will you think I’m sucking up if I say you are?”

She gave me a smile. “Not at all. But then, I’m a total egomaniac who loves getting praised. Like any artist.” She tapped a finger on the leather portfolio. “But I can tell you have other influences.”

“Well, there is Audrey Hepburn, of course,” I said, gesturing towards our identical outfits. “Though, I especially love how Cecil Beaton dressed her in My Fair Lady. Its avant-garde, but simple too, if that makes sense.”

Sara nodded, and encouraged, I continued.

“I guess I’m always balancing between a good, basic design and wanting to do something outrageous with it. I love Yohji Yamamoto and Paco Rabanne—they both do a great job straddling the line between the two.”

“Absolutely,” Sara leaned forward. “I love Rabanne’s work. His ‘12 Unwearable Dresses in Contemporary Fabrics’ line is one of my favorites. Such an inspiration.” She flipped through some more of my drawings. “But your designs are very wearable.” She gave me a look. “Unique, but very wearable.” Pointing to one of the dresses I had painted with peacock feathers, she smiled. “Like this one. I could see every girl in London wanting a version of this.”

“You’re very kind,” I told her, feeling as if I was walking on air. My favorite designer, showering me with praise. It made the day a whole lot better.

“So what are your plans?” she asked, closing the portfolio. “Are you in fashion school, or committed to any internships back in the States?”

“Umm, I’ve been keeping my options open,” I answered vaguely, not wanting to admit that I hadn’t had the guts to apply to any design jobs or classes.

“I know you’re probably set on starting your own label,” Sara continued. “Most young designers want to strike out on their own. But if you’re interested, I’d love to offer you a job here. We need a designer like you, with a strong vision and good ideas, and I think I could be a good mentor to you.”

My jaw dropped. I had come to the meeting expecting to bask in the mere presence of one of my fashion idols. I hadn’t even allowed myself to imagine interviewing for a job, let alone being offered one. On the spot.

“You don’t have to decide at this moment,” Sara told me. “There are tons of other things to discuss—responsibility, salary, relocation—but I hope you’ll consider it.”

“Of course,” I said, still in shock. “It’s an incredible offer.”

Sara winked. “Yes, yes it is.” She stood and shook my hand. “And not one I’d offer to just anyone.”

“But what about the press?” I found myself asking, before I could shut my mouth. “Aren’t you worried about all the bad publicity?”

Sara snorted. “Todays headlines are tomorrow’s chip wrappers,” she said with a smile. “I’m not worried about a little notoriety. As long as you focus and do your job, that’s all that matters to me.” She got to her feet. “It was a pleasure meeting you,” she said, shaking my hand. “Call me if you have any questions. I look forward to seeing you again soon.”

“You too,” I managed faintly, only able to stare as she breezed out of the room as if she hadn’t just completely changed my life.