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flirting.”
    “Not to Ventino, it wasn’t.” Bruce pulled at his jaw and shook his head.
    Her fingers turned cold. So did her heart. She’d lost her contract—her only sure thing. Fashion editors didn’t want her anymore, at least not Clara. And in a few months, she’d be a twenty-five-year-old freelance model with no prospects. She’d gone from the runways of Milan and Paris and London to this.
    Ivy closed her eyes, fighting against her growing sense of desperation. Who was she without modeling? And why did she feel as if she’d lived a thousand lifetimes when she’d barely lived one? She rubbed circles into her pounding temples. When she opened her eyes, she spotted an envelope on her sofa table. The one from NYU. A listlessness oozed through her body, weighting her arms until they sank by her sides like a pair of matching anchors.
    “I want your butt at the agency in thirty minutes.” Bruce walked to the door and flung it open. “Thirty minutes. I have a job for you.”

    Twenty-seven minutes, three bottles of water, and four Advil later, Ivy walked through the front doors of the Olsen Modeling Agency—a hub of energy, even at ten thirty on a Friday morning. Despite the dull thumping in the base of her skull, Ivy smiled. Bruce had a job for her. Everything was going to be fine. She walked up to the front desk, heels clicking against white marble flooring. “Hey, Maya, did you get to watch last week’s episode of The Bachelorette ?”
    Maya looked up from her work, bright eyed and fresh faced. “I can’t believe Drew got a rose. How could she pick him over Jason?”
    “I was just as puzzled as you, sister.” Ivy glanced at her watch. “Is Bruce ready for me?”
    “He said he didn’t want to be bothered until—”
    A hum of excitement interrupted Maya’s words. Vera Morrell, the newest and hottest face on the market, strutted down the hall, bookended by another of Bruce’s personal assistants and the agency’s summer intern—temporarygofer and agent-wannabe. They each wore a Bluetooth, scrolled through their iPhones, and fussed over Vera as they exited the building. Neither one gave Ivy a second look.
    “I guess he’s ready for you now,” Maya said kindly.
    Squaring her shoulders, Ivy marched down the hall, knocked once, then swung open the door to Bruce’s office.
    He tore his crossed feet from the top of his desk, scattering loose papers onto the floor, sat upright in his chair, and hung up the phone. “What do you think you’re doing?”
    Apparently, he didn’t like having his personal space barged into any more than she did. “Right on time. Exactly like you taught me.” She held out her wrist and pointed to her watch. “Just trying to maintain my professional reputation, Bruce.”
    “Sit down.”
    “You said you have a job for me.”
    He set his elbows on top of some papers and steepled his fingers.
    “Well?” She scooted onto one of the chairs facing his desk.
    “Your mother called me last night.”
    Ivy’s heart squeezed. Surely he didn’t mean Renee. Because she’d disappeared several weeks ago, shortly after learning the full extent of James’s illness. The timing of her disappearance from the rehab facility was no coincidence. Even after all these years, the grip James had on her mother’s heart was unwavering. “My mom is AWOL.”
    Bruce waved his hand. “You know who I mean.”
    “What does Marilyn have to do with my career?” She’d never wanted Ivy to get involved in the industry in the first place.
    “It has to do with her bridal boutique in Greenbrier—Something New.”
    Ivy crossed her arms and leaned back. Where exactly was he going with this?
    “She designs her own line of wedding gowns. I guess she’s starting tomake quite a name for herself. Ellie Chan—that new pop singer—wore one of Marilyn’s gowns in her wedding last year and now everybody wants to see what all the fuss is about.”
    “How exciting.”
    Bruce picked up the pen near his