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certain
career path, so she kept her design ambitions to herself. As for the knitting
shop, well, it was a good job. A toe in the fashion world. And she planned to
make a specialty line of knitted bags, so if Georgia didn't mind displaying a
few…

Georgia didn't mind at all.

"I don't want to hear 'I told you so' from my mother for the next fifty
years," Peri had confessed. "If it doesn't
work out, I'll just claim I've been finding myself and reapply to law school.
Let's be real: I had straight A's at Smith, my LSAT kicked ass, I'm West
Indian, and I'm a woman. It's a double win for the quota freaks and a bonus for
the profs who actually care about ability."

Georgia admired Peri's chutzpah, her daring to take
chances because she could, not because she had to. Now, two years later, Peri still took classes and the Web site remained under
construction, but she had started selling her knitted and felted bags in the
shop and hit the flea market scene with her fabric purses as often as she
could. And when she wasn't planning to be a playwright, pastry chef, or
archaeologist, Dakota had informed Georgia that she very much intended to
become Peri's vice-president. Or the model for her ad
campaign. She wasn't sure which.

"So it's been a strange day up here, too." Anita's watched the door
close after Peri ; her voice was mild but it was
shaking ever so slightly. Georgia assumed she had been startled by her run-in
on the stairs.

"I'll say—mystery girl has been making frequent appearances. But don't
worry, I don't think she's dangerous, just a bit mixed up." Georgia wanted
to sound reassuring. "She's not our only new visitor for the day: Peri said some wafer-thin fancypants —Mrs.
Investment Banker So-and-So—came in with that magazine clipping from New
York and said she wants to hire me to make a very important gown. She
arrived when I was at the bank." Georgia was secretly thrilled at the
prospect. "Here's the thing: she wouldn't leave any details with Peri , just a name and number and said I was to call her
immediately. With a big stress on the 'immediately.'"

"So naturally you haven't called yet?" Anita knew Georgia too well,
knew her automatic distrust of people with money to burn. "Being wealthy
doesn't make someone a bad person, sweetheart."

"I love to knit, I love to work, I loathe being treated like the hired
help," said Georgia evenly. There was a certain kind of New Yorker whom
Georgia had always had trouble accepting. The entitled. The demandingly
entitled. The trust-fund babies she once worked with at the publishing house
who hadn't fretted over supporting themselves. Who had treated everyone as just
a little less than they were. As for how she felt about the stereotype of the pushy
New Yorker? That was almost redundant. Georgia had never had a problem with a
person who knew her own mind, but she simply couldn't abide anyone who believed
a moneyed background made them that little bit better.

And maybe she was a tad envious, too. Not that she'd admit it—to herself or
anyone else, for that matter. Anita was wealthy. Rich, even. But Georgia's
problem wasn't really people with money. It was people who thought money was
what mattered. People like James.

Anita was smiling benignly, waiting for Georgia to come back from her thoughts.

"That's the nature of business, my dear, making your client feel that
somehow she's got something over you. It makes her want to come back again and
again. And that's what you want: for your customers to spend loads of
money."

"I promise I'll call this woman tonight, before everyone gets here for
your regular extravaganza." Georgia raked her curls with her hand. "I
think I'll sit in. Dakota is planning to make cookies tonight—something about
extending her product line. She's given up on the bike sales and is working on
a plan to convince Marty to invest in her little enterprise; I've got to warn
him. She's been asking me how to write a business plan."

"He's on to her already; she