The morning of the meeting, I dressed in my sharpest blazer and my best “please take me seriously” heels. They pinched my feet, but at least they gave me the illusion of being in control, which was more than I could say for my stomach.
I tried not to think about Julianne Kingsley, who would undoubtedly be gliding into the meeting with the effortless grace of a swan, while I felt like an anxious duck that had accidentally wandered into the wrong pond.
The venue—a sleek private club in Kensington—was the kind of place that reeked of old money and exclusivity. I stepped inside, clutching my bag, and immediately spotted her.
Julianne.
She looked like she’d just stepped out of a Vogue spread: glossy blonde waves, a perfectly tailored designer dress, and a face that radiated unshakable confidence. Meanwhile, I was pretty sure there was a coffee stain somewhere on my blouse.
“Miss Hollis,” she said smoothly, her voice as polished as her appearance. She gave me a once-over, her smile polite but barely concealing the judgment underneath. “I’ve heard… things about you.”
I forced a smile. “Hopefully nothing too scandalous.”
Julianne’s lips curled slightly, like she was enjoying a private joke. “Only that you’re… unconventional.”
The way she said it made my skin crawl, her tone dripping with polite insult. “Unconventional” was just code for “not good enough.”
Before I could come up with a witty retort, Julianne’s eyes sparkled with something new—something far more venomous. She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice.
“Alex and I used to… work very closely,” she said, her smile razor-sharp.
My stomach tightened. “Oh?”
“Oh, yes,” Julianne continued, as if she were savoring every word. “He’s very good at making you believe you matter. He’ll charm you, sweep you off your feet, and make you feel like you’re the only person in the world. And then, when he’s done with you, he’ll toss you aside like yesterday’s news.”
I clenched my jaw, my heart pounding in my chest.
Julianne’s eyes flicked over me, her smile widening. “Just thought you’d like to know. Anyway, good luck today, Miss Hollis. You’ll need it.”
Before I could respond, Princess Anna swept into the room like a whirlwind, cutting through the tension with the force of a small hurricane. She was wearing a leather jacket over a designer dress, her hair perfectly tousled in that “I don’t care but I actually do” kind of way.
“Right,” Anna said briskly, her tone commanding enough to silence the room. “Let’s get this over with. You’ve got ten minutes each to convince me why I shouldn’t tell both of you to piss off.”
And just like that, the battle had officially begun.