9!

MABEL

"Liam, sweetie, not right now." Vanessa's voice was gentle but firm. "Mommy's in a meeting."

The footsteps stopped abruptly. I heard a small, disappointed "Okay," followed by retreating feet.

My hands gripped the portfolio so tightly my knuckles turned white. He'd been right there. Right down that hallway. So close I could have reached out and….

"I'm sorry about that," Vanessa said, settling into the chair across from me. "My son gets excited when he hears new voices."

"It's fine." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Kids are wonderful."

Rose returned with a tray holding coffee and pastries. She set it on the table between us, then took a seat slightly behind Vanessa, tablet at the ready.

"So," Vanessa said, accepting a cup of coffee from Rose. "Your work is impressive. Dakota Mills hasn't looked that good in years. How did you do it?"

I forced myself to focus. This was business. I needed to be professional. I couldn't fall apart just because I'd heard my son's voice.

"Dakota needed structure," I said, opening my portfolio to show before-and-after photos.

"She has a beautiful figure, but she was wearing trends instead of dressing for her body type. I created a signature look for her, classic silhouettes with unexpected details. It made her memorable."

Vanessa studied the photos, nodding. "You have an eye for it. Not just fashion, but understanding how people want to be perceived."

"That's exactly it," Rose chimed in. "Fashion isn't just about clothes. It's about telling a story."

I turned to Rose, grateful for her enthusiasm. "Exactly. Every client has a narrative they want to project. My job is to help them tell that story authentically."

"What's my story?" Vanessa asked, leaning back in her chair. Her gaze was sharp, assessing.

I'd prepared for this question. "Power without pretense. You're one of the most successful women in New York real estate, but you don't flaunt it. Your style should reflect that, strong, elegant, timeless. Nothing trendy or attention-seeking. You want people to remember you, not what you were wearing."

Vanessa's lips curved into a small smile. "You did your homework."

"I always do."

Rose glanced at Vanessa. "I told you she was good."

Vanessa set down her coffee cup. "Rose has been pushing me to hire a stylist for months. I've always dressed myself, but with the amount of public appearances I have coming up..."

She trailed off, then looked at me directly. "I need someone who understands that I'm not trying to be a fashion icon. I'm a businesswoman. A mother. I want to look professional and put-together without it seeming like I'm trying too hard."

"That's my specialty," I said. "Effortless elegance."

Rose pulled up a document on her tablet. "So we have six events over the next three months. The first is Liam's fifth birthday party in two weeks."

My heart skipped. Two weeks. I'd see him in two weeks.

Rose continued, scrolling through her notes. "It's a private party, about thirty kids and their parents. We're hosting it here in the penthouse. Nothing too fancy, but there will be a photographer documenting it for Ms. Latham's personal collection."

"What's the theme?" I asked, pulling out my notepad.

"Superheroes," Vanessa said with a soft laugh. "Liam is obsessed with Spider-Man right now."

I wrote it down, my hand trembling slightly. Spider-Man. My son loved Spider-Man.

"For the party, I'd suggest something playful but polished," I said. "Maybe tailored trousers with a silk blouse in a bold color. You want to look like a mom who's present and engaged, but still yourself."

Vanessa nodded approvingly. "I like that."

Rose listed off the other events: a charity gala for a children's hospital, a real estate industry awards ceremony, a panel discussion at Columbia Business School, a private dinner with potential investors, and a New Year's Eve benefit.

As she spoke, I took detailed notes, my mind cataloging each event, each opportunity to be close to Liam.

"The timeline is tight," Rose said. "But Ms. Latham trusts my judgment, and I think you're perfect for this."

"I appreciate that," I said, meeting Rose's eyes. There was genuine warmth there, something I hadn't expected.

In my experience, assistants to powerful women were either cold and territorial or fake and sycophantic.

Rose was neither. She seemed... real.

"So, logistics," Vanessa said. "I assume you'll need my measurements, access to my current wardrobe, and time to source pieces for each event?"

"Yes. I'd like to schedule a fitting session this week if possible. I'll pull options from designers I work with, and we can narrow down what works best for each occasion."

"Rose will coordinate with you." Vanessa stood, and I followed suit.

"I have a board meeting in an hour, but before you go, let me show you my closet. It'll give you a sense of what I already have."

She led me down the hallway, Rose trailing behind us. As we walked, I noticed framed photos on the walls, Vanessa and Liam at the beach, Vanessa and Liam at a park, Vanessa and Liam reading together on the sofa.

In every photo, they looked happy. Complete.

My chest ached.

Vanessa's closet was the size of my first LA apartment. Rows of designer suits, shelves of shoes, drawers of accessories all meticulously organized.

"As you can see, I'm a creature of habit," Vanessa said, gesturing to the predominantly black, navy, and gray color palette. "I stick with what works."

"Nothing wrong with that," I said, running my hand along a rack of blazers.

"But we can introduce some variation without losing your signature style. A burgundy here, a deep emerald there. Colors that command attention without screaming for it."

"I like how you think," Vanessa said.

Rose was beaming. "I knew you two would click."

As we walked back to the living room, I heard it again, that small voice, this time singing something off-key from behind a closed door.

My son. Singing.

I wanted to stop, to press my ear to the door, to memorize every note.

But Vanessa was already at the elevator, holding it open for me.

"Rose will send you my measurements and schedule by tonight," Vanessa said as I stepped inside.

"Thank you for coming, Mabel. I think this is going to be a great partnership."

"I think so too," I managed.

As the elevator doors closed, I caught one last glimpse of Rose waving goodbye, her smile genuine and bright.

The elevator descended, and I finally let myself breathe.

I was in.

I had access.

And in two weeks, at Liam's birthday party, I'd finally meet my son.

I pressed my hand against my chest, feeling my heart hammer against my ribs.

*Two weeks.*

I could survive two weeks.

I'd survived five years.

What was two more weeks?

But as the elevator reached the lobby, I realized something that made my stomach twist.

Two weeks felt like an eternity.