UGLY? No More!
Standing in the middle of the gallery foyer, with her arms elegantly folded and a cashmere shawl tossed over her designer dress like it was nothing more than an afterthought, was a woman who looked like she belonged on the cover of a royal magazine.
Tall. Composed. Every bit the portrait of an Upper East Side queen.
Julian’s mother.
Vivienne Cross.
“I’ve called you three times this week,” she said coolly, her gaze sweeping her son head to toe, then drifting, just briefly, to Elara beside him. “And your assistant tells me you’ve been in closed meetings all morning. Do I no longer warrant a response?”
Julian exhaled through his nose, tension immediately drawing across his shoulders.
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