Novel & Cerita Mr Fashionable

she heaved out a sigh. Martina grinned. “From what I heard Maximus was a cold-hearted billionaire. He doesn’t care about what anyone thinks of him. He just wants his money and his power. Come to think of it, he’s thirty-five and yet he’s still single. I haven’t heard any news about his love life—” “There’s one that’s rumored to be his girlfriend her name is Vivienne Durand,” she answered. “Vivienne Durand, you mean the French-American fashion icon? The one who made her name her own clothing brand, cosmetic brand, and the owner of many boutiques here and abroad?” her eyes shines as she asked.

"All right. We have a reputation to uphold. Grace is going to take you shopping today. The board anticipates Mrs. Franklin to be polished, not He glanced at my plain top and jeans and left the sentence hanging. Despite my anger, I bit my tongue. There would be no use in me fighting him. I reached for a piece of toast and said, "Okay." "All right," he responded, going back to his phone. I was drowning in silk, chiffon, and pearls by the middle of the afternoon. Williams' stern assistant, Grace, had taken me to some of Manhattan's most upscale stores. Her keen eyes analysed every aspect of my look with the accuracy of a jeweller analysing a diamond, and she was efficient without being cruel.

His voice was deep, sharp around the edges, like he didn't say more than necessary. As they walked together, Missy couldn't help but glance at her reflection in a passing window. Next to Sienna's sleek jeans and black crop top, and Marco's all-black outfit and cold stare, she looked like a storybook character that wandered into the wrong book. Everyone here looked so edgy. So fearless. And she looked like... well, her. A simp light washed jeans and a soft cream sweater. But today someone noticed that. Someone didn't laugh at it. He called her Pink.

I had tried and failed to befriend any of the maids, so far, Aly had been the easiest one to crack but she still insisted on calling me by the madam or ma'am title. "The makeup artist is here, ma'am." "Send her in." She curtsied and left the room. The doors opened wider to reveal an unfamiliar woman with a big makeup box that seemed to weigh a ton. "Mrs. Madagascar?" Her voice betrayed her outfit which screamed Dolce & Gabbana; it was soft, velvety and soothing to the ears, a contrast to her sharp outfit. "Yes, Naomi Madagascar." I offered her a polite smile, "you must be the makeup artist."

There was no denying the handsomeness of Mikhail Mazza. He was handsome, tall, and perfectly created. He had a blue tuxedo suit on and he had redo-made his hair. He was looking like a King. And she? She was more than satisfied with her looks. She was wearing a strapless red gown that swept the floor as she walked. Her makeup was top notch and it was all due to the ladies Mikhail had called over after she had applied her scary-looking makeover as Mikhail had called it. She looked like a Queen, and somehow she felt like one.

Ruggerio “Aaaaaah, and this one. Look at this.” Frank holds up his phone to me, showing me a tanned beauty posing in a bikini. “Nice.” “Looks like there will be a lot of hot babes at the party.” I hum approvingly as he shows me another picture of a blonde posing in front of the Eiffel Tower in a mini dress. As every year the young and rich are posing about getting their ticket on social media. And like every year, Frank and I go through the posts to see if we would spot the hottest ones in their masks. Normally, I would be on fire to see the girls, but something has been bothering me since I got out of that demoniac shop with my sister.

something. He came forward and taking my hand kissed it like I was some kind of Princess. "Very charming Mr.Fancy Pants" I said clearly impressed. "Or should I call you Mr. Charming from now on?" "Nah, I like fancy pants better" he said. "You look amazing" he said just gapping at me. I giggled. Just then a sleek figure came to us in a black skirt and white shirt, hair tied up in a high ponytail. "Madiha!" I exclaimed surprised.

Damn her boss. … Few minutes later, Madison rose slowly, unhurried, letting her gaze travel over Maria with open amusement. She gathered her dress from the floor and slipped it back on with deliberate ease, smoothing the fabric over her hips. “What can I say, Frankie, let her watch us made it more memorable.“ She said while using her hand to smoothen her hair in place. "That's enough, Maddie." Madison shrugged, collecting her bag. She paused at the door, close enough that Maria could smell her perfume—something floral and expensive.

It’s Monday, after school and I find myself in the familiar company walls of Model Perfect. Freddie’s office lies at the end of the hallway. I knock on his door. “Freddie, do you have a moment? I would like the chat with you.” He signals for me to sit down and close the door behind me. “I wanted to talk with you about the Paris Winter Collection. Can I still be in it?” Freddie puts down the newspaper that he has been reading. An article about me is on the front page, I can’t imagine what there is to report on me unless someone found out about Arlo or my cancer.

At the back of the herd, a slim brunette with dark skin and even darker eyes smiled at me mindlessly as her dark honeyed gaze found me, licking her lips subconsciously spotting my expensive Prada shirt and Rolex. "Ha! She is only interested in your money!" Fury barked, observing her through my Atlantic hues. "A fuck's a fuck!" I admitted, flashing the honied brunette a seductive wink that brought a slight blush to those brown cheeks. "And by the looks of her Dolce & Gabbana dress, she makes enough money without trying to get her claws into mine." I grinned, watching her with intrigue as she dropped her head of curly brown hair, letting it cover her eyes.