The Allegra Biscotti Collection

to get back to the office. If anyone there knew I snuck out on personal business…” She grimaced, crossed her eyes, and made a slashing-of-her-neck motion with her forefinger. “Lara, can you figure out how they should get the lace to you? I desperately need to find a ladies’ room before I leave. It could take forever to get a cab at this hour.”

“I’ll take care of that with Ms. Suarte,” Noah said. “This is Emma. She’ll show you where to go, Ms. Young.”

Oh. My. God! Paige is Paige Young? She is the senior fashion editor at Madison! This was big. It was like a rock star appearing at a school chorus rehearsal. Or the President of the United States showing up at a student council meeting. And on top of that, Paige Young’s dress designer was Lara Suarte.

Emma remembered reading an article in Madison about her. She had recently become the go-to wedding-dress designer for Hollywood celebrities. So not only was Emma in the presence of a real fashion designer for the very first time, but also she was about to lead one of the most influential up-and-coming fashion editors to the bathroom!

“You okay, Em?” Noah asked, putting his large paw-hand on her shoulder.

“I kind of have to go now, if you don’t mind,” Paige pleaded, shifting from one slender stiletto heel to the other. “I just had a ginormous latte.”

“S-sure,” Emma stammered. She gestured for the fashion editor to follow her down Laceland’s long narrow hall to the bathroom, which was at the far end of the warehouse.

The two walked in silence. The only sound was Paige’s heels clicking on the bare wooden floors. Emma could barely speak, so she pointed at the ladies’ room door and turned on the light for her, since the switch was inconveniently located outside the bathroom behind some shelves. Paige waved her thanks and shut the door behind her.

Emma leaned against the wall to wait. She hadn’t said more than two words since Paige arrived. How can I get Paige to remember me? Emma wondered. I need to find something semi-intelligent to say before she’s gone, so I can make some kind of impression—as something other than the lint-covered girl who once walked her to the bathroom. But what?

Emma knew that Paige Young could make or break a fashion career. And even though Emma had many years of school and training ahead of her, Paige could be editor-in-chief of Madison by the time she was ready to show her designs. She couldn’t let this moment pass her by. If only her brain would start working…

They walked back to the showroom in silence. Emma felt her once-in-a-lifetime opportunity evaporating with every click of Paige Young’s stilettos. She ran through and rejected possibilities.

I design clothes. Who cares?

I want to be a fashion designer when I grow up. Could I sound any more like a pre-couture five-year-old?

I love clothes. Duh. Who doesn’t?

As they reached the reception area, Emma turned in an attempt to form words. She figured even a lame “nice meeting you” was better than being mute-girl. But Paige wasn’t there. She wasn’t anywhere!

Oh, no, Emma thought. I lost the fashion editor!

Emma raced back down the hall and into the dim warehouse. She retraced her steps to the bathroom, but Paige was nowhere to be found. Emma looked over toward her work space. It was the only area in the back of the warehouse that was lit up. Could Paige have thought that’s where the showroom was? Emma wondered. She hurried around the filing-cabinet wall. There was Paige! Emma breathed a sigh of relief.

Until she saw her standing by the three dress forms and staring at Emma’s three sorbet-colored dresses.

Paige reached out and touched the fabric of each dress with a light, practiced touch.

Emma’s heart began to pound so loudly she was almost positive that Paige could hear it. Charlie looked up and took off his headphones. Emma shot him a “please-keep-quiet” look. By some miracle, he seemed to get the message.

“Love!” Paige exclaimed. “They’re so…Tahitian Sunset!”

Had Paige Young just used the word “love” about Emma’s dresses?

Before Emma knew what was happening, Paige whipped out her digital camera from her oversized black leather bag and started snapping away.

“Who designed these dresses?” Paige asked without turning around.

Uh-oh. Now what? Emma couldn’t tell her she was the designer. Paige would probably laugh, or worse, pat Emma on the head and give her some lukewarm encouragement. And Paige clearly was up on all the latest work by real designers—after all, that was her job—so if Emma told her the dresses were made by someone famous she would most likely know Emma was lying. Besides, how would Emma explain why these pieces were in the back corner of this random lace warehouse?

Just as suddenly as it had started, Paige’s photo frenzy stopped. She faced Emma and put her hands on her hips. “I know you can speak. I heard you before.”

I’ve got to say something, Emma thought frantically. She racked her brain for an idea. She hadn’t been this nervous since the time she had to give her first viola recital. She hated viola and hated having to play it in front of people even more. Her Italian music teacher kept whispering, “Play allegra! Allegra!” An instruction Emma never understood. The word sounded more like a pretty girl’s name than a way to play the string instrument of torture.

“Allegra.”“Allegra—?” Paige asked.

Had she said it out loud? Now she couldn’t take it back! Her comatose brain was suddenly in sugar-rush mode. It wasn’t bad, she thought. Allegra. Some of the greatest fashion designers are Italian. Allegra works. I need a last name. A last name that also sounds Italian. Dolce, Gabbana, Pucci, Armani—every name that swirled through her fashion-obsessed mind was already taken. Her eyes desperately roamed her studio for inspiration, landing on a pretty red and white tin box that now housed her straight pins but had once held biscotti, a holiday gift sent by one of her dad’s customers.

“Allegra Biscotti!” Emma blurted. Emma could see Charlie’s eyes widen, but thankfully he didn’t laugh or snort or even blink.

“Allegra Biscotti,” Paige repeated slowly. “Is she around?”

She believes me! Emma thought, wide-eyed. “Uh, no, sorry. She’s not here right now. And I’m pretty sure she’s gone for the day,” Emma said, using her best answering-the-office-phones voice that Marjorie had taught her.

Paige pursed her lips and turned back to the dress forms. She reached out and touched the raspberry dress again, feeling the fabric between her thumb and forefinger. “Do you know if this one is for sale?”

“Yes, it is!” Charlie piped in.

Emma shot Charlie an I’m-gonna-kill-you! look behind Paige’s back. But he just waved his hand a few times. Go with it!

“Are you sure?” Paige asked, turning back to Emma.

“I am,” Emma said, trying to unclench her teeth and speak normally. “Because, um, Allegra sometimes sells directly to private customers and we, uh, help her do that,” she attempted.

Paige seemed to buy that, too, because she said, “Well, the raspberry one is just bananas, it’s so good. I have to have it. I need to get in touch with Ms. Biscotti ASAP. How do I do that?”

That was a really good question. How did someone get in touch with a fake fashion designer who was actually a fourteen-year-old girl standing right there?

Paige’s cell phone trilled from deep within her oversized bag. “Got to pause,” she said to Emma as she dug for her phone and walked a few steps away to take the call.