Death Of A Supermodel Part 27

"We're considering VP of Everything," Jeremy said.

Dionne smiled. Ruby laughed for show while Laura read her multiple texts from Mom.

-The b.u.t.tons shouldn't be functional-.

-On the cuff-.

Ruby, who must have been getting the same texts, held up her phone and looked behind her at the orange gown. Ding again. Laura looked up at Mom to see if she had lost her mind, but her mother was tapping her phone furiously.

-Wake up! why would there be a metal shank on a cuff? look at it. it's drooping. I know it had an interior shank. I sewed it on myself. that dress isn't the right one- Laura glanced up at the orange dress in all its darkest saffron glory. The little sleeves had cuffs, and the cuffs had b.u.t.tons-metal shank b.u.t.tons that drooped.

b.u.t.tons on couture gowns did not droop.

The dress was fakefakefake.

Laura stared at Dionne Frescan and smiled like an idiot.

Available now at Amazon.

Acknowledgements.

This book was written once without models. Three quarters through, I tossed it and started over. Lots of whining and puling ensued, and I have to thank my family for tolerating me, especially my husband, who is a superhero. He was totally behind me for NaNoWriMo, where I wrote those first 68 thousand trashed words, and thereafter, where I wrote what you see here.

I hate research. I hate it so much, I wrote a series of books about something I know so well, I'm the person people come to when they want to do research in the first place.

But, d.a.m.n you imagination, new stuff keeps popping up.

So, I'd like to thank Art Van Hecke and the folks at leatherworker.net for help with a NaNoWriMo plot twist that got moved to a future story. Look for something about rare animal skins in The Case of the Jealous Lover. Or not. I have a way of deleting entire books.

Toward the editing phase of this book, I enlisted the help of Emily Schaller, an adult living with cystic fibrosis. This was way too late. Any errors within are completely mine, but I'll be making her crazy throughout the rest of the series.

Speaking of poor punctuation, thanks, Lynn, for trying so hard to teach me where the commas go (and don't) and for pointing out my tics and bad habits. I promise at least half of it gets into my long-term memory. Also, I'd like to shout out to Jim, one of my proofreaders who kept me from looking like a complete a.s.s in Dead Is the New Black and has undoubtedly done so here as well. However, if I do look like an a.s.s, it's probably my own fault.

The fas.h.i.+on industry is no joke. Life-choking dedication is not only encouraged, it is expected. Like working 60 hours a week, Skyping China at 9 p.m. from the office, and being so committed there's no time for family or... I don't know... novel writing. I have the only fas.h.i.+on job in Los Angeles where the most important thing is getting the job done. For this att.i.tude I have to thank Anne, my boss, without whom I'd have a job at this other life-sucking company I won't name.

Renee Barratt of The Cover Counts helped with the cover and with overall partners.h.i.+p and friends.h.i.+p in my graphic design business. I won't tell you what she did, but doesn't it look great?

It would be a little peculiar to have an ugly book about designers. So my formatter is Heather Adkins. The fact that you're reading this right now, without little weird tags and oddball justifications, and the fact that it's so pretty in general, is due to her expertise.

The indie author community is lousy with whackjobs, narcissists, and psychopaths, which is what makes the sane communities I have found so precious. For the cream at the top of IWU, and that other little klatch who shall remain ever nameless, thank you for just being there. Sausage for everyone!

Christine DeMaio-Rice, Los Angeles, California.

end.