Chapter 232

Chapter 232
Hannah

The evening passed pleasantly, with Emma regaling us with stories from her bartending job and my mom sharing gossip from her book club. It felt normal, stable in a way my life hadn't been for a long time.
After dinner, as my mother cleaned up despite my protests, Emma pulled me into my bedroom and closed the door.
"Okay, spill," she said, flopping onto my bed. "What's the real job situation?"
I sighed, sitting next to her. "Pretty much what I said. Lots of applications, zero responses."
"What about that design internship you mentioned?"
"Unpaid," I said with a grimace. "And full-time, which means I couldn't work elsewhere."
Emma frowned. "That's exploitation. They want free labor from a college graduate."
"Welcome to the fashion industry." I leaned back against my pillows. "I'm thinking about just taking whatever job I can get for now. Retail, coffee shop, whatever. At least until something better comes along."
"You should. Moonbeam Coffee is always hiring. Jerry would take you back in a heartbeat."
I considered it. The coffee shop had flexible hours, and I was already trained. "Maybe. I just hoped I'd have something more... I don't know, career-oriented by now."
"Most people don't land their dream job right out of college," Emma said reasonably. "Besides, a part-time gig would give you time to keep taking those design classes."
She was right. 
"Yeah, you're right," I admitted. "I just need to get over myself and accept that I might need to sling coffee again for a while."
"That's the spirit!" Emma punched my arm lightly. "Plus, all the best fashion designers had humble beginnings. Coco Chanel was an orphan who started as a seamstress, right?"
I laughed. "I don't think that's entirely accurate, but I appreciate the sentiment."
"Oh! I almost forgot," Emma said, sitting up suddenly. "Maria texted me about this fashion pop-up thing happening downtown next weekend. They're looking for part-time staff to help set up and sell. Might be a good networking opportunity."
My interest piqued. "What kind of pop-up?"
"Some indie designer collective. The pay's not great, but it's in your industry at least." She pulled out her phone and sent me the information. "Worth a shot, right?"
"Definitely." I felt a flutter of excitement. "Thanks, Em."
We rejoined my mother in the living room, where she'd opened the champagne and poured three glasses.
"To Hannah," she said, raising her glass. "May your future be as bright as your smile."
"To Hannah," Emma echoed. "Marketing genius, future fashion icon, and my personal style consultant."
I clinked glasses with them, feeling a surge of gratitude for these two women who believed in me unconditionally.
Later that night, after Emma had left and my mom had gone to bed, I sat at my desk scrolling through job listings. My eyes burned from staring at the screen, and my bank account balance glared back at me accusingly from another tab. Despite Leonardo's generous "severance package," I'd been careful not to touch much of it, wanting to save it for true emergencies.
The result: I was technically broke again, at least in terms of daily spending money.
I closed my laptop with a sigh and got ready for bed. As I brushed my teeth, I caught my reflection in the mirror and paused. Had it only been a few months since I'd stood in Leonardo's marble bathroom, wearing luxury lingerie?
It felt like another lifetime, another girl.
I spat into the sink and rinsed my mouth. No use dwelling on the past. Leonardo had made his choice, and I had moved on. Mostly.

"You're holding it wrong," Maria said, snatching the steamer from my hands. "Like this, see? You want the steam to penetrate the fabric without making it wet."
I nodded, taking the device back. "Got it."
We were at the fashion pop-up Emma had told me about. I'd applied immediately and secured a position helping one of the designers with her collection. Maria, who'd interned with the designer previously, had recommended me.
"How's it going over here?" a cheerful voice called. Melissa, the designer, approached with an armful of garment bags. She was in her early thirties with bright blue hair and an effortless style that made everything she wore look intentional.
"Great," I said, returning to the rack of dresses I was steaming. "Almost done with these."
"Perfect. When you finish, can you help set up the jewelry display? I want everything arranged by collection." She dropped the garment bags on a table. "These just arrived from my studio. They'll need steaming too."
I nodded, trying not to look overwhelmed. The pop-up was opening in three hours, and there seemed to be endless tasks to complete.
Maria nudged me after Melissa walked away. "She likes you," she whispered. "I can tell."
"How can you possibly tell that?" I asked, focusing on a particularly stubborn wrinkle.
"Because she's giving you actual responsibilities. Last pop-up, she had the new girl just folding tissue paper all day."
I allowed myself a small smile.
The next few hours passed in a blur of activity. By the time the doors opened, everything was perfect: clothes steamed and arranged by collection, jewelry displayed artfully on vintage trays, marketing materials stacked neatly by the register.
Customers trickled in slowly at first, then steadily as the afternoon progressed. I found myself enjoying the work, helping women find pieces that suited them, explaining the inspiration behind each collection.
"You have a good eye," one customer told me after I'd suggested a blouse she wouldn't have considered. "Do you work in fashion?"
"I'm studying design," I said, adjusting the collar of the blouse she was trying on. "And I just finished post-grad in marketing."
"Impressive. Are you looking for work? My company is always searching for people who understand both the creative and business sides."
My heart leapt as she handed me her business card. Veronica Lee, Marketing Director at a boutique PR firm that specialized in fashion clients.
"I am, actually," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Thank you so much."
"Send me your resume," she said with a smile. "No promises, but we might have something entry-level opening up soon."
I tucked the card carefully into my pocket, feeling like maybe, just maybe, things were starting to look up.
By the end of the day, my feet ached and my voice was hoarse from talking, but I felt accomplished. Melissa approached as I was helping to pack up unsold merchandise.
"You did great today," she said, handing me an envelope. "Here's your pay, plus a little extra. I sold more than expected."
I thanked her, surprised by the bonus.
"Actually," she continued, "I could use regular help at my studio a couple of days a week. Nothing glamorous, organizing samples, helping with fittings, maybe some basic sewing. Would you be interested?"
"Absolutely," I said immediately. "That would be perfect."
"Great. It's only part-time, but—"
"Part-time is exactly what I need," I assured her. "I'm still taking classes."
"Perfect. Start Monday?"