Legacy of Lies Read Online Free PDF

time in her life, Alex understood exactly how Cinderella had felt when her fairy godmother had shown up with that gilded pumpkin coach.
    Her idol was finally going to see her sketches!
    And when he did, he was bound to realize she was just what he needed to instill new excitement into his fall collection.
    Alex indulged in a brief tantalizing fantasy of Debord and herself working together, side by side, spending their days and nights working feverishly to the sounds of Vivaldi, united in a single, brilliant creative effort.
    As she returned Sophie Friedman’s smile with a dazzling grin of her own, Alex decided that life didn’t get much better than this.

Chapter Three
    A lex didn’t sleep all night. As she dressed for work, running one pair of black panty hose and pulling a button off the front of her dress in her fumbling nervousness, all she could think about was the upcoming moment of truth. When Debord would view her designs.
    When she entered the salon, Alex was met with the cold, unwelcoming stare of Marie Hélène.
    â€œBonjour, Madame,” Alex said with far more aplomb than she was feeling.
    Marie Hélène did not return her greeting. “Debord is waiting in his office.”
    Taking a deep breath that should have calmed her, but didn’t, Alex headed up the stairs to the designer’s penthouse office.
    As she paused before the ebony door, with its Défense d’Entrer sign, Alex had a very good idea how Marie Antoinette must have felt on her way to the guillotine. Sternly reminding herself that a faint heart never achieved anything, that this was what she’d always wanted, she knocked.
    Silence. Then, Debord’s deep voice calling out, “Entrez!”
    Squaring her shoulders, clad in an uplifting, confidence-building scarlet hunting jacket she’d defiantly worn over her black dress, she entered the designer’s sanctum sanctorum.
    Debord was talking in English on the phone. After gesturing her toward a chair on the visitor’s side of his desk, he spun his high-backed chair around and continued his conversation. From his tight, rigidly controlled tone, Alex sensed that the telephone call was not delivering good news.
    She took advantage of the delay to study the office. Like the workrooms, everything was pristine. The desk had such a sheen Debord was reflected in its gleaming jet surface. On the stark white wall behind the desk, Debord appeared in triplicate in Warhol portraits.
    â€œOf course, Madame Lord,” Debord was saying. “I understand your reluctance to commit funds just now.”
    Alex watched his fingers twist the telephone cord and had an idea that the designer would love to put those artistic fingers around Madame Lord’s neck.
    She’d heard about the possibility of Debord designing a line of ready-to-wear for Lord’s, the prestigious department store chain. After last week’s debacle, the gossip around the atelier was that the designer was desperate for such a deal in order to salvage a disastrous season.
    Now, unfortunately, it appeared that Eleanor Lord, like everyone else, had deserted Debord.
    â€œCertainly. I will look forward to seeing you at the fall défilé in July. We shall, of course, reserve your usual seat. Certainement, in the first row.”
    That statement revealed how important he considered the American executive. Seating was significant at coutureshowings; indeed, many fashion editors behaved as if their seat assignments were more important than the clothes being shown.
    â€œ Au revoir, Madame Lord.”
    The designer muttered a pungent curse, but when he turned toward Alex, his expression was bland. He did, however, lift an inquiring brow at her jacket. When he failed to offer a word of criticism, Alex let out a breath she’d been unaware of holding.
    â€œAmericans,” he said dismissively. “They cannot understand that risk-taking is the entire point of