Free Sloane Sisters by Anna Carey Page A

if she could go to Fashion Week at Bryant Park with her. Emma had been so busy running around with Gloria, deciding on tablecloths and what paper stock she wanted for thank-you notes, she was missing most of the week’s events. But she had to go to the Ralph Lauren show tomorrow afternoon. And with a little luck, Andie would be her plus-one.
    The beige plastic intercom on the wall crackled. “Andie, Gloria is here with the flowers,” Emma’s voice cooed.
    Andie raced down the stairs and into the kitchen. Emma was standing next to the granite island and talking on her cell phone. “I realize that,” Emma said into her phone, “but it’s an inconvenience.”
    Andie stood in the doorway, frozen. No matter how many times she passed Emma in the hall or ate oatmeal across from her, she was always a little starstruck. It was like finding the Jonas Brothers in your bathroom.
    The granite kitchen island was covered with flowers. An older woman stood next to Emma, running her mauve fingernails through her thinning brown hair. Her skin was bizarrely taut.
    â€œGloria Rubenstein,” the woman announced, taking Andie’s hand in her own. “They say I’m one of the best party planners in New York—and they are right.” Gloria let out a little laugh, her eyes wide open as though she were surprised.
    Andie glanced at Emma, who was still on the phone. “Right,”Emma said, sounding annoyed. She pressed her finger against her temple. She set the cell phone on the counter and looked at Andie and Gloria apologetically. “I’m so sorry, I’m afraid we have to postpone this—apparently Winston and I have to be at a tasting at the boathouse in half an hour.”
    Andie pulled at the hem of her skirt, disappointed. The Ralph Lauren show was less than a day away, and she’d been waiting all summer to talk to Emma about modeling. But every time she’d chickened out. Today was going to be the day. She stared into Emma’s face, the same one she’d seen on the side of every New York City bus during the Chanel No. 5 campaign. “No problem,” she said brightly, forcing a smile.
    â€œThank you for understanding.” Emma grabbed her cropped trench from off a kitchen stool. Gloria waved a hand, as if used to dealing with flighty, overbooked clients.
    â€œI’ll make it up to you,” Emma promised Andie as she headed out the front door.
    Andie trudged up the stairs, just as Gloria’s cell rang.
    â€œRomando! Darling!” Gloria cried loudly. “Tell me you’re available to shoot Sunday. It’s Emma Childs’s wedding— you should be paying us .”
    Andie walked upstairs and paced outside of Winston’s old office. The decorators had painted the walls a mustard color and put a queen-size bed by the window. The door of Stella’s closet was open, a pile of brown boxes stacked next to it like a giant Jenga tower.
    â€œStella?” Andie finally asked, her voice a little squeaky. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the Allure article withStella—the girl who said Paulina was practically her aunt. If Emma couldn’t get her into Fashion Week, maybe Stella could. She crept over to the closet, where Stella was kneeling on the floor, opening a cardboard box that said STELLA HAIR PRODUCTS .
    Stella sat back on her heels, holding two bottles of Frédéric Fekkai shampoo in her hands like barbells. “Bollocks,” she mumbled, glancing up at Andie. “I’ve gone through my entire room twice and I’m still missing two boxes—Beauty Supplies and Dress Tops Three,” she explained. “And I can’t find any of my charcoals.”
    â€œStella…” Andie said slowly, leaning against the door frame, “Last year I read that article in—”
    â€œDid the movers put any boxes in your room?” Stella interrupted, pushing past Andie and digging through