The oak table was full of slices of fabric. Strips of peacock blue, lilac, and amber were clipped to small paper sheets. I brushed a strand of my honey-brown hair behind my ear.

"Have you been here all night?" Irina asked.

I looked up, my mouth tilting in a wry smile. I knew I wasn't a pleasant sight. A takeaway box sat at the edge of the corner, the greasy flaps opened and my hair had been piled into a messy bun with strands sticking out, waving their delicate hands like a spinning fan.

Irina didn't wait for me to answer she placed down the paperboard cup holder with her iced caramel latte and my iced matcha latte, perilously on the edge. She yanked open the blinds of our small office. It was located in the heart of the Bronx. Far from the glitz of the Upper East Side where I had lived my entire life.

"Pardon my observation, boss," she said. "But you look like shit."

"This is why you're my best friend," I said. "You know how to pick me up when I'm down."

"I'm serious, Poppy," she said. "When was the last time you got like six hours of sleep."

I opened my mouth before she cut me off.

"In the last week."

"Look we need a new collection and a sponsor if we want to be considered for New York Fashion Week," I said.

I had been working day and night to finish this collection. Irina worked here part-time between her classes at NYU only because she was my best friend. I didn't have anything to pay her yet except my gratitude, but if we got the recognition fashion week could bring, we could gain a foothold in the fashion world. We could begin generating an income.

Being a designer had been my dream since I was a kid. And for so long it had seemed possible. Our family had been wealthy, Dad had owned several telecommunication companies and Mum was on every charity board in Manhattan. But then my brother Spencer had died and their empire had crumbled to dust.

My throat tightened at the thought of my brother. Irina pushed my matcha into my hands, distracting me from my dark thoughts.

My phone rang and Irina frowned.

"You know how odd it is that you talk to your ex-boyfriend's dad."

"He's been a better father to me in the last few years than my own," I said.

Dad could barely look at me after Spencer died. We'd been twins and sometimes it felt like he hated that I had survived with nothing but a scar on my palm and Spencer had died. He'd always been closer to Spencer, but still, it stung.

"Also I told you he's my godfather," I added.

I answered the call from Cecilio Silvestro the man who birthed the boy who broke my fragile heart.

"Hi Cecilio," I said brightly.

"Hi, kid," he said. "How's the collection coming along?"

"I have a theme and a color scheme just finalizing the designs," I said.

"Knew you had it in you," he said. There were voices in the background "Listen I'm walking into a meeting, but we should grab lunch this afternoon at Le Bernadine and you can tell me all about it."

"I don't—"

"I'll send a car."

The line clicked and I cursed. Last time he and his wife Bianca had invited me to dinner I'd been forced to sneak out the back just when the sprinklers had come on, because Enzo, my insufferable ex, had stopped by for a visit.

Granted it was his house, it was inconvenient that I'd been the one forced to escape like a common thief. I hadn't seen Enzo in five years and with the way things ended, I'd like to keep it that way.

"Looks like I'm being forced to take a lunch break," I said.

"Good," Irina said. "Now let me see those sketches."

***

Cecilio had booked out the entire private room. The waiter that led me to the back glanced at me twice. As if I had sprouted two heads. I wasn't covered in rare jewels or the latest designer. My dress was a simple black dress that I'd worn more times than I could count and strapped to my feet was a pair of red kitten heels.

"Here you are, ma'am."

I froze in the doorway. Cecilio was speaking low and hushed to the person beside him. It had been years, but I would never forget just how shatteringly beautiful Enzo Silvestro was. His thick, lush black hair was slightly overgrown. His full mouth twisted in a tight line. He gripped his wineglass so tightly I feared it would shatter.

Suddenly his eyes shot up, as if he could feel my presence and his already thunderous mood plummeted. He stood up so quickly, that his chair rattled and fell back to the ground.

"What is she doing here?" he demanded. "Call security!"

The waiter's pale brows widened in alarm as if all his suspicions had been confirmed.

"Don't bother," I said. "I'm leaving."

"No," Cecilio said. "This is ridiculous. Sit down both of you."

"Either she leaves or I do," Enzo said. "Pick old man."

"Sit. Down," Cecilio barked. His voice was sharp enough to make me flinch.

Enzo gritted his teeth and for a moment I thought he would disobey him, but slowly he sat down, looking like a lion ready to prowl and sink his teeth into his prey's jugular. His prey being me.

"You as well, Poppy," Cecilio said, a bit gentler. "Please."

I sat on the edge of my seat. It was a circular table with Cecilio to my right and Enzo to my left. Sweat beaded down my nape.

"You never mentioned he'd be here," I said. "If I'd known—"

"You were going to meet my father alone?" Enzo asked. "Didn't know you liked them senile?"

"I beg your finest pardon?" Cecilio's voice rose again. "Senile?"

"I asked you a question?" Enzo said. Dark eyes locked on mine. His eyes were a shade of brown so dark it appeared black. It was framed by thick, long lashes that had always made me a little envious.

"I'm not going to dignify that accusation with a remark."

"What dignity do you have if you're here begging for scraps?" Enzo spat.

My shoulders stiffened. His words cut my raw heart open. It was cruel of him to remind me that there had been a time when we were equals, before my father had gone bankrupt, before the house he'd put as collateral was seized. There had been a time when I wouldn't look so out of place in a restaurant like this. A time when I had been a beautiful socialite and not a struggling designer.

"Enough," Cecilio barked. "I did not bring you here to tear into the poor girl."

"Poor is right," Enzo said. "Is this what you have become? A common beggar?"

I stood up. "I've had enough of this. Goodbye, Cecilio, and you, Enzo I wish you a terrible day, better yet a terrible life. Never speak to me again."

"Sit down, Poppy," Cecilio said. "You'll want to hear what I have to say."

"I don't thin—"

"Indulge me," he said.

I sat down stiffly, ignoring Enzo's glare. I can't believe I dated him for two years. We'd been young then teenagers. It ended when we were sixteen. We were twenty-one now and we should have long been past this hostile behavior, but Enzo still blamed me for everything, refusing to accept his part in the break-up.

"I have a proposal for you both," Cecilio said. "One that will help will benefit you both."

"And what's that?" I asked.

Cecilio looked at us  both, before settling on Enzo.

"You are at risk of losing the company," he said.

The Silvestros owned one of the world's largest and most prestigious luxury goods conglomerates with over sixty high-end brands under its portfolio. It was why I relied so much on Cecilio's advice and insight. While he had never built a fashion brand he owned plenty and always had useful information to share.

"Hard to lose a company with your name on it," Enzo said smugly.

Cecilio picked up his phone and turned it towards Enzo. From the little I could see it was one of those online tabloids that constantly reported on Enzo. Sometimes I read it just to be petty, but this one I hadn't seen before.

The "King of Luxury" becomes the "King of Disappointment"

Twenty-one-year-old Lorenzo Silvestro heir to Silvestro Group is seen leaving a L.A nightclub drunk and holding onto an older model.

Cecilio pulled back his phone before I could read the sordid gossip column.

"King of Disappointment has a certain ring to it," I said. "I wish I had thought of it."

"I certainly wasn't a disappointment when I had you in my bed an—"

"Stop, right there," Cecilio said. "Not another word."

My fists clenched tight, fuming in silence while Enzo simply smirked.

"That isn't the first news outlet to bad mouth you," Cecilio said. His face grew unnaturally red. He began to switch to Italian. His words were sharp and chiding.

"Look, as much as I am enjoying watching Enzo get torn a new one I have a busy schedule and—"

"Stop pretending like you are busy," Enzo said annoyed. "You've made twenty sales in the past year. And half of that is likely your friends and family."

"How do you—"

"You can buy any information online these days," he said.

"You're keeping tabs on me," I whispered.

"Keep your friends close and enemies closer sort of thing," Enzo said. "Don't be flattered."

I took a long, deep breath.

"Cecilio, why am I here?"

"There is a board meeting in six months and the stakeholders are inclined to replace Enzo with my CFO as the next in line to the Silvestro Group," he said. "He has six months to clean up his image."

"And what does that have to do with me?" I asked.

"There is a press conference in four hours," he said slowly. "Where you will both be announcing your engagement."

My mouth dropped open. It was then that the waiter lay down an expensive bottle of wine. He poured the white liquid in our flutes, as I sat there blinking like an idiot.

A glance at Enzo showed that he was just as horrified as I was. His brows shot up to his hairline and I hated that he was more beautiful than I remembered. Those gossip columns I read about him didn't do him justice.

His face was sharp and symmetrical like one of those Grecian stone busts I'd seen at the Met once as if he had been carved with perfection in mind. He had a bit of stubble on his jaw that only brought attention to his full mouth. And he wore a midnight blue suit that was tailored to his lean, muscular body.

Enzo grabbed his glass of wine and downed it. Then he grabbed mine and tilted it up.

"And you were offended when I called you senile," Enzo hissed. "What else do you call this?"

Cecilio placed a thick booklet before each of us.

"This outlines the terms of the arrangement," he said. "It will be a six-month engagement until the vote commences then you can both part amicably. Poppy, you will receive an investment of two million dollars into your brand and it will be listed under our advisor portfolio, but you will retain ownership which should be sufficient to get you a place in fashion week as you've been working so hard towards. This is your chance to make your dreams come true. To take back everything fate stole from you."

My eyes widened at the sheer number of zeros on the front page. Being listed under Silvestro Group would bring a lot of attention to my brand. It could make a difference. It was hard to upscale when my prices were so high because of production costs. It was hard to price my pieces lower when I made two yearly trips to Italy and France to buy fabric. I had to account for the flight, accommodations, and supplies when I picked my pricing.

"You can't be considering this?" Enzo said.

"You should be thanking her for helping save your ass," he said. "Your rival Nathan Winfrey is a family man with two children. You will be expected to share the same values as him."

"I'll make this painless for all of us," Enzo said. "Keep the company."

He stood up before Cecilio's next words rooted him to the spot.

"If you walk away, I will disown you," he warned.

"Mum wouldn't let you," Enzo said. Though his words sounded uncertain.

"I spoke to her and we've agreed a bit of tough love is needed to mold you," he said. "You've lost sight of your future."

Enzo slowly sat down. His jaw was so tight it was a wonder he didn't crack a tooth.

"Well, Poppy?" Cecilio asked. "Ready to join the family?"

It was tempting. Cecilio knew everything I wanted because I had told him. He was dangling my dreams before me. Six months of suffering for a lifetime of success and the chance to nurture the only thing I had ever truly cared about.

"Give us a moment, Enzo?" Cecilio said. "Go take a walk or something."

Enzo didn't have to be told twice. He was gone before Cecilio could finish speaking. His fingers unraveled his cigarette box.

"This is crazy, Cecilio."

"I know there is no love between you too, but he's been drowning for some time now," he said. "He was different when you were around. Happy. But ever since Spencer died and then you both ended, he lost his two favorite people in the world."

My throat tightened. Spencer wasn't just my world, he was also Enzo's best friend.

"Is this really about the company or is this just the worst matchmaking plot ever?"

"Everything is true," he said. "His behavior affects our stocks and the stakeholders myself included are concerned. Proving that he is ready to settle down with a nice girl will help change this playboy image he cultivated."

I stared at the contract.

"You deserve this, Poppy," he said. "Your brand has heart and soul. I would have invested in you regardless, but I would love it if you helped my son. He is all I have."

"Great," I said, throwing up my hands. "You're guilt-tripping me."

Enzo returned. He smelled like smoke. He knew I hated it when he smoked, and he said he'd quit a few years ago for my sake. It seemed he didn't feel the need to keep that promise anymore now that I was no longer in his life.

"Six months?" I asked. "And then it ends?"

"And then it ends," Cecilio promised.

I looked at Enzo, at the boy that I had once loved the most in the world, but who now was nothing more than a cruel stranger. How would I survive more than a week with that caustic mouth and degrading stare?

Even though this was all his fault, he looked at me like I had single-handedly ruined his reputation and forced him into this fake engagement. As if I had plotted the whole scheme myself.

I took a deep breath and stared at the dotted line. I trusted Cecilio. He was my godfather he wouldn't put anything on here that would hurt me.

And without thinking about it in fear that my good senses would overwhelm me I signed my name

Poppy Rose.

A/N

Hope you enjoyed this first chapter lovelies! Also, I've been writing in 3rd person for awhile so 1st person was kind of tricky, but hopefully, there are no inconsistencies between the tenses.