Private club.
Eleanor smoothed her outfit a black business suit, the kind you'd wear to a job interview, and her nerves matched exactly that.
She'd carried a low-grade aversion to clubs ever since Dale Quinn had dragged her name through this exact kind of venue.
Tonight was about angel investors, not drinks.
She'd wanted out of Cross Group for a long time, but returning to Fenwick & York had never been the plan.
She was building something of her own. A design studio, her own name on the door.
Design, she trusted herself to handle. Running a company was new ground entirely.
She had money, but a jewelry brand ate capital fast, and her savings, even generous by most standards would only stretch so far against a real launch. Plus her mother's ongoing medical costs sat on top of everythi
