"And send."

With my pre-ball selfie now off to my family group chat, I swipe back over to my Picgram account to see how many likes it's already gotten.

"Only 100..."

It's because you can't see the shoes, I tell myself. It's my own fault for not finding a better way to take a selfie and get my designs in the same picture. I make a mental note to have Tori snap a pic of just my heels once we're at the ball.

I put my phone down on the vanity countertop and check myself one last time in the mirror.

My stylist did a masterful job. She took my long straight hair and styled it into loose curls that cascade over my shoulder. A gold barrette embellished with emeralds holds my hair behind my left ear, pinning the side swept style in place. Dark green paints my eyes and they glimmer with a brush of gold overtop. Tear drop earrings hang down to my chin and compliment the gold collar around my neck. Everything from my deep emerald gown to my dark chocolate hair, is classic sophistication. My lips, however, are anything but.

Plump and bright red, my lips are brimming with exuberance. It's like a beacon against the dark, subdued colors of my outfit, and it matches the fierce red of my shoes.

I'm debuting my newest design for Antoine & Ingrid's winter catalog at the ball. The classic peep toe heel is made of a lace mesh embroidered with a poinsettia pattern. Petals break past the traditional silhouette and create an irregular edge around the top of the shoe. Gold beads form the flowers' stamen for an extra pop of color. To top it all off, the ankle strap has a lush silk bow matching the red of the lace, but with the addition of golden threads weaved in here and there.

These are the star of the show and my satin gown is simply the curtain. Which is why I had my dress made with a high thigh split. No matter how I walk, stand, or turn, this gown will draw the eye straight down to my immaculate shoes.

My phone vibrates on the counter and I don't have to look to know my assistant, Tori, is begging me to come downstairs. It's like she's never heard of being fashionably late.

I turn from the mirror and slip my phone into my clutch before heading down to the lobby, where my assistant and chauffeur are waiting to whisk me away.

After a fifteen minute drive along seven blocks of intense traffic, I step out onto the gold carpet. Cameras flash and I take long elegant strides to showcase my lux heels.

As staff, security, assistants, and guests shuffle their way through the chaos leading to the entranceway, I glance around and pinpoint which faces I need to track down inside.

There's Yvette Lorraine, who has a show in next year's fashion week—I have some shoes she could use that are right up her alley.

Then there's Gerald Winston who recently acquired film rights to some romcom novel that supposedly has an avid fashionista for a main character—she will, of course, need fabulous shoes and I just so happen to make those.

But the person I really want to spot is the social media phenom and aspiring pop star, BayBay. My newest shoe is releasing next week and it's my first commercial design targeted for teens and young adults. If I get her to wear a pair in just one of her posts, then we'll be selling my Snow Bunny boots faster than stores can stock them.

"Ms. Sullivan, we should keep moving."

Tori reaches out her hand as if she's about to grab my shoulders and pull me along, but doesn't actually touch me—can't muss anything up with cameras around. Still, my feet follow her commands and I progress down the carpet, pausing every few steps to see if I can find the youthful influencer.

"Tori, two things," I say once we reach the entrance. "One, take a picture of my shoe and try to get the crowd in the background."

We move through the foyer so we're just outside the atrium where everyone's congregating. I stick out my leg and twist it for a proper three quarter view. Tori drops without hesitation and sinks into a squat that should be impossible while wearing dress pants.

"Two," I say as she continues to find the perfect shot, "I want you to find BayBay and then come up with an opening for me to sneak my way into her circle. I need her wearing my boots, preferably before launch."

"Yes, ma'am."

She pops back up and I can see she's already on my Picgram account to post the picture.

"Okay, then it's time for me to mingle."

I roll my shoulders and strut over to the dance floor.

After one glass of wine, three hors d'oeuvres, and five painfully inconsequential conversations, Tori taps me on the shoulder and I excuse myself from a discussion on the rising price of chestnuts.

"Did you find her?"

We step back to the colonnade surrounding the museum's spacious atrium and find a pillar to huddle behind.

"She finally arrived. I'd say she's more than fashionably late, but with her being the skyrocketing star right now, I guess she gets a pass."

Tori does a slight roll of her eyes and I smirk at my assistant's attempts to suppress her passive aggression. I like the fight that lingers just beneath her surface. In fact, it's why I hired her.

"Well, she does hold youth in the palm of her hand right now." I look out over the crowd and then at my clutch which guards my iFone. "Like literally. The phone in her hand is our golden ticket to that demographic and everyone here wants a piece."

"From what I've seen so far, she isn't interested in giving a slice to anyone over a certain age. Her entourage is shooing them away before they can even get a word in. She has, however, entertained some of the younger people here, though not for particularly long."

"She's only come into prominence these past few of months. Her star's been ascending at breakneck speed ever since her cover of Tyler Smith's new song went viral. I don't think she knows how to handle anyone that isn't somewhat on her emotional level."

"Guess it's good you're only seven years older than her."

"I sure hope so."

I take a deep breath while craning my neck to spot the elusive influencer, and it doesn't take long. She has more than just an entourage, she has her own small army standing between her and everyone else as she moves around the floor. No one's speaking to her without getting past them. And though I'm quite young at 26, I've gotten into the habit of dressing older to impress some of the more established designers. What if I'm not young enough? If they reject me outright, will I have any hope of getting a second chance?

No, I need to go big or go home.

"Tori, when I hired you, I made it clear that sometimes you may have to get in the line of fire."

"Yes, and I only agreed to it when you clarified that I didn't literally have to take a bullet for you."

"But social criticism?"

I look back at her with one sculpted brow raised.

"I do not exist online outside of being quoted and captioned as Jessica Sullivan's assistant. So, I don't particularly care what the internet does to me. I won't even know."

"Perfect," I say, clapping my hand on her shoulder, "because I'm about to have you become the next target of BayBay's fans."

"Bring it."

After some quick discussion of my plans, we take position on opposite sides of BayBay's posse. I see that Tori is armed and ready. I take a deep breath and launch our attack.

"Tori! I'm over here!"

I wave my hand high above my head and shout loud enough for her to hear me above the rabble. This catches the eye of several guards surrounding the influencer, dividing their attention so there's at least some likelihood that Tori's climatic downfall will work.

"Ms. Sullivan, I'll be there in just—"

Her words are cut off by her overly dramatic reaction to some innocent bystander's brush against her shoulder. With people packed so tightly on the floor, it was a given that someone would eventually elbow or nudge Tori. Once the match was lit, she went into action and tripped over her feet, sending the full glass of red wine in her hand straight to the floor.

"Tori!"

The tinkling of shattered glass precedes a wave of horrified gasps. The crowd falls silent as I rush forward, pushing past the dumbfounded entourage to get a better view of my assistant.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, but I spilled your wine."

"I see..."

I look down and thank whatever shoe goddess is smiling down on me in this moment. The wine spreads across the marble floor and heads straight for where I stand next to the starlet struck silent with surprise.

"You should stand back," I say from over my shoulder. "I'd hate to see those fabulous heels of yours stained or with a shard of glass stuck in the sole. It would be a travesty to ruin those Starspecks."

Not a moment after I share my warning with BayBay, a group of stern looking staff members swoop in and push people away from the spill so they can clear the mess.

"I'm really sorry about my assistant. She gets nervous around this many people."

For the first time, I turn to face the famous 19 year old. With a flourish and a gasp, I perform an act of utter surprise.

"Oh wow, I didn't know it was you that my assistant nearly soaked. You're BayBay, right?"

"Yeah," she answers in a far meeker tone than I expected. "But it's all good. Like you said, my Starspecks are fine. So are yours. They are fire, by the way."

Whether she is courteous or genuine, I don't particularly care. Her voice is growing warmer by the second and I sense a shoe soul mate standing before me.

"Do you really like them? Like seriously?"

I get in touch with my inner fangirl while the wall of muscular bodies reforms around us, silently accepting my presence with their princess.

"Yeah, where'd you get them? I have a Christmas party coming up with my family. These are like hot, but classy. They'd go great with this gold cocktail dress I've had my eyes on."

I feel like I might burst. This is going so fucking well. It's like everything is being served to me on a silver platter.

"Well, I actually designed them. These are shoes I made for Antoine & Ingrid's. They are a limited release, dropping next week. I think the preorders are sold out, but I can definitely snag you a pair. Consider it an apology present for my klutzy assistant nearly ruining your shoes."

"You don't have to do that. No harm, no foul, you know?"

"Then, how about as a gift from one fashionista to another?"

I radiate confidence because I know my shoes are fabulous and she does too. The more I spread the charm and pretend we're instant besties, the more likely I'll score a slam dunk.

"Well, if you insist," she answers with a shy, but grateful smile. "They will look great for my parents' party."

"Absolutely. Is your manager around? I can have my assistant exchange contact info so I can ship them over to you."

Before she can answer, one of the smaller men in the posse steps out and introduces himself as the manager. He's young, but I can smell the experience on him. That and his cynical gaze is telling me he senses some bullshit in what just went down. Still, it doesn't stop him from exchanging our numbers.

Once I've secured the bounty, I say goodbye and wish her a fun night. I don't need to overstay my welcome, especially with the manager scrutinizing my intentions. The entourage is quick to allow my escape and then they fill back in and continu their slow trudge across the atrium, dodging every other person at the ball eager to secure a marketing deal.

Alright. Now it's time to find Tori. I wonder where she ran off to.

I look around the room, searching for my loyal assistant. However, it isn't her bright yellow bob or silver glasses that catch my eye. Instead, I land upon a pair of striking green eyes. They belong to a man in a suit the same exact shade as my dress and it is tailored to perfection for his lean frame. The crowd parts like the Red Sea so nothing but the dance floor stands between us. His handsome lips quirk into a mischievous smile and I know it's just for me.

I forget about Tori and BayBay. Right now, I have a party to enjoy and this marvelous stranger would look absolutely amazing on my arm.