CLAIRE

We got out of the car and walked toward the entrance together. Julian held the door open for me and I stepped inside, my folder clutched tightly in my hands.

The lobby was modern and minimalist, with samples of fabric hanging on one wall and photographs of finished garments on another. A receptionist greeted us with a warm smile.

"You must be Claire," she said. "Nina's expecting you. Third floor, studio B."

We took the elevator up and found the studio easily, a large open space filled with cutting tables, dress forms, and shelves of fabric in every color imaginable. A woman in her mid-forties stood near one of...