She looked back.
“I'm not.”
“You have no other position.”
“I know.”
“You'll regret this.”
Maggie considered him.
“Probably.”
Then she smiled.
“But I think I'll regret staying more.”
She opened the door and walked out.
Her hands did not begin shaking until she reached the street.
By four that afternoon, Maggie was sitting on the floor of Tessa's clothing shop eating potato chips from a paper bag and wondering whether she had suffered a complete collapse of judgment.
Tessa stood beside a dress form, pinning the hem of a pale pink evening gown.
“You quit?”
“Yes.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes.”
“Without another job?”
“Yes.”
Tessa stared at her.
Then slowly smiled.
“Finally.”
Maggie looked up.
“You're supposed to tell me I've been an idiot.”
“Oh, you've been an idiot.”
“Thank you.”
“For staying there so long.”
Maggie sighed.
Tessa knelt beside her.
“Listen. You're the most talented person I know.”
“You design dresses.”
“And I'm excellent at it, but that's not the point.”
Maggie smiled weakly.
Tessa continued.
“Arthur Whitcomb has been taking credit for your work since the day you started. You've been waiting for him to notice you're good enough to lead a project.”
“He did notice.”
“Exactly. He noticed and made sure you never got the chance.”
Maggie looked down at the potato chips.
“I can't pay my rent with righteous indignation.”
“No.”
Tessa sat beside her.
“But you can pay it with drawings.”
“I don't have clients.”
“You have one potential client.”
Maggie looked up.
Tessa smiled.
“A very handsome potential client.”
“Don't.”
“Who buys croissants.”
“Tessa.”
“And personally visits old movie theaters.”
“It's business.”
“Of course.”
Maggie sighed.
“I don't want Nicholas Sterling to think I'm depending upon him.”
“Then don't depend upon him.”
“That's easy to say.”
Tessa took a chip.
“You've got four weeks to prove your proposal works. Do the work. Send invoices when people owe you money. And don't let anyone confuse your talent with a favor.”
Maggie considered.
Then nodded.
“You're right.”
“I usually am.”
Maggie smiled.
Tessa stood.
“Now come on.”
“Where?”
“To the back room.”
“Why?”
“Because you're going to need a proper worktable, and I've got one buried beneath approximately six hundred yards of fabric.”
Maggie looked at her friend.
“You'd let me work here?”
Tessa smiled.
“Sweetheart, you already live with me. What's one more room?”