Gianna leaned back in her high-backed leather chair, staring down at the glowing screen of her smartphone. A soft, warm blush crept up her neck, painting her cheeks a delicate rose.
It was a text from Zane.
> Your release is burning down the financial and fashion press. Beautifully executed, killer. Try not to let all the praise go to your head before tonight... though you've earned every bit of it.
Gianna found herself smiling like an idiot at the screen, a breathless, stupid flutter rising in her chest. A second later, she scowled at her own reflection in the dark glass, letting out a muted, embarrassed curse.
Get a grip, Gianna, she reprimanded herself. You do not blush over Zane Whitman.
Yet, the thrill was impossible to deny. It had only been an hour since her new line of luxury concepts and designs was officially launched, and the industry backlash and media frenzy had already breached critical mass.
