“Time for me to go to,” she said, shutting down her computer. She stood and looked at the bar. She should probably just go home. But why? What for? Her flat was empty, not even a cat to greet her. There was no rush, and besides, she could do exactly what she wanted now, when she wanted.

“Georgie.” She remembered Georgie saying she was working nearby today, interviewing or something. Quickly she picked up her phone and sent a text.

Fancy meeting me at Frank’s for a GOW?

She hit send, and as she did her mobile rang.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Miss Winter.”

“Yes.”

“This is Ria & Hankley, I’m afraid we’re going to have to reverse our decision about stocking next season’s designs. We put it to the board but we simply don’t have the shelf space for up-and-coming designers.”

Her heart sank. “Oh, but…”

“I know, and I apologise if you’d got your hopes up but the decision is final.”

“What about next season?” There had to be some hope. She couldn’t just let it end like this. Didn’t they know she was the next big thing of the shoe world?

“I really couldn’t say. Have a nice evening.”

The line went dead. Megan stared at it. Of all the…

“Bloody hell.” She sighed. It had been a big break to get shelf space at Ria & Hankley and she’d been incredibly excited—it would have been the boost her designs needed to really get noticed. How was she ever going to achieve her goals if she couldn’t get her stuff into the best windows and the most sought after shelves?

She paced the small room, dodging boxes of shoes and samples of material as she went. This really finished off the day with a bitter taste. She’d spent hours on that project and within a few seconds it was dust.

Now she definitely needed that glass of wine. She looked at her phone again. Georgie had text back.

Sure. Have to meet Tom quickly first then will see you at Frank’s about 9.

Good, now at least she’d have someone to moan about Ria & Hankley to and how unfair it was that the big chains got to decide who was successful and who wasn’t.

Her attention caught on a sample of cream leather that was sprinkled with sparkles. “Mmm…nice.” She picked it up. It was from a new selection of testers that had arrived on her week off. She fed it through her fingers—it was soft and pliant, perfect for sandals. Quickly, she grabbed her sketchpad and pencil, sat cross-legged on the floor and began to create a perfect summer mule.

Megan drew until the light had gone and she could barely see her creation. She was squinting, trying to use the weak beam from a single streetlamp to see. She sighed and glanced at her phone.

Nine o’clock.